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  Dear Friend

Your letter of the 4th instant found me yesterday—somewhat, agreeably, disapointed​ disappointed​ in hearing from you so soon again or at all—thinking that prehaps​ perhaps​ , with your duties and cares you had forgotten the bright memories that I so tenderly cherish, or if remembered with out time to attend to it.

You remember me in 1865 a green raw lad of eighteen—without, even, an imperfect knowledge of the rudimentary English branches, I came home from Washington and applied myself, as soon as possible, to school and to study; since then I have acquired a little better knowledge of the English—done something in Mathematics,—dipped into Latin and German a little.

My life since we parted that July day upon the Treasury steps, has been one of hard work and little recreation—

I find on looking back to that time, that I am not so pure or trusting,—that the world isint​ isn't​   quite so fair and beautiful as it seemed then—That the world is not precisely a green pasture for unsophisticated human lambs to skip in—That I like dreaming less, and work or excitement better—That I have lost a great deal of Ambition, and gained a like quantity of stupidity—That I dont know nearly so much as I once supposed I did.

I have written so much of myself simply because you asked me of myself—

My Dear Friend I hope and believe we shall meet sometime in the coming years again.

Hoping to hear from you again before long I am respectfully &c By.​ Sutherland   Byron Sutherland