
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
