My kind friend, your welcome letter of the 6th has been some days in hand. I did not get “frightened.” I am a _U.S. soldier_, you know, and therefore not supposed to be susceptible to _fear_, and, _as I am_ merely a _soldier_, and _not_ a _statesman_, I shall make no attempt at discussing _political_ points with you. You have spoken openly and frankly, and I have perused your letter and considered your sentiments with interest, and, I believe, with sincerity and candor, and, while I observe with pain the wide difference of _opinion_ existing between us, I cannot find it in my heart to believe it _more_ than a matter of _opinion_. I shall not take to myself more of honesty of purpose, faithfulness of zeal, or patriotism, than I award to you. I have not, aye! never shall forget _where I first found you_. The soldier who has stood in the ranks of my country’s armies, and toiled and marched and fought, and fallen and struggled and risen, but to fall again more worn and exhausted than before, until _my_ weak arm had greater strength than his, and could aid him, and yet made no complaint, and only left the ranks of death when he had no longer strength to stand up in them--is it for _me_ to rise up in judgment and accuse _this man_ of a _want of patriotism_? True, he does not see as I see, and works in a channel _in_ which I have no confidence, _with_ which I have no sympathy, and _through_ which I could not go; still, I must believe that in the end the same _results_ which would gladden my heart would rejoice his.