| | 1 | Author: | Spillman, Robert B. | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Robert B. Spillman to Amanda C. Armentrout, January 12, 1865  | | | | Published: | 2002 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Civil War Collection | UVA-LIB-BrandLetterscivilwar | | | | Description: | Again I have the pleasure of responding to your Ever dear & affectionate
letter that reached me to day the perusal of which was done with no little
degree of pleasure. I can not find words to express my self on the present
occasion could I but wield the pen of a novelist, I might passibly be able to
give some faint idea of my high appreciation of your dear letters and the pure
unselfish friendship you have to long & so repeatedly expressed for me
how often in my silent musings does my mind wander back to the days when I had
no knowledge of you, before I was honoured with your
acquaintance & your friendship. how different
were the lonely hours spent then, no fond anticipation lay before me of a day
that would bring with its natural charms a messenger from a dear dear friend in the distance, a letter from you dear Kate. How sad
& still how pleasing are the many changes since first we met, both
combined are truly almost incomprehensible. think, for a moment, but a little
more than a year ago we were as those who had never lived to each other but time
with its many changes find us now as it
were bonded & bossom friends. how pleasing it is to me to think that I have the esteem &
confidence of a friend so pure, so noble, as your self. Tis truly an honour not
merited by me I can scarecely realize that one so insignificant as my self
should enjoy such pleasures as are realized from such a pleasing correspondence.
Well dear Kate, you had need not expect a
long or interesting letter this time as my mind is restive it seems that it
cant possibly be concentrated or centered upon any
one particular subject. Not withstanding the present moment is a time when I
should feel or rather be able to produce some sentimental language for now it is
about Eleven oclock at night. No sound breaks the
stillness of the night save the constant roar of the rapid waters of the James
River as it rushes madly over the rocky falls wending its way along the winding
current towards its mother ocean. Other than that, all is quiet. The blazing
stars shine brilliantly high up in their orbit while the gentle moon sheds its
silvery light over all nature. Still I cant feel
sentimental since I cant find words to express my self
to night. I hope you will excuse my brevity
& I'll promise to do better nex time, but that
is a promise that I aught not to make,
as I'll be most sure to break it for I am
not endowed with the mental faculties which enables one to write a communicative
or interesting letter. still I am fond of writing, if I
cant interest or give information. I dont exactly agree with my dear little friend Lou. She
seems to think that letters should not be
written unless it bears important news, or something cheering or animating but
it is not so with me. I like to speak at a distance with my dear friend through
the silent medium of the pen tis truly a pleasure that I would not be deprived
for the world. I could not dispence with such a
pleasure while I am blessed with the power of writing I must profit by it. Well
dear Kate the old Bacon Clock has just told by its lonesome ring the approach of
midnight hour, so I must close. My love to all with a full portion for your
self. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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