Camp 33^d Reg. Wis. Vol.

Near Memphis Tennessee

April 12 1863

 

Miss. Annie M. Henry

            Sparta Wis.

 

My Dear Annie=

I have been looking anxiously for a letter ever since I wrote you last but it has not come yet. I put off writing this morning hoping that I should get one today but the Postmaster returned empty, and now if I do not write a very interesting letter this time you will know the cause.

 

The week has passed away without any thing of particular interest transpiring. All is perfectly quiet with us and so far as we know with evry one else. This quietness I must confess is becom- / ing somewhat prolonged and rather hard to bear without complaining, but we must exercise patience and still hope that that something decisive will soon be done. I feel no doubt yet myself. We had preaching again this afternoon at 2 o'clock after which an effort was made to start a religious organization of all the professions in the Regt. about 30 gave in their names, and we are to have another meeting on next Sunday. This morning I visited the Elmwood Cemetery. I was there once last fall. I think I mentioned it in one of my letters and gave you a description of it. It is certainly a beautiful yet solemn place and affords serious reflections to a thinking mind. Monuments and vaults of almost evry design reach the eye at evry step, bearing inscriptions as varied in expression / as human thought can desire yet almost evry one of them manifesting a belief in a future state of happiness and the hope that the spirits of the loved ones whose dust lies cold and silent beneath are now safe in that state of bliss. What a contrast between this almost universal admission in our grave yards, and the words and actions of a large majority of the human family while living. Thus I reasoned this beautiful Sabbath morning. Was I called upon to select the time and place where all act and talk honestly and faithfully, I would point to the silent home of the dead and say there is the place,—the place allotted as the last resting place of the poor soldier in this vast city of the dead presents a bad, bad picture of the folly, pride and wickedness of the human family which can not be witnessed by any one possessing common feelings of / humanity without a shudder. On one side of a slope of ground, unoccupied before the war, are the graves of something over one thousand rebel soldiers, while just over the top of the hill on the other slope lies between 800 and 900 of our own devoted men. As I stood and looked at the long rows of graves I could not but think of the loving hearts and fond hopes that were crushed and buried with the poor men that filled them. Who is responsible for all this? God have mercy upon their wretched souls. But I am spinning out quite a long letter and must come to a close for this evening at least. The mail will come in again before I can send this, and should I receive one from you I will write more. I am trying hard dear to be a good boy, but meet with many temptations and difficulties. It is a great source of comfort to know that you never forget me in prayers. Good night

 

May God ever bless you darling        George

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