Home Nov 16—1862—

 

Dear Cyrus,

                        Your last letter (Nov 9) was rec'd Friday—you talked of coming home, and said nothing about my writing again, but as you set no time for your return I venture to write. Dont stay too long, so as to ruin your health, which is of more value to you & your family than anything else, except life itself. I have told nobody what you said about resigning, only saying, that I supposed you would have to do so if your health did not improve. I told Em, she had not better knit your mittens till we heard / from you again, as I thought in case you came home, you would rather have a pair of socks, wouldn't you? The story is now, that C. Osborn has absconded, taking another mans wife with him—I did not hear the mans name. Bill Slocum is said to be in Canada & probably C. is there too. Who is responsible for the government money he had? Have the soldiers wives got to lose it? Strange that Capt R. should leave any money in such hands.

 

            Father is busy buying potatoes, loading them &c. this cold weather gives him the blues. about forty bushels of the potatoes he had in the barn were froze, when they come to pick them over, before putting them on the boat.

 

            I was very sorry you could not get any easier position—if you had only got the chance Charly [?] had / of settling up their business, the people would have been much better suited & you would have escaped those marches, which used you up. I am rather afraid you will get cheated out of your pay but hope not—however that won't make any difference in the warmth of your welcome home.

 

            Poor David Pennock escaped the perils of battle, got discharged and came home, only to be drowned in the river—he was buried yesterday. he had only been home a week or so.

 

            The folks are all well as far as I know. try to write as much as you can—Wallie & Amos go to school every day & Sunday school.

 

            How much does Dea Corliss owe you. Amelia asked me, and / wanted to leave me some money, but I knew nothing about it so did not take it.

 

            I wrote you about the coal, it came to 21.57, drawing & all. I did not pay for it, as you told me not, indeed I could not as I had but 13.00, & did not want to pay it all away

 

            Well, the clock struck ten & kerosene is getting dearer & dearer, raised 4 cents on a quart since you went away, so I must go to bed & put out the luminary, good night & may God in his providence bring you home in safety to your loving wife & boys—

                                                                                                           

Hattie—

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