Johnstown. Jun 23rd 1864
Thursday Evening
My Friend Frank.
Everything is calm and tranquil around me as I sit here entirely alone, excepting that the sound of a drum beaten by a miniature soldier breaks in the stillness of the evening air.
I listen to it and think what a different meaning it has to my ears from what the same sound has to your ears there where the enemy is—no doubt—in view. I have been wondering, all this week especially, just where my soldier friend is, and what doing. I take up the paper, but it gives me no information of the 50th New York.
Perhaps even while I write, you may be lying in the hospital tent, suffering from a wound hurled inflicted by the missiles hurled from an enemy’s weapon. But I will hope that such is not the case. Still from my not receiving a letter, I cannot help but think that you must be in some place not altogether free from danger. The family of my friend—Lieut. Fisher—are very uneasy about him.
I am enjoying myself in my usual way; Studying a good deal, going out occasionally in the evenings, and to church all day Sundays. When I am enjoying the privileges of the means of grace, I always think of my friends who are deprived of the blessing, and offer up a silent petition that they may/remember the day, and set up an altar
to the “Lord of Sabbath” in their hearts, wherever they may be. It makes my heart glad when I think of how much good the soldiers will receive from the immense sums raised by the two great Sanitary fairs in our state. They will have cause to feel that they are not forgotten at home. Flowers are blooming in beauty all around me. I wish I could send you a boquet—or a dish of the tempting strawberries of which I shall partake in a short time, when the family all get gathered in. But never mind do not let the rebels shoot you, and when you come in the fall, we will feed you on grapes, of which we are going to have an abundance. Hoping you are well, and sending many good wishes with the hope of hearing from you as often as you/can make it convenient to write,
I close,
Your friend Mollie E. Bowen
& Penna
PS Anna is still away. M.