Johnstown Sep. 10^th 1864

                                                                                 Saturday Night.

 

My Friend Frank.

 

                        As time will be very precious next week, I will write you a few lines tonight. By the time you receive this, I suppose you will think you are once more your own master—free to come and go as seemeth unto you best. The prayer rises unbidden to my lips, that as God has kept you through the dangers incident to a soldier’s life, he may also keep you from the snares which will beset you at home among your friends./

 

Monday morning. Yesterday was a day spent very pleasantly by me. I listened to two sermons from an old and esteemed friend of mine.

 

They would not have been extolled by a criticizing audience, but they went deep down into the heart, and shored up its deepest waters.

 

I like such sermons, although they generally show me that I have been remiss in some duty. But then they stir me up to good works.

 

I always think about my soldier friend on the Sabbath, and wonder by  what influences he is surrounded./

 

But soon you will be out of the army, and then I look to see you unite with the church and become an earnest, zealous christian. Shall I be dissapointed. God forbid.

 

Anna is away from home on a visit to an old friend of hers. She writes that she is having a fine time. Her friend’s husband says she is to stay till as long as they have anything to eat, so I don’t know when she will be home.

 

The members of the 54^th P.V. have returned to their post with the exception of a few who are to leave/this morning—among them my adopted brother Thom. W. It makes me feel sad to see him go, but I know he is in the path of duty, and I cant complain. He would not be satisfied either unless he would go.

 

The grapes are ripening, my friend, and the arm-chair is sitting with open arms to receive its old friend. And your friend is anxious to see her unseen, though not unknown correspondent of the 50^th. Hoping soon to meet your hand in friendly clasp

 

I am still your friend   Mollie E. Bowen

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