"My Dearest Mother — I have just received your truly fond and affectionate letter. I assure you it made me shed tears. I feel that my conduct has been undutiful in not having written to you oftener. Eut do not imagine for a moment that my neglect in so doing ever arose from forgetfulness. Far worse were I than a brute could I ever cease to remember the fondest and most devoted of mothers. My dislike to writing in general shall not prevent me from writing to you or Mary by every mail for the future, without fail, so I trust you will not have cause again to upbraid me for having allowed such long intervals of time to elapse between each of my letters to you. That part of your letter in which you mention your fainting on the terrace made my blood curdle in my veins, and alarmed me dreadfully. That night I knelt by my bedside and prayed most fervently that the Lord Almighty would spare your life for the sake of your orphan children.
"A son's affection for his mother can only really be known when he feels that her life is in danger. I know not what I should do, or what would become of me, were you, my precious darling mother, to be taken from me. I should go on through life with a void that I know could never be filled up. My chief pleasure during the past year has been in looking forward to our meeting once again in dear old England; and oh, what delight this anticipation afforded me! But, mother, you must and will get well again. I shall yet, at some not far distant day, have the joy of seeing you, and kissing your fondly-remembered face. You shall be caused no more pain or anxiety by me. Oh, that my past actions could be obliterated from my recollection, and that my conscience could acquit me of ever having done anything to cause you grief and uneasiness. * * In my last letter I mentioned a wish to get a transfer to a regiment in India: but, of course, now that the war
