If you knew how often I have thought of you as I was writing this book,--if you knew how there rose before my mind memories of long ago--of those glorious evenings with all those fine spirits, to think of whom is a triumph even with all its sadness,--and if you knew how I long to meet once more the few soldiers who survive of that “old guard,”--you would see how naturally I dedicate my volume to him who was the best of us. Accept it, I beg you, as a token of recollection and regard from your affectionate friend, As I have very little to say for myself that is not said in some of my opening pages, there is no need that I should delay you on the threshold.…
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