04. Harry's Letters, March-May, 1865

dolce far niente, -- which, being interpreted, means, a cozy, lazy, don't-care-a-fig-ativeness. A total lack of anxiety as to the prosperity of our system of popular education, (Don't care whether school keeps or not.) And I partake of the general lassitude. In fact, I am too absolutely lassitudenous to write. I can safely promise you a brief infliction in this. One sixteen page letter will do for one short voyage.

We have been in sight of the coast nearly all the way up. Yesterday we ran close along side the land and so were favored with a long panorama of the grand cliffs and peaks of the Mexican coast. I have never made this voyage so close in shore

[Mar. 29, 1865]

before. I would give -- or rather -- what wouldn't I give -- if you were enjoying this delightful sea and weather with me? And you shall, the next time I make the trip; -- and I shall work my hardest to make my next return to San Francisco one of the events of 1866. You see, I treat my proposed "partnership" as a matter of future certainty -- And, Nellie -- I should be wretched if I didnt feel so. I am very lonely without you; and without the hope that one day -- not long distant -- you were to be mine, life would seem a bleak, cheerless waste -- a "fitful fever" indeed, the shorter the better. And I love you more and deeper, day by day. But I won't weary you with these repeated protestations. But I love to tell you of my entire devotion; and to offer you again and again my whole heart. For, indeed, I write to you more to tell you of my earnest regard than for anything else.

My love to Lue and Augusta. And remember me to your brothers. We shall be at Acapulco by 4 o'clock this P.M. It is now noon. Pray for me daily; and may God bless you

Ever yours affectionately Henry R. Mighels.

[written on back of envelope]

Dear Nellie

Hope that you have pleasant news from the writer of the enclosed --

Oh Nellie. Is not the news which is all too true terrible. I never saw our people so cast down -- their feelings so deeply wounded as today, -- -- surely this is a dark hour to us all, when but a short time since, every one was so hopeful -- How could any one be so cruel & so wicked. -- -- and what will our country now do without our man.

Nellie I shall be so glad when you come home, but don't hurry on my account

Due 7

Postmark

Miss Nellie Verrill

Norway Village

Maine

[March 29 1865]

Hattie and Emma are looking nicely. I sent you a letter to day with twenty dollars enclosed which I hope was received safely.

Love from your own Lu L. P.m --

San Francisco April 11th 1865.

Dear Nellie: You see I have got here, at last. It really seems like returning home again, -- meeting so many old friends, and seeing so many familiar scenes. The news that Richmond had fallen was shouted to us from a crowd of soldiers as our ship neared the wharves. I came near squeezing Gorham to death in the joy of my embrace, on the strength of it. We both joined in the general "hurrah" until we were hoarse. My throat is sore in consequence, and I am glad of it. I could almost afford an attack of diptheria in payment. And now we have the news that Lee and his army have caved in. And there are rumors on the street of more good news. Everybody's banners are hung "on the outer walls." Notwithstanding the universal rejoicing, there is great flagging in Union circles. (Play upon the stars and stripes!)

You have no idea how famous I am. My consequence as a military hero