My dear son: [he wrote]
The news has just come to us that the Army of Northern Virginia, while
performing prodigies of valor, has failed to carry all the Northern
positions at Gettysburg. Only complete success could warrant a further
advance. I assume therefore that General Lee is retreating and I assume
also that you, Harry, my beloved son, are alive, that you came unharmed
out of that terrible battle. It does not seem possible to me that it
could be otherwise. I cannot conceive of you fallen. It may be that
it's because you are my son. The sons of others may fall, but not mine,
just as we know that all others are doomed to die, but get into the habit
of thinking ourselves immortal. So, I address this letter to you in the
full belief that it will reach you somewhere, and that you will read it.
You know, of course, of our great loss at Vicksburg. It is disastrous
but not irreparable. We still have a powerful army in the West, hardy,
indomitable, one with which the enemy will have to reckon. As for myself
I have been spared in many battles and I am well. It seems the sport of
chance that you and I, while fighting on the same side, should have been
separated in this war, you in the East and I in the West.
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