My dear Anster,
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,