34 HENRY HILL GOODELL 



to a classmate who had sent him Victor Hugo's account of 

 the battle of Waterloo: 



I received your letter last night after a hot, dusty, 

 weary march of twelve miles from Bayou Bceuf , and was 

 so tickled at seeing the well-known hand of my Calvinistic 

 friend that forthwith I sit down to reply to it. Thank you 

 a thousand times, old fellow, for your kind offers. The 

 battle of Waterloo came safely to hand. It is a most mag- 

 nificent thing the finest description of the battle I ever 

 read. Tired as I was, I was so fascinated I sat up half the 

 night till I had finished it. You would have thought it was 

 a pursuit of knowledge under difficulties, could you have 

 seen me last night rolled up in my blanket in the dewy grass, 

 reading by my lantern that swung from the friendly branch 

 of a tree hard by. I am beginning to count the days when 

 I shall see dear old New England hills once more. This 

 confounded country we are marching in is nothing but a 

 vast plain of swamp and forest, infested by mosquitoes 

 that present bills prodigious, in fact twice as long as any 

 a Philadelphia lawyer would have the conscience to pre- 

 sent. Such vermin ! my gracious ! I '11 bet you, if these were 

 Homeric days, the old cock never would have died trying 

 to solve the fishermen's enigma. By the way, speaking of 

 Homer, I confiscated the other day in a secesh house a 

 pocket edition of Pope's "Iliad" and revived my classic 

 love, reading of 



the twice twenty heroes fell 

 Sent by great Ajax to the shades of hell. 



I am writing under great difficulties in the open air, 

 on a log, and everybody jabbering around me like so many 



