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Was that rare and glorious man: the other was General Lytle, killed at Chickamauga; and I loved them both with a devotions something akin to that which Tennyson felt for his friend Arthur Hallam. I am afraid - no, not that; but I suspect - from a sentence in your Sister's letter, that I have failed to make either of you understand that I am neither a materialist nor a transcendentalist, but only a poor earnest stumbling and stuttering man who does not care for creeds nor methods of utterance, but who amid much sin and sorrow and perpetual failure followed by perpetual lifting of praying heads seeks humbly the paths that may lead his weary feet to the Master. God help me, and help us all for whom, mastered by a passionate longing for spiritual fellowship, there is no sacred brotherhood and sisterhood of common faith, because, through fealty to that we believe true, we cannot speak the Shibboleths of others whom we love. Do you think the bitterest martyrdoms are those of fire? Your Sister has given me great pleasure, by sending me a poem occasionally; and courtesy if nothing more demands that I should now and then