November 10th. 1864.
Mr. Collier came over and spent the evening with me. His visits are highly prized by me. He brought his note book, and we sang “Sweet Home” together, and then, as usual, we talked of home. He is a singular being—a “specimen,” and a rare one, too. It is impossible to be long afflicted with the dumps when in his society. Like a bubbling spring, he overflows with mirth and good nature, and is sufficiently intelligent to be an agreeable companion. Goodness is natural to him. He neither chews, smokes, drinks whiskey or uses profane language. There is not a particle of deceit in his composition. Added to all these good qualities, and many more I might mention, he adores his wife and baby. All this I can say of him, after two years of intimate acquaintance. Spite of the contrast between us, and it is great, the strong attachment and friendship I feel for him is reciprocated.
