Your letter has almost made a grandfather of me, it carried me so far back into the wasted centuries. It is now fourteen years since I first saw you in Virginia City. It was at a ball—but that does not indicate your age, for children attended balls there, & you were a child then—8 years of age, I think.

But fourteen years is a long time, & brings memorable changes. You are young, yet, & are willing to talk about them; but I have reached the age where one puts such things out of his mind & keeps them out—for they remind him, not that he is growing old, but that he is old. However, I mean to keep your address in mind, & the next time I am in New York, with a visiting hour to spare, I will call & we will go over that old ground & sow gray hairs.

Remember me most kindly to your mother, & believe me yours in the affection of a friendship unimpaired.