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Letter from Fanny to Frank Hall, from Hartford, Ct.

                                                                                                                                Hartford, Dec. 15, 1862

My own dearest one,

          Saturday noon your dear letter came home, to wifey's heart. No words can tell you how thankful, how rejoiced, I was to get it. Oh, my husband, yes, indeed, you have lived quite a lifetime in a few days, and so has wifey in our quiet, little home. One can never commence to know the intenseness of anxiety till their own experience tells them. I thought I knew, but my husband, I insist upon it, we are not like most people. I know you will write whenever you can. My only fear is that you will make too great efforts to send letters. Never for a moment expose yourself to fatigue or danger in order to send a letter, but when you write, always please tell me how you are exactly and how situated.
          Those three words, "I am well," nobody in the wide world can estimate the comfort of true circumstances as we are. And my own one, now where are you? I so fearfully fear that in your utter forgetfulness of your own self, you will in some way expose yourself when you should not, Oh, think of your duty. Remember wifey all alone at home and take every precaution that you can. The sixth commandment means a great deal.
          All the time I think of you and wish I was by your side, ministering to the wants of our wounded soldiers and helping hubbie in all humble ways in the noble work. But I so well know from experience how perfectly unthoughtful you are of self when there is sickness that I fear you will not take sufficient care to enable you to fulfill your duties. In order to be useful, you must be Judicious in the expenditure of strength. I know in my heart's depths what a darling muse you are. Oh, how I wish I was with you. My heart flows full.
          It seems as if the whole nation should bow in prayer and earnest supplication. Yesterday morning in church, Mr. Caulkins' prayer was so deep, so earnest, it really seemed as if he was wrestling with God, as did Jacob. Oh, that the prayers of God's people may be answered with a blessing, I told Lucy Adams, yesterday, that you have inquired & begged her to pray for you. She said yes, she would & that her little children had some, in the being they pray for every night together & that you would be added to the [list]. Was it not sweet? It seems as if it should be one constant lifting up of the heart to God. Oh, my husband, may you be guided & protected in all dangers and may we be sweetly spared one another long and happily, here on earth.
          How my heart is with you all the time, if you are well and able to bear [it]. I know your delight in doing all you can aid, and cannot be few. You will not remember & guard yourself as you ought.
          May your daily, hourly movements have strength given you from on High, mentally and physically, and be the means of much good to the souls of our soldiers in guiding them and explaining to them the truth as it is in Jesus.
          I want this to go by the morning mail, so it will be only a short letter with deep, earnest, unfailing love from thine own wife,


          Mr. Swift came up last night very lividly with the telegraph news. Oh, how we talked of you. He feels, as I, that you will not be careful enough. Ma [Frank's mother - ed.] is writing in her room. The Lieut. at the office tries to bring us all the intelligence as he can.
          Most lonely, but truly thine