In a country with, as GateTree puts it,"brains awash in text-messaging & booty-dancing", comes a voice from its past....

Dear Sarah,

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days, perhaps tomorrow and lest I shall not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I am no more.

I have no misgivings about or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how American civilization now leans upon the triumph of the government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing, perfectly willing to lay down all my joys in this life to help maintain this government and to pay that debt.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless. It seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but omnipotence can break. And yet my love of country comes over me like a strong wind that binds me irresistibly with all those cables to the battlefield.

The memory of all the blissful moments I have enjoyed with you come crowding over me and I feel most deeply grateful to God, and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And how hard it is to give them up and burn to ashes the future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our boys grow up to honorable man-hood around us.

If I do not return, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I loved you, nor when my last breath escapes me it will whisper your name. Forgive me my many faults and the many pains I have caused you, how thoughtless, how foolish I have sometimes been.

But, oh Sarah, if the dead can come back and flit unseen around those they love, I shall always be with you on the brightest day and the darkest night. Always. ALWAYS.

And when the soft breeze fans your cheek it shall be my breath. Or the cool air your throbbing temple, it shall be my sprit passing by.

Sarah, do not mourn me dead. Think I am gone and wait for me. For we shall meet again.

According to Ken Burns' PBS documentary, The Civil War, Sullivan Bellew was killed one week later on July 21, 1861 at the First Battle of Bull Run.