Walt Whitman (1819-1892) to Louisa Van Velsor Whitman (1795-1873), December 29, 1862

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. . . I found dear brother George, and found that he was alive and well. O you may imagine how trifling all my little cares and difficulties seemed-they vanished into nothing. And now that I have lived for eight or nine days amid such scenes as the camps furnish, and . . . realize the way that hundreds of thousands of good men are now living . . . with death and sickness and hard marching and hard fighting . . . really, nothing we call trouble seems worth talking about. One of the first things that met my eyes in camp, was a heap of feet, arms, legs, &c. under a tree in front a hospital . . .