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Updated: October 14, 2025
The story I made was nearly as follows: I told her I was a soldier in the regiment of Hohenhem, that I had a furlough to go and see my father, and that I should return in a month, would then take her letters, and undertake that, if she wished it, her son should purchase his discharge, and once more come and live with his mother.
"The regiment of Hohenhem; you are his very picture." "Is he not of my height?" "Yes, nearly." "Has he not light hair?" "Yes, like yours, sir." "What is his name?" "His name is William." "No, my dear mother," cried I, "William is not dead; he was my best friend when I was with the regiment." Here the poor woman could not contain her joy.
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