McClellan had received me at Alexandria on the 27th with all his old
cordiality, and had put me at once upon our accustomed footing of
personal friendship. On my part, there was naturally a little
watchfulness not to overstep the proper line of subordination or to
be inquisitive about things he did not choose to confide to me; but,
this being assumed, I found myself in a circle where he seemed to
unbosom himself with freedom. I saw no interruption in this while I
remained in the Potomac Army. He was, at this time, a little
depressed in manner, feeling keenly his loss of power and command,
but maintaining a quiet dignity that became him better than any show
of carelessness would have done. He used no bitter or harsh language
in criticising others. Pope and McDowell he plainly disliked, and
rated them low as to capacity for command; but he spoke of them
without discourtesy or vilification. I think it necessary to say
this because of the curious sidelight thrown on his character by the
private letters to his wife which have since been published in his
"Own Story," and of which I shall have more to say. Their
inconsistency with his expressions and manner in conversation, or at
least their great exaggeration of what he conveyed in familiar talk,
has struck me very forcibly and unpleasantly.
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