A brief sentence here and there, a rare gleam of light across the page of a letter, is all that we can find.
The rest is silence.

He did as great work as has fallen to the lot of man, he wrote volumes of correspondence, he talked with innumerable men and women, and of himself he said nothing.

Here in this youthful journal we have a narrative of wild adventure, wily diplomacy, and personal peril, impossible of condensation, and yet not a word of the writer's thoughts or feelings.

All that was done or said important to the business in hand was set down, and nothing was overlooked, but that is all.

The work was done, and we know how it was done, but the man is silent as to all else.