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  Dear boy Pete,

I have been in all day—I don't think I ever knew such long continued gales of wind—this is now the fourth or fifth day—night & day—& as I write it is howling & whirling just as bad as ever—I havn't been out any to speak of for three days—the gales are too much for me. My spell of let up & feeling somewhat more comfortable continues, with some interruptions—night before last, & for some time yesterday I was in a bad way again—but had a good night's rest last night, & am comfortable to-day—I think I am decidedly more improving, than going behindhand—

I have thought frequently of Parker Milburn—all his ways, & his good points, come up in my mind—& now the news comes of the sudden death of Mr. Sumner—Your letter came Monday, & the Herald

 

Friday, March 13—12 M

Not very well to-day—To add to my troubles, a very bad cold in the head & all over me, again—this is the third attack this winter—but enough of grunting—The papers are filled with Sumner's death, funeral, life, &c. The cold, dry gale continues here. I get letters from Mrs O'Connor. Don't fail to go up & make her a call, when convenient.

You remember Arnold Johnson that used to live over on the hill by the Insane Asylum—well he has come back to Washington, & is Chief Clerk again Light House Board, & Wm O'Connor has changed to a clerkship in the Library, Treasury. I am sitting here alone in the same old seat in the parlor writing.

Good bye for this time dear boy— Walt