
I arrived home last night between 11 and 12, all safe & sound—found mother up, waiting for me—It was dark & stormy, as rain had set in about 9—had quite a pleasant journey—took a chair in the reserved seat car, 50 cts extra—plenty of room & a very easy riding car—thought while I was sitting up here now in my room wait'g for dinner I would write a line to boy Pete—

Thursday forenoon
The weather is very fine now here—plenty cool enough—I went over to New York yesterday afternoon & evening—took a ride up & down Broadway—am now laying off & taking it easy in my room—find it very pleasant here—fall just as natural into habits of doing nothing—lie on the sofa & read the papers—come up punctually to my meals—sleep a great deal—& take every thing very quietly—

Friday—Pete I will finish this scribbling letter,
& send it off, so you will get it for Sunday—I am feeling well &
enjoying myself doing nothing, spending a great deal of time with my mother, &
going out a few hours every day on the river or over to New York—I hope you
are feeling all
right, & that every thing is lovely—I believe that is all this time—
Love to you dear son, & you must keep a good heart through all the tribulations & botherations, not only of railroading but life generally
I find that Foster the "car assassin," is an old driver & conductor that I knew quite well—he was a very good man, very respectable, only a fool when drunk—it is the saddest case I know. He has three fine children—the public is down upon him savage—& I suppose no hope for him.
Walt.