Lew tells me he has just finished writing to you, and I take the opportunity of sending a few lines in his letter, as a slight token of my affectionate regard for you. I am sorry to hear you have been ill; but hope that by this time you have fully recovered; and that we shall soon have the pleasure of seeing you in Washington, where you are so much missed by your intimate friends and the soldiers in hospitals.
I am at present rather unwell;—with a billious attack—but hope to be up again in a day or two.
There was a salute of 100 guns fired here at noon today, in honor of the news from Atlanta, which creates quite a Jubilee.
There is now quite a shower of rain falling, and Lew and Bartlett are having quite a time down stairs, while I am up here in our room, alternately throwing up bile, and writing to you. Very interesting, is it not? (I mean the bile - ing affair.)
If you have time, please write me sometimes, as I will always be very happy even to receive a few lines from you.
Very respectfully yours