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  1871 '72 Dear son,

I will just write you a line, as you may be looking for word from me Saturday. The weather has let up a little, but it is cold enough yet—I have been to the Italian Opera twice, heard Nilsson both times,—she is very fine—One night Trovatore & one, Robert, with Brignoli—both good—

 

I expect to return in about two weeks—I am writing this here in the kitchen home,—I have deserted my own room this visit, as it is so cold, even with a fire—Mother had a bad spell three days, commencing Sunday last.—but is about as usual to-day & yesterday—We have splendid buckwheat cakes for breakfast—sometimes  I fry them myself—I wish you could just be here & eat breakfast—I think my mammy makes the best coffee in the world, & buckwheats ditto—mince-pies ditto—

—My new edition looks the best yet—it is from the same plates as the last, only in One Vol. bound handsomely in green cloth—my books are beginning to do pretty well—I send you the publisher's slip—

 

Well Pete I believe that is all this time—Remember me to any of the boys on the road that may inquire for me—also to Adrian Jones, that works in the theatre—it is now after 10, Friday forenoon, clear, cold, & windy—& I am going over to N.Y. to have a lot of my books sent to England by to-morrow's steamer—Dear son, I send my best love, as always. We will soon be together again dear son.

Walt