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  Dear son

The money came all right, & I will keep it for the present, & use it for myself,—but only to return it at some future time, when I am flush. Nothing very new with me. I still feel pretty well, for me, (& considering the past four years.) Who knows? May be after this winter, I shall feel well enough to come on to Washington & make out several weeks—& we'll have a good time together, my loving son—(no more long walks, to be sure—but we can be happy other ways)

—Beautiful, mild, sunny, thawing afternoon to-day & I have been out a little—down to see a poor young man, an oysterman, Jim Davis, very low with consumption, took him some stew'd​ chicken for his   dinner—then went to a nice reading room & library we have here, very handy—then home to my own dinner stew'd​ chicken & nice roast potatoes—& now (2½) up stairs in my room writing this, & feeling very fair—

O Pete, you get that arm chair (with the broken arm) I left at Mrs Nash's,—perhaps the broken arm is still there, if so get it put on—then take the chair home for you as a new year's present, & for your mother to sit in, & you afterwards—you know I used the chair for a year, & if I recollect right, it is a good strong one, though plain—I am glad to hear what you wrote about your mother—Every thing about fellows' old mothers is interesting to me—

—Give my love to Mr & Mrs Nash—

Your loving old Walt