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  Dear son Pete,

It is still the same old story with me—the best I can say is that I dont seem to get worse, even if I don't get better. Your letter came—and the Star, with the item about Tasistro. It must be very hot there in Washington, but you stand it better than most any one I know. I too never used to think any thing of heat or cold, from 20 to 50—but last summer I felt the heat severely, for the first time.

Pete, as I have told you several times, I still think I shall get over this, & we will be together again & have some good times—but for all that it is   best for you to be prepared for something different—my strength cant stand the pull forever, & if continued must sooner or later give out—Now Pete don't begin to worry boy, or cry about me, for you havn't lost me yet, & I really don't think it is likely yet—but I thought it best to give a word of caution, if such a thing should be—

—I am quite comfortable here & have every thing I want—I went out at ½ past 5 yesterday afternoon, & rode in the cars here to the ferry, & crossed the Delaware from Camden to Philadelphia four or five times—very pleasant. To-day is burning hot, but I am feeling as well as usual.

Friday 25th—4 o'clock—Pretty hot again to-day here, but not so oppressive to bear as in Washington—I am feeling about as usual to-day—shall try to get out a few steps, after I send this—Good bye for this time dear loving son.

Walt.