
Pete, dear son, I am not sinking nor getting worse—I have had some very bad times,
& have some pretty bad ones yet, mostly with my head—& my leg is about
as useless as ever—still I am decidedly no worse, & I think now I am even getting better—it is slow, & with great alternations—but I have the feeling of getting more strength,
& easier in the head, more like myself—something like what I was before mother's death—I cannot be reconciled to that yet—it is the great
cloud of my life—nothing that ever
happened before has had such an effect on me—but I shall get well, yet, dear son,
probably, (of course not certainly) and be back in Washington this fall,
& we will be together again. I think I am now about as I was the day
you came down to Baltimore depot with me, 20th May I think
Friday after dinner
I have thought of you the nights of this week, the heaviest rains here almost ever known, —great trouble & loss to railroads—was you in any tight spot?—that described
in your last made me feel a little nervous—That was a fearful
disaster of the Wawasset—sad beyond description—
So Tasistro is around yet—The Chronicle came—Mr. Eldridge has returned to Washington
from his month's leave—he stopt here and paid me a 3 or 4 hours visit—John Burroughs has an article in the Sept. number of Scribner's Magazine, just out, in which I am extracted from—Pete, it is now towards 3, and I am going to try
to
get down to the ferry boat, & cross to Philadelphia—so you see I am not
altogether disabled—but it is awful tough work—when the weather is cooler,
(which will be soon) I shall be better off in Washington, as it is very lonesome to me here,
& no one to convoy me—I shall return there—I want to get a couple of unfurnished rooms,
or top floor, somewhere on or near the car route—Pete if you see Charley Toner, give him my love, & ask him to give you his address to send me—He works in the Printing Bureau (M'Cartee's) Treasury.