_Washington, Oct. 6, 1863._ DEAREST MOTHER--Your letter and George's came
safe--dear brother George, one don't more than get a letter from him
before you want to hear again, especially as things are looking pretty
stormy that way--but mother, I rather lean to the opinion that the 51st is
still in Kentucky, at or near where George last wrote; but of course that
is only my guess. I send George papers and occasionally letters. Mother, I
sent him enclosed your letter before the last, though you said in it not
to tell him how much money he had home, as you wanted to surprise him; but
I sent it. Mother, I think Rosecrans and Burnside will be too much for the
Rebels down there yet. I myself make a great acc't of Burnside being in
the midst of _friends_, and such friends too--they will fight and fight up
to the handle, and kill somebody (it seems as if it was coming to that
pass where we will either have to destroy or be destroyed). Mother, I wish
you would write soon after you get this, or Jeff or Mat must, and tell me
about Andrew, if there is anything different with him--I think about him
every day and night. I believe I must come home, even if it is only for a
week--I want to see you all very much. Mother, I know you must have a
great deal to harass and trouble you; I don't mean about Andrew
personally, for I know you would feel to give your life to save his, and
do anything to nourish him, but about the children and Nancy--but, mother,
you must not let anything chafe you, and you must not be squeamish about
saying firmly at times not to have little Georgy too much to trouble you
(poor little fellow, I have no doubt he will be a pleasanter child when he
grows older); and while you are pleasant with Nancy you must be
sufficiently plain with her--only, mother, I know you will, and Jeff and
Mat will too, be invariably good to Andrew, and not mind his being
irritable at times; it is his disease, and then his temper is naturally
fretful, but it is such a misfortune to have such sickness--and always do
anything for him that you can in reason. Mat, my dear sister, I know you
will, for I know your nature is to come out a first-class girl in times of
trouble and sickness, and do anything. Mother, you don't know how pleased
I was to read what you wrote about little Sis. I want to see her so bad I
don't know what to do; I know she must be just the best young one on Long
Island--but I hope it will not be understood as meaning any slight or
disrespect to Miss Hat, nor to put her nose out of joint, because Uncle
Walt, I hope, has heart and gizzard big enough for both his little nieces
and as many more as the Lord may send.
Mother, I am writing this in Major Hapgood's office, as usual. I am all
alone to-day--Major is still absent, unwell, and the clerk is away
somewhere. O how pleasant it is here--the weather I mean--and other things
too, for that matter. I still occupy my little room, 394 L st.; get my own
breakfast there; had good tea this morning, and some nice biscuit
(yesterday morning and day before had peaches cut up). My friends the
O'Connors that I wrote about recommenced cooking the 1st of this month
(they have been, as usual in summer, taking their meals at a family hotel
near by). Saturday they sent for me to breakfast, and Sunday I eat dinner
with them--very good dinner, roast beef, lima beans, good potatoes, etc.
They are truly friends to me. I still get my dinner at a restaurant
usually. I have a very good plain dinner, which is the only meal of any
account I make during the day; but it is just as well, for I would be in
danger of getting fat on the least encouragement, and I have no ambition
that way. Mother, it is lucky I like Washington in many respects, and that
things are upon the whole pleasant personally, for every day of my life I
see enough to make one's heart ache with sympathy and anguish here in the
hospitals, and I do not know as I could stand it if it was not
counterbalanced outside. It is curious, when I am present at the most
appalling things--deaths, operations, sickening wounds (perhaps full of
maggots)--I do not fail, although my sympathies are very much excited, but
keep singularly cool; but often hours afterward, perhaps when I am home
or out walking alone, I feel sick and actually tremble when I recall the
thing and have it in my mind again before me. Mother, did you see my
letter in the N. Y. _Times_ of Sunday, Oct. 4? That was the long-delayed
letter. Mother, I am very sorry Jeff did not send me the _Union_ with my
letter in--I wish very much he could do so yet; and always when I have a
letter in a paper I would like to have one sent. If you take the _Union_,
send me some once in a while. Mother, was it Will Brown sent me those?
Tell him if so I was much obliged; and if he or Mr. and Mrs. Brown take
any interest in hearing my scribblings, mother, you let them read the
letters, of course. O, I must not close without telling you the highly
important intelligence that I have cut my hair and beard--since the event
Rosecrans, Charleston, etc., etc., have among my acquaintances been hardly
mentioned, being insignificant themes in comparison. Jeff, my dearest
brother, I have been going to write you a good gossipy letter for two or
three weeks past; will try to yet, so it will reach you for Sunday
reading--so good-bye, Jeff, and good-bye for present, mother dear, and
all, and tell Andrew he must not be discouraged yet.