Direct to care of Major Hapgood as before, and write soon. Mother, I
suppose you got a letter I wrote from down here last Monday.
V
_Washington, March 2, 1864._ DEAR MOTHER--You or Jeff must try to write as
soon as you receive this and let me know how little Sis is. Tell me if she
got entirely over the croup and how she is--also about George's trunks. I
do hope he received them; it was such a misfortune; I want to hear the end
of it; I am in hopes I shall hear that he has got them. I have not seen in
the papers whether the 51st has left New York yet. Mother, I want to hear
all about home and all the occurrences, especially the two things I have
just mentioned, and how you are, for somehow I was thinking from your
letters lately whether you was as well as usual or not. Write how my dear
sister Mat is too, and whether you are still going to stay there in
Portland avenue the coming year. Well, dear mother, I am just the same
here--nothing new. I am well and hearty, and constantly moving around
among the wounded and sick. There are a great many of the latter coming
up--the hospitals here are quite full--lately they have [been] picking out
in the hospitals all that had pretty well recovered, and sending them back
to their regiments. They seem to be determined to strengthen the army this
spring to the utmost. They are sending down many to their reg'ts that are
not fit to go in my opinion--then there are squads and companies, and
reg'ts, too, passing through here in one steady stream, going down to the
front, returning from furlough home; but then there are quite a number
leaving the army on furlough, re-enlisting, and going North for a while.
They pass through here quite largely. Mother, Lewis Brown is getting quite
well; he will soon be able to have a wooden leg put on. He is very
restless and active, and wants to go round all the time. Sam Beatty is
here in Washington. We have had quite a snow storm, but [it] is clear and
sunny to-day here, but sloshy. I am wearing my army boots--anything but
the dust. Dear Mother, I want to see you and Sis and Mat and all very
much. If I can get a chance I think I shall come home for a while. I want
to try to bring out a book of poems, a new one, to be called "Drum-Taps,"
and I want to come to New York for that purpose, too.
Mother, I haven't given up the project of lecturing, either, but whatever
I do, I shall for the main thing devote myself for years to come to these
wounded and sick, what little I can. Well, good-bye, dear mother, for
present--write soon.