I rec'd your letter this morning. It is too bad you don't get my letters Tuesday, as I send them in ample time Monday—they are in the p. o. here by noon, & the mail don't close till about 6 p. m.—then the letters get in New York by ½ past 5 Tuesday morning—
We have had very hot weather—I thought about you—it is quite oppressive on me this summer—still I get along quite well—get along pretty well nights—but every time the middle of the summer comes round, I think I will never stay through another summer in Washington, if I can help it—
Saturday noon—11th—We are having a very hot day—How do you all like the nomination of Seymour and Blair?1 It is a regular old Copperhead Democratic ticket, of the rankest kind—probably pleases the old democratic bummers around New York and Brooklyn—but every where else they take it like a bad dose of medicine—the democrats are dissatisfied here, the worst kind—
O'Connors have had quite a serious falling out with Mrs. Burroughs2—John is away yet—may call upon you on his way home.3 Mrs. B. is a curious woman—but has been very kind to me—Of course you mustn't let on that you know any thing—only you might mention to him that I often write about the wife's & his kindness to me—but probably it is doubtful if he calls—
Mother, I am sitting here by my window in the office—I dont have the smell of any streets or gutters—but it is burning hot, & hardly any air stirring—fortunately we have moderate nights—& so I manage to get along—
It still keeps hot, & no rain—I was up at O'Connor's a while last evening—Ellen O'Connor is quite sick—has a bad attack of dysentery—the rest are all well—
Nothing decided yet about who shall be attorney General4—every thing goes on as usual in the office—
Well, mother, I must close—it is now a little after 10—there is a pleasant breeze blowing in from the river, quite refreshing—Good by for the present, & love to you & all, mother dear.