I received your welcome letter of Aug. 27th—and also 31st, enclosing Ned Stewarts2—When you write tell Ned I am here in Brooklyn, loafing around—& that I send my love. Pete, there is nothing particular to write about this time—pretty much the same story—every day out on the bay awhile, or going down to Coney Island beach—and every day from two to four or five hours in the printing office—I still keep well & hearty, & the weather is fine—warm through the middle of the day, & cool mornings & nights—
I fall in with quite a good many of my acquaintances of years ago3—the young fellows, (now not so young)—that I knew intimately here before the war—some are dead—& some have got married—& some have grown rich—one of the latter I was up with yesterday & last night—he has a big house on Fifth avenue—I was there to dinner (dinner at 8 p. m.!)—every thing in the loudest sort of style, with wines, silver, nigger waiters, &c. &c. &c. But my friend is just one of the manliest, jovialest best sort of fellows—no airs—& just the one to suit you & me—no women in the house—he is single—he wants me to make my home there—I shall not do that, but shall go there very frequently—the dinners & good wines are attractive—then there is a fine library.
Well, Pete, I am on the second month of my furlough—to think it is almost six weeks since we parted there that night—My dear loving boy, how much I want to see you—it seems a long while—I have rec'd a good letter from Mr. O'Connor,4 & also one from John Rowland5 who is in the office for me. Nothing new in office—Well, Pete, about half our separation is over—the next six weeks will soon pass away—indeed it may be only four, as John Rowland told me he might wish to go away—
Good bye for the present, my loving son, & give my respects to any of the boys that ask about me.
Walt