I received your letter of Wednesday evening last—I thought it would be very blustering & cold there on the hill this winter, & I know you must have freezing times, especially in the west rooms—We have had a great deal of snow here, & very cold weather. I get along very well, considering.
Mother, I have to inform you that poor Mrs. Grayson has gone at last.1 I wrote in my last letter that I had met her son Willy in the street, Monday Jan. 7, & he told me she was somewhat better—well, it was that very night, she died, & was buried the next Wednesday—they sent me word that the funeral was to be at ½ past 2—but the man didn't tell me any thing about it till 4—so I was not at the funeral—poor woman, she is at rest, & it is a blessed thing for her—she had an easy & peaceful death, I hear—But that devil, old Grayson, it is he that was the cause of her dying—about three days before her death, he had a fight in the house, with his son-in-law—there was great excitement, & Old Grayson put them all out of the house, son-in-law, children, &c—I suppose that hastened Mrs. Grayson's death—I have not been there, but shall go & see poor old Mrs. Mix2—She will not last long now—Old Aunt Kitty, the washwoman, says that Mrs. Grayson spoke much about me, & wanted me to come & see her—but I never knew any thing of it—(Mother, I believe there can be a greater nuisance & devil even than Heyde.)
Well, we are having pretty serious times here, in Congress, &c—I rather think they are going to impeach Johnson & bring him to trial—it is a serious business—I cannot tell how it will turn out—only I know both sides seem determined, & neither will give an inch3—
There have been several died in the hospital, that I was with a good deal, since I last wrote—one of consumption—one of abscess on the liver, very bad—I was down there Sunday afternoon, carried a great big 12 pound cake, for the men's supper—there was a piece for all, & very acceptable—as the supper consisted of plain bread, a thin wash they called tea, & some miserable apple sauce—that was all—I carry a big cake often of Sunday afternoons—I have it made for me by an old mulatto woman, cook, that keeps a stand in the market—it is sort of molasses pound cake, common but good.
I have received a letter from old Uncle Otis Parker, the old man that I got pardoned down at Cape Cod, Mass. He is very grateful.4
Every thing in the office here goes on as usual. I have a little more work to do than I have had. One of the clerks, the youngest, was dismissed, (or suspended,) lately for selling some information about pardons to the Herald—the Attorney Gen'l was very mad about it, & gave him a sharp talking to. We are having quite good sleighing here to-day.
Well good bye, dear mother—& give my love to George, & Jeff, & Matty, & all.5
Walt.