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Brooklyn,
Friday forenoon, March 22.

Dear Pete,

I rec'd your letter yesterday. Pete you must be quite steady at work, & no time to spare. Well, perhaps it is just as satisfactory, considering all things. The cold weather has just kept on here, as before—cold enough all the time—and then a spell of damned bitter, stinging cold, every now and then extra—not one single mild, warm day since I have been home—six weeks—

—I am middling well, go out some every day, but not much—Best thing is my eating & sleeping—I fall back on them altogether—I sleep splendid, have a good bed, plenty of cover—get up pretty early though & make the fire, & set things a going, before mother comes out—she has had some bad times with rheumatism, &c—one hand & arm quite disabled—still she is very cheerful, looks well in the face, & does more work cooking &c. than most young women—We have grand breakfasts, buckwheat cakes, coffee, &c. eggs, &c—just wish you could come in mornings & partake—We two always breakfast together, & it is first rate—So you see I fall back on sleeping & eating, (as I said)—Should be glad to see Parker Milburn—hope he will call to-day—I send you a paper by mail

—Well Pete I believe that is all, this time. Good bye, my darling son—So the new shirts turn out a success do they? I have a great mind to be jealous—Give my love to Wash Milburn, Adrian Jones, & all the RR boys.

Your loving old
Walt