Dear Pete,¹

Well here I am back again in New York—Have had a pleasant trip down east—went down the bay there after I wrote you last—& also a visit around among the factories of Rhode Island. Some of them are very large—regular little towns. The Spragues, two brothers,² employ 7000 workmen in their factories alone. Some of the owners are men of immense wealth. I write this early in the forenoon, sitting in my room in 55th street, after breakfast. As to getting my leave extended so that I might stay to vote, I have settled (as I spoke of in a former letter)³ to pair off with a friend of mine here who was going to vote for Seymour, and return on time. The weather is cool & clear to-day. I shall probably not make out much [of] a letter to you this time, Pete, as I feel rather stupid yet this morning. I guess I slept too hard, or perhaps, as they say, I got up wrong end foremost. But I thought I would write one more letter, for the last. I believe it is about the eleventh. I hope you have enjoyed reading them as much as I have writing them—for that, I have enjoyed. You too have done first rate, & have sent me as many as I have you, and good letters too. I am now going out down town, & across to Brooklyn, to spend a few hours with my mother. I don't know whether I told you that my sister with her two young children from St. Louis, arrived the night before I left N. Y. & will stop with mother this fall & winter—her health is not very good.⁴

I shall return 26th. Take care of yourself. Dear Pete, we will soon be together again.