_Saturday evening, Jan. 3_ [1863.] I write this in the place where I have my lodging-room, 394 L street, 4th door above 14th street. A friend of mine, William D. O'Connor,[10] has two apartments on the 3rd floor, very ordinarily furnished, for which he pays the _extra_ordinary price of $25 a month. I have a werry little bedroom on the 2nd floor. Mr. and Mrs. O'Connor and their little girl have all gone out "down town" for an hour or two, to make some Saturday evening purchases, and I am left in possession of the premises--so I sit by the fire, and scribble more of my letter. I have not heard anything from dear brother George since I left the camp last Sunday morning, 28th Dec. I wrote to him on Tuesday last. I wish to get to him the two blue woolen shirts Jeff sent, as they would come very acceptable to him--and will try to do it yet. I think of sending them by mail, if the postage is not more than $1.
Yesterday I went out to the Campbell hospital to see a couple of Brooklyn boys, of the 51st. They knew I was in Washington, and sent me a note, to come and see them. O my dear sister, how your heart would ache to go through the rows of wounded young men, as I did--and stopt to speak a comforting word to them. There were about 100 in one long room, just a long shed neatly whitewashed inside. One young man was very much prostrated, and groaning with pain. I stopt and tried to comfort him. He was very sick. I found he had not had any medical attention since he was brought there; among so many he had been overlooked; so I sent for the doctor, and he made an examination of him. The doctor behaved very well--seemed to be anxious to do right--said that the young man would recover; he had been brought pretty low with diarrhoea, and now had bronchitis, but not so serious as to be dangerous. I talked to him some time--he seemed to have entirely given up, and lost heart--he had not a cent of money--not a friend or acquaintance. I wrote a letter from him to his sister--his name is John A. Holmes, Campello, Plymouth county, Mass. I gave him a little change I had--he said he would like to buy a drink of milk when the woman came through with milk. Trifling as this was, he was overcome and began to cry. Then there were many, many others. I mention the one, as a specimen. My Brooklyn boys were John Lowery, shot at Fredericksburg, and lost his left forearm, and Amos H. Vliet--Jeff knows the latter--he has his feet frozen, and is doing well. The 100 are in a ward, (6), and there are, I should think, eight or ten or twelve such wards in the Campbell hospital--indeed a real village. Then there are 38 more hospitals here in Washington, some of them much larger.