Dearest Mother,
    Jeff must have got quite a long letter, (three sheets,) I wrote Thursday or Friday last – nothing particular. This is the fifth letter I have sent with shinplasters in – (Since George's $3 got lost I am more on the alert and mention them) –
    The poor Frenchman d'Almeida I told you about in my last, got out of the Old Capitol prison this morning – has been in a week – it was a most ridiculous thing putting him in – he was as square a man as I am – while he was in, the chief officer of the prison laughed sarcastically one day at his broken English, and d'Almeida said, "Sir you ought not to laugh – you ought much more to weep, to see a poor traveler like me in such a misfortune" – and Mr. Chief Officer immediately called the guard and sent d'Almeida to the guard-house for that awful offense of making such an answer. The guard-house is a nasty, lousy dungeon without light – in it is among the Old Capitol prisoners a little boy of seven years old – he and his father were taken as secesh guerillas in Virginia, and the government is holding on the child, to exchange him for some Union prisoner south, in an exchange. Mother, my heart bleeds at all sorts of such damnable things of one kind or another I meet with every day – it is not the fault of the President – he would not harm any human being – nor of Seward or Stanton – but the