Eliza writes Jan. 29, ‘62:
Mother, Hatty and Charley arrived last night in the middle of the storm and mud. Mother is now writing at the table with me, while H. is gazing admiringly at a group of Irish Brigadiers at the door. Charley is out somewhere, and is to meet the rest of us in the Senate Chamber at noon. We are cosily settled and having a very nice time. The roads are almost impassable owing to melting snow and frost and incessant rain. J.’s last ride back to camp the other day was very hard. He and the General floundered about in mud “like unfathomable chewed molasses candy,” and stumbled against the stumps till darkness overtook them before they reached camp. Reports are brought in of private carriages abandoned along the road, and one—Mrs. Judge Little’s—was fairly dragged in two by a government team which tried to haul it out of a hole. J. says we must not think of coming out to camp.
