A storm of rain, thunder, and lightning. The streets are
converted into watercourses. From the country we hear of bridges washed away by
inundations, and roads rendered impassable. Accounts from the South are gloomy,
but the turba Remi in Willard's are as happy as ever, at least as noisy
and as greedy of place. By-the-by, I observe that my prize-fighting friend of
the battered nose has been rewarded for his exertions at last. He has been
standing drinks all round till he is not able to stand himself, and he has
expressed his determination never to forget all the people in the passage. I
dined at the Legation in the evening, where there was a small party, and
returned to the hotel in torrents of rain.
SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and
South, p. 71
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