
I got your card of the 19th, (last Thursday's) and was greatly cheered and comforted thereby—the hand writing was so bold and vigorous. I had been feeling depressed and sorrowful—perhaps
my own bad state had something to do with it; but anyhow, the brave hand-writing was like Chevy Chace to Sidney,
"stirring my heart as with the sound of a trumpet." Since, I saw an item in a paper reporting you better, and am much encouraged. Strong
hope is like strong prayer, and I shall hope for you strongly.
I have sent the "Today" to Dr. Bucke. The article was pleasing.
One of the Transcripts you sent, had a characteristic speech by Littlebill Winter. He is certainly the winter of my discontent mentioned by Lord Bacon in his play of Richard III. Small beast! It makes me sad to think how the Devil will suffer when he gets him. For spite of his faults, the prince of darkness is a gentleman, and how can he endure such company!

I hear from Bucke pretty often. He is surely a saint.
We had had heavenly weather until yesterday, which was a swelterer. But today is good again.
I have been overrun this week, but held back the flying hour by the hair today, just to send you this note.
I had a nice letter this morning from Mr. Traubel, to whom I will write soon.
I hope this will find you comfortable. Au revoir.
Always affectionately W.D. O'Connor Walt Whitman.