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  You dear (young) old F'ellow:—

I was just feeling to-day a lack in my soul—a gap—an idea that you had not been heard from—when—comes yr card. I had no idea O'C. wd have 'fits' It seems terrible. The letter I sent Burrougs​ Burroughs​ contained so cheery news that this last is an unpleasant surprise. Well this is the worst month in the year. Let us wait patiently for god's (nature's) grass & dandelions again. Death is no evil to good or bad.

I am reading Browning still; manage to extract considerable from his rubbish; he is a great fellow for subtle soul-searchings, & delvings in the past. But I can't heartily love any except our kind of men—cheerful—the Scotts, George Sands, Homer, Emerson, &c. Browning deals in the sad & horrible almost—[illegible]

By the way, I am feeling deep sympahty  for poor Frank Sanborn. I suppose you saw the notice that his son—a promising young fellow, 23 or so, committed suicide. Do you suppose it was love & money combined—the cause—? He was writing a little for Springfield Republican. Sanborn père had a col. in that paper about him, giving extracts from his verse-poems. They were real pretty, unusually good, in some respects. Sanborn seems to be having a tough time these days. May his philosophy & well stored literary mind stand him well now!

Burroughs—has he gone into burrow? In one of his dark mumpish spells, think you? He don't answer me. I sent him a ply of new kind of wheat coffee some months ago & got a good letter. I send him a Transcript occasionally, with horticultural report. (I can't realize that you have been shut up there so long. You are a hero. I tho't you never cd stand it not to get to nature. Keep heart.)

I continue at my typographical business

Hope I hear from Paisley in a fortnight

goodnight & love—gloomy Sunday yesterday (outside) W. S. Kennedy