
I ought to have written to you before—but I believe lazy & listless fits grow stronger & frequenter on me as I get older—& then I dont do anything at all, especially just the things I ought to do—But I often, often think of you boy, & let that make it up. I certainly am feeling better this winter,—more strength to hold out,—walking or like, than for nearly now four years—bad enough yet, but still decidedly better—(My loving boy I underscore the words, for I know they will make you feel good, to hear)

I heard about the accident on the road at the time two weeks ago—& was uneasy enough until I heard definite particulars—such things seem the fortune of RR travel, which I sometimes think more risky than the "fortune of war," which the knowing ones know well is more chance & accident (I mean the victory in battles) than it is generalship—
—Pete I am sitting up here alone in my room, 8 o'clock p m, writing this—I am feeling quite comfortable—I stood the cold snap of the last three days very well—to-day has been moderate & nice here—Nothing new or special in my affairs—I am selling a few of my books (the new 2 Vol. 10 dollar edition) from time to time—mostly to English & Irish purchasers—it is quite funny how many of my books are sent for from Ireland—
Love to you dearest son— Walt