
Am feeling fairly (almost plus as I write)—hot weather here now the second day—the sweat oozes out of me—a good normal bowel voidance yesterday & another to day—had a nice drive (took Mrs. Davis) out yesterday to the Cemetery & through the woody lane & around a little—so hot to-day I defer it till sunset, when I shall get out in the wheel chair—Warren has gone over to the head masseur of Dr Mitchell's Orthopedic Hospital (Mr Ward) to take further lessons & practical example in massaging—they are using him very well—had strawberries & Graham bread for my breakfast—Eakins the artist was here this forenoon—nothing new—enclose John Swinton's card f'm London, where he & Mrs: S now are—Alys Smith leaves to-morrow, goes to England—Mary's little girl is well—Logan is coming home to Grosvenor Road for a while—RPS has (or has had) a spell of the gout—have sold two of the big books & two of the morocco L of G & got the pay—have not written any thing nor sent off any thing (that rejection by the Century seems to be a sort of douche of very cold water right in the face, wh' somehow I don't get over)—Hope this will find you well back, & all well family & at the Asylum—
We have seldom had such hot days here as yesterday & to-day—
Walt Whitman
