
toward sunset—have been reading over y'r good letter of June 9th again & it seems to put me among you all again—I send my best loving greetings again to you all—as I wrote ab't two weeks ago & mailed a copy of Dr Bucke's book to you & have sent papers &c—Have they come right?—Just finish'd my supper, quite hearty, (only take two meals a day, no dinner) blackberries rice some potatoes & onions & a little meat—appetite good enough—digestion fair—shall get out presently in wheel chair for an hour or two—this is the third day of perfect summer weather—(very hot before)—all prosperous—
23d—1½PM—have pass'd my forenoon rather monotonously (yet not unpleasantly) reading the morning papers & idling—no letters by mail this morn'g—one comes tho' just here f'm a Boston friend who has been out a thousand miles northwest (Minnesota) & stopt to see Dr Bucke (London, Canada,) & gives me a good acc't of all—America is intense great activity & prosperity—the west & northwest above all—that way (perhaps) danger lies—I am sure the main bulk (torso) of the people U S north & south is sane & essentially right & fair & sensible—but the special political & literary types either bad or distorted—or rather we are passing thro' some (perhaps inevitable) bad stages—I guess we all have to confront such—nations or individuals & get along with them as we can—most likely profit by them—As I sit here alone, in my big old 2d story room "den," my young nurse man is down stairs practising & playing his fiddle—my housekeeper has gone for the day over to Philadelphia (over by ferry boat & horse cars) & here I sit writing to you all—I want to hear specifically whether my books & papers & what of them reach you safely—
Dear friends God bless you all— Walt WhitmanI wonder if we shall ever meet—but n'importe—I have put myself in L of G & you have that—no news yet of Mr Bury—


