I returned last evening from a jaunt to the country—feel middling well again (about half-&-half)—after a bad spell during March & most of April—thought I was going to have a relapse to my old state, but the doctors say it was either only or mostly a bad case of rheumatism—(the best point about which seems to be that if it be ever so bad a devil itself, it generally keeps the coast clear of all other devils)—However, I am better at this writing, & look forward to a tolerably fair summer—
The "Poetry of America" arrived, & I am well content & pleased with the part I am made to bear in it—Surely you have made a capital compilation & condensation—the best thing of its sort & size I have seen—
Our friends the Gilchrists have broken camp in Philadelphia, & gone (more or less temporarily) to Northampton, Mass:—You will probably soon hear from (perhaps see) Herbert, the artist, the son—
I enclose a little printed slip—(or did I send it you before?)—Since my late sick spell, it is not so likely the programme will be carried out—but I want to go about somewhat this summer—
With Love— Walt Whitman