Am continuing on here much the same imprisoned in my room and chair and locomotion quite out of the question—mentality and brain action (while easily tired and sore at the best) remain, the muscles, especially my right hand and arm, good—spirits, sleep etc. fair—and the main elementary functions active at least half (or even plus half) to keep off so far my complete down fall.
I believe I told you I am preparing a small handsome pocket book bound edition of L. of G. including the "Sands at 70" and "Backward Glance," as a sort of commemorating my completion of 70th year (May 31, 1889). Shall send you a copy when out. Sarrazin's book is out in Paris—"La Renaissance de la Poésie Anglaise 1798–1889." Papers on Shelley, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Tennyson, Robert Browning and W. W. A handsome 279 pp. book in the beautiful easy handy French style.
Your postal card of two weeks since received—have not heard anything more of "Grashalme" or Rolleston—hear frequently from Dr. Bucke—my dear friend O'Connor at Washington very ill yet—Wm. Walsh on the Herald, and Julius Chambers on the World are friendly to me—I am sitting in my big rattan chair by the oak fire writing this—sit here this way nearly all day—a young man, friend Horace Traubel (of German stock) comes in every day, is very faithful and kind and serves as medium to the printers. Write—
Walt Whitman