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Dear Edward Carpenter

I will send a line to you even if but for good love & memories to you—for I have them always for you—Was prostrated down with ab't the sixth recurrent attack of my paralysis again and iron-bound constipation early last June & have been kept ever since in my sick room & am so yet—with even other troubles, a bladder affection, enlarged prostrate glands—a pretty complete physical wreck. Still I keep up a good part of the time—have bro't out a little book "November Boughs" wh' I send a copy to you same mail with this—Also am finishing a big Vol. comprehending all my stuff, poems & prose, makes ab't 900 pages—A good young friend, Horace Traubel here, has help'd me between the printing office, bringing & carrying proofs, &c, so that I have ab't finished these jobs ready for binder—I am still at 328 Mickle Street—have not been out doors for over six months—hardly out my room—Have a good young strong & helper & nurse, Ed Wilkins—But get along better than you might think for—Your friend Mr Williams call'd to-day—Herbert Gilchrist is here at 1708 Chestnut, Philadelphia—he is well & doing well—The Staffords are ab't as usual—they come up here & see me

Friday noon, Dec: 7

I am up, had a partial bath, a bit of breakfast & am now sitting my big chair by the oak wood fire finishing this—fine sunny cold weather—considerable bladder troubles, pains, &c. Send me soon the Misses Fords' address & I will send Nov: Boughs—Love to them—Love to you, dear friend—

Walt Whitman