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It is dark & I have had my dinner & am sitting by the fire & gas light—anchor'd & tied in my old big democratic chair & room, the same as all summer, now in the fall & soon the long winter & (if I live) probably through all—I have been occupied most of the afternoon writing my autographs—there are to be 600 for the Edition of my complete writings—it will be ab't 900 pages, & include all—a last few ? revisions (no changes at all, but a few misprints, brokennesses, & errors corrected)—will be an authenticated ed'n—You shall have one—I will send one when ready—It is slow, but I am in no hurry.

Y'r card came this P. M. but no Trans[cript] with notice yet—(will doubtless come to-morrow)—No further word from O'C[onnor]. I wait with anxiety—I told you ab't my dear friend John Burroughs being here—he is now back at West Park—I hear from Dr B[ucke] very often—welcome letters—have been reading Ellis's "Early English Metrical Romances" (Bohn's Ed'n)—Miss Pardoe's Louis XIV, and several Carlyle books including Mrs. C's Letters—Symonds's "Greek Poets" &c—upon the whole, get along & baffle lonesomeness, inertia & the blues. God bless you & the wife—

Walt Whitman