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The sun is out again after three days—good temperature, neither hot nor cold to-day—I neither improve nor really go back—Keep my room rigidly yet—have had today a bowel movement—& sit up most of the time—eat my meals sufficiently—take no brain grip (real writing, reading, examining proofs) definitely yet, (nor any thing like it plainly as of old)—

I will very soon send proof pages onward following from "Sands at Seventy" for proof pieces of ab't 50 pages further—(you have now ab't 40 proof pages)—Of course I have for all June stopp'd writing the Herald bits—& the H. paper ceases by mail wh' is just as satisfactory—I have written, formally completed &c. the will document (witnessed by ocular witnesses as this state statute requires) and the designation of my copyrights to be supervised by you, Harned and Horace Traubel—& now when "Nov. Boughs" are completed—all will be attended to, the same—

Sunday afternoon early July 1

Feeling miserably to-day so far—am sitting up—not rain but cloudy and cool and raw—bad feeling in belly and head regions, all day so far—had the preluded coca-wine, & then my breakfast, moderate—pretty good spirits—Mrs Davis has been up ten minutes, good company, good gossip—a pretty rose-bouquet from Agnes Traubel—Tom Harned ret'd last evn'g from NY three days (likes NY much)—

I am wretchedly weak in knees & anything like body strength—tho pretty good arm muscular hold as I hold on—

Love to you & to Mrs. B & the childer— Walt Whitman