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Well friends all, here I am yet (surely but rather slowly going down hill) not so much very different from of old, but more so—more lame & helpless in body, dimmer in sight & harder in hearing—yet in pretty good spirits—warm & wet weather here, & lots of it—stand it yet here, thro' the summer mostly because I have to & can't help it, but it is very oppressive & stale here much of the time—but it might be much much worse, & I get along—Mrs. D and Ed Wilkins (my nurse) are good & so far I get along fairly with appetite, grub & sleep wh' of course make the foundation of all—

—Herbert comes over quite frequently, & is well & I guess doing well (I hear of you all by him—otherwise you might as well be at the antipodes)—sickness & death are all around me here, & on the houses each side—I sit in the big chair all day & pass away the time as well as I can—

—Dr B is still in Canada—is well—I hear from him often—I had a letter from Ruth enclosed, (tho' I suppose she has written to you)—I send my love to Harry—have not heard from or seen him in a long time—Love to you & George and to Ed & Deb & Van & young Geo & to Jo—not forgetting the children—

Lord bless you all Walt Whitman