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Rec'd yours to-day—Sorry you didnt​ didn't​ get the letter sent that day I met you, as I wanted you to have it particular—but perhaps it has come to hand—that it went to Berlin p. o. I have no doubt, as I mailed it myself, addressed it to you "care of Sheriff Gibbs" same as this envelope—

I hear Ed has sold the nag, & gone off to seek his fortune, newspaper canvassing &c.—Whether he will make much money or not, I dont​ don't​ know, but I feel sure he will learn a good deal & get experience of the world & people, & of himself too—all of which is the wisdom described in scripture as better than riches—rec'd a long letter from Herbert Gilchrist, to-day—he seems to be well, & working away hard at his painting—he describes to me some of his new pictures—says his mother was temporarily quite unwell, when he wrote—Edward Carpenter was visiting them—has a big beard—

Nothing new with me—I keep well as usual—you say when I have a blue spell I must write to you—I don't have any such spells—& seems to me it is time you grew out of them—my theory is that it is in onesself​ one's self​ and not from outside circumstances one suffers such unhappy hours—the more one yields to them the frequenter & stronger they get until at last they take complete possession of a fellow—Harry dear, you are a good wrestler—see if you cant​ can't​ throw them & keep 'em thrown—

But I ought to write you something cheerful—I have been in all day—quite a deep snow & the wind blowing—I here in my big rocking chair at a job writing—Oscar Wilde sent me his picture yesterday, a photo a foot & a half long, nearly full length, very good—

As this letter has little or nothing in it I suppose it will be sure to reach you & not miss—like the other I wanted you to get—

Your old W W