
Sunday night—Oct: 27—Strange I did not get word by to-night's mail of the arrival of Ed or y'r picture-packet I sent—due by noon 21st—& y'r letter 25th rec'd to-night—a dull day no visitors—I wriggle f'm the chair to the bed—read & write &c &c—but keep up pretty good spirits— will see what to-morrow brings forth—
Oct: 28—It is near noon—Yrs of 26th rec'd—Give my best remembrance and love to Pardee, to Maurice, and to Dr. Beemer—want to hear soon as Ed W arrives whether the packet of pictures reaches you in good order—you will see Tennyson's "Throstle" in one of the papers I sent—I send you last Critic—(I think there is more piled on & more honey plaster'd, on Fields's Hawthorne and Dickens papers in the "yesterdays" than I said—they are both good tho')—
I enclose a "Viking Age" notice—my tho't is we are (myself among the rest) more genesis'd f'm those far-back Danes and Norwegians than we have any idea of, or have allow'd for—Dull and heavy & alone yesterday & to-day—head in a rather bad way—dark & half-rainy weather continued—am writing a little but not feeling ab't it—is now 2 P M—no Horace yesterday—
Walt Whitman
