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  Dearest friend

I am spending a few days down at the old farm, "White Horse"—wandering most all day (well clad & shod, for it is cool weather here) about the banks, trees, grass &c. by the very secluded beautiful druidic creek—have just picked up a few leaves that seem'd to offer themselves to send specially to you, which I enclose.

I am feeling middling well, for me. Shall send you word—or rather shall send myself—soon as I come back to town—Meanwhile love to you all—

Walt Whitman