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  Dear TD

I am here imprison'd yet in my sick room—don't get any thing that can be call'd a set back (yet)—but physical weakness & disability remain fully the same as ever, & I can't get out, or even around the house—take no medicine—am free from any pronounc'd pain &c—Best love to you & all—

W W

What has become of Clayton Peirson the young fellow that came over to see me sixteen or eighteen months ago?

I have a copy of my big 900 Vol. "Complete Poems & Prose" (plain bound) for you—& I think Ed Wilkins will bring it over to you ab't noon to-morrow Tuesday