
Another perfect sunny day—plenty warm enough—am feeling middling fair—toast, a rare fried egg, & a cup of tea, for breakfast (demolished all)—the vibrating voices of the loud-crying peddlers in the streets, quite a musical study, some of them have wonderfully fine organs as they peal and drawl them along & it is fine, healthy, strengthening, expanding, blood-circulating & blood-clarifying exercising, calling loudly out in the open air this way, throwing the voices out freely, slowly walking along—I almost envy them, (with their cabbages, fish or what not, & their old vehicles & nags.)
Dick Flynn & Ed are over in Phila—I sent Ed for the pictures again—I hope y'rs will come right—Dick is very quiet—we all like him here—he has left & will get there before this—I sent off the little piece to Harper's last evn'g—written in an hour—it is to accompany a fine engraving, "the valley of the shadow of Death"—I ask $25—(of course it may not suit them—we will see)—
Herbert Gil: was here last evn'g. He is very good company— Horace was here—the dinner book will be soon out now—
Saturday—noon—Aug. 31—Suppose Dick has reach'd home by this time—give him my best regards & wishes—rather warmish weather (fine) here—I am middling fairly—have been writing this forenoon— Harper's has accepted the little piece & sent the pay & proof (not to be printed, I fancy, soon)—also just rec'd f'm Century a little eight line poemet proof, "My 71st Year" (I believe for Nov.)—I enclose Pearsall Smith's good letter rec'd last evn'g—they have evidently great inward intestinal agitation & unsettledness in Great Britain, (we too here in America, but our belly is so large)—then the unsettledness on the Continent too—as dear Mrs G. said we are all "going somewhere" indeed—I suppose the dyspeptic Carlyle would say "Yes, to hell"—But per contra old black Sojourner Truth was always saying "God reigns yet I tell you"—
Walt Whitman
