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  My dear friend

I am sitting here in my little front room down stairs writing this—a good fire in the stove—It is cold & cloudy outside, & the day is drawing to a close—Two visitors from Phila:​ have been to see me—two youngish middle-aged ladies, one an artist & the other[—]I knew her years ago in Washington—Marie Le Baron then[—]a writer—the latter married to her second husband, (the first one dead)—now Mrs: Urie, a little bit of a body, but a great talker full of life & good sense & good nature (like the best goods done up in small parcels)—I have not been out all day—wish I could just come in & spend the evening & take supper with you all.—If it is any thing like fair weather next Sunday, shall be down ab't​ the usual time—but if it is stormy or very cold, don't look for me—Ed, I gave your gloves to Billy, ten days ago to take to you, so I suppose you have them long before this—Went to dinner New Years to Dr. Shivers,—had a first rate time—   & Sunday to Col & Mrs. Scovel's also to dinner—Have not heard any thing further from Herbert—Often think of Mrs. Gilchrist—(I have a good photo. of her)—Do you remember that day—last of May '77 I think—she & her two daughters came down to see us, & me down at the pond, under the old oak tree?—Ah that old pond & the banks, & the old lane—I shall never forget them—Shall never forget you & George, & all of you, either—Love to you all, & God bless you—

Walt Whitman

Shall be down Sunday if the weather is tolerable—if not not