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Dear friend,

Your letter reached me this afternoon. I am very glad indeed you are coming home—I already make calculations not only of resuming our old talks & good times, but of the much news you will have to tell—also of seeing little Jenny again—dear child, be sure she is not left out of account—Is Mrs. Channing with you then? I send my friendliest remembrances & good wishes. And to my ever dear friends, Mrs. Price & family—you know how much I think of them, & estimate them always, with love & thanks—

It is between two & three o'clock p. m.—We have had a snowy day—as I look out of my window the ground is white in every direction—William has a bad cold, has not been down to work to-day, but has just come down town, & is this moment sitting by my desk, reading the extra Evening Star—the fight between Congress & the President, about Secretary of War, rages furiously—The House will doubtless order impeachment—& we are going to have exciting times generally—but I guess no appeal to arms—

I have heard lately from my dear mother—she is well as usual—Emma Price can tell you more directly about her, as I hear, (to my great pleasure) that she has called on mother once or twice lately. I am well as usual—have not yet rec'd a copy of my English re-print—but hear that one is on the way—Mr. Swinburne, the poet, has sent me a handsome copy of his William Blake containing certain mention of me, which I will show you when you come. Hotten, the London publisher, has written me, very handsomely, offering a fee, on every copy—Rossetti, the editor, has also written me several letters, very satisfactory—I think you will like your apartments, after you get used to them—it is a fresh, sweet, new house—that's a good deal—

And now, dear friend, God bless you & little one, & a safe & speedy return to friends & home.

Walt.