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Suppose you got the little poem in N Y World June 7 I sent—It was specially requested by the editor & written in an hour & a half & sent on to N Y by mail the same even'g 6th—I believe I told you I am to get $25 for it—We are all here yet under the depression of the fearful cataclysm, so deadly, so near—

Cloudy & dull weather—bowel action to day—Y'rs rec'd— I see you like the pocket-b'k ed'n of L of G— yes, I am satisfied with it, everything but the press work—McK's current ed'n including Annex, is well printed—McKay is to start off on a long business & drumming tour west—goes in three weeks, will be away two months—

My worst present botheration is this catarrhal or head gathering, half ache, half heavy weight & discomfort—fortunately I sweat pretty easily & often—I fancy it is good for me—weather variable—coolish just now. I enclose a letter to me from John Burroughs—and one from an old soldier boy—lately rec'd—

Sunday, 9th A M

Rather a warm night—temperature changed greatly at evn'g—but I must have slept fairly—warm to-day here—breakfasted on rice-&-mutton-broth & asparagus & some Graham bread & coffee—fair bowel action this forenoon—rather "under the weather" yesterday & this forenoon, (but of course it will move off cloud like)—

A good Illinoisian & wife came to see me last evening—bo't a big book—(enthusiastic ab't L of G.)—rec'd a letter f'm Mary Costelloe—all well—

I am writing a little—"poemets"—one yesterday—what names (if any) in Canada send me them of great wealthy public bequeathors or benefactors, like our Girard and Johns Hopkins? I want to make a piece ab't them & put names in—

Towards noon—sun out—a fine June day—

W W
  Dear Walt:

Yesterday on my way up to Olive to see my wife's father, who is near the end of his life's journey, I read in the Tribune of the death of Wm O'Connor. I​ It​ was news I had been expecting for some time, yet it was a stunning blow for all that I know how keenly you must feel it, & you have   my deepest sympathy. No words come to my pen adequate to express the sense of the loss we have we suffered in the death of that chivalrous & eloquent soul. How strange that his life has all passed, that I shall see or hear him no more.

And it is sad to me to think that he has left behind him no work or book that at all expresses the measure of his great powers. What  a gift of speech that man had! If you can tell me anything about his last days I shall be very glad to hear it. Also where he is buried.

I am pretty well, & have been immersed in farm work for the past six weeks. We have rented our house to a New York man for 5 months. Julian & I live in the old house with a man who works for me, & Ursula boards in Po'Keepsie. I hope this great heat for  the past few days has not prostrated you. Tell Harry Trauble​ Traubel​ to write to me.

The wave of orchard bloom has just passed over us & the world has been very lovely. Drop me a line my dear friend if you are able to do so.

With the old love John Burroughs
  My Dear Old Friend

The enclosed I clipped from the Inter Ocean today, and as this is my 48th birthday, I am prompted by old recolections​ recollections​ to write you a few lines congratulating you on your 70th birthday. I hope you will long and prosper. This brings me back to 27 years ago when I used to see your sturdy form and kindly face in Washington. I don't know that you will remember me but I think you will. Do you remember the young man of the 5th US Cavalary who you used to visit in Armory Square Hospital and the many times you used to take me into a Restaurant and give me a    good square meal. I suppose you done that to so many you would hardly remember me by that. for all Soldiers know​ known​ to you looked upon you as their friend, for you ever wore your heart on your sleeve to Old Soldier boys. You used to call me Cody then. I well rember​ remember​ the last time I saw you it was in in the street in New York you had a little girl with you at the time, and readily recognised me. Well I have not changed so very much only of course somewhat older. hair sprinkled somewhat with gray. Your hair cannot be much more white than it was in the long ago. I hope you are in good health and may continue so to a good    round old age. for you deserve it well and you also deserve well of your country. for you were ever a friend of the Soldier and of your country. 27 years and what history for the U.S has been written in that time. For the years gone by I have often passed through Camden, and had I known it was your home I should surely have stopped to see you, that I might once more have crasped​ clasped​ you by the hand and looked into that kindly face and fought over our battles (once again) in Washington. I would like very much to hear from you. should you remember me and have the leisure and should I in the future be near  Camden. I will certainly do myself the pleasure of calling on you.

Bleive​ Believe​ me Yours Sincerly​ Sincerely​ MC Reed 222 So Clark st Chicago Ill