Well Christmas has come & nearly gone—I hope you & all have enjoyed it—Superb weather here now two days—My fair feelings continue, & I have had quite a generous slice of turkey with some cranberries for my dinner an hour ago & a cup of coffee—the most of a meal for me for four months—
Every thing quiet here—some visitors, a young Englishman, Rathbone, son of the man of the address on the "nude" I use in my printed piece—& several others—(some of whom I declined)—I rec'd a letter (enclosed) from John Burroughs this morn'g—nothing very new—I wish you to tell me the tariff and freight of the four books, & whether they reach'd you in good order—I have been reading Tolstoi's "Sebastopol Sketches," Englished very well by Frank D. Millet, in a French translation—I found it very absorbing, sharp & hard—with a strongly eulogistic preface by W D Howells—a little book pub'd by Harpers—Horace bro't it to me—8½ Horace pays his welcome evening visit—
Wednesday 26th—10¾ A M
I continue fairly—have had my breakfast, & the fine weather continues—two welcome letters from you this morning's mail—I watch with interest the meter—Gurd fortunes & struggles—Well for now New years—& then 1889—God bless you & yours—
Walt Whitman