
Bight, cool, pleasant days and frosty nights here now-a-days. Plenty work and no news. Hardly any time for reading.
Have been writing letters and seeing sick folk all day—when I write this line shall jump into buggy and have an hour's drive:—quite a long letter from Wallace a couple of days ago (but I think I referred to it in my last) he likes the tomb very much.
I had a letter from Col. Ingersoll (sent it to Horace, perhaps he will show it you) re my Montreal address. The Col. was very complimentary—seemed to like the address immensely
Love to you, dear Walt, R M Bucke