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I send Mrs: O'C[onnor]'s letter rec'd this morn'g—welcomed tho' it has not (only indirectly) what I mostly wanted, all ab't, mainly & detailedly O'C's condition & every thing relating to him—(a good strong man nurse he evidently needs at once—my poor lamented friend—it is hard, hard)—

I send Rolleston's short note—What I am specially tickled ab't is that a big five pound book (40 cents postage) goes safe & sure to Co[unty] Wicklow Ireland f'm Jersey here. I also enc: Jo: Gilder's invitation letter, just rec'd. Of course I make no response—

Things nearly the same—not one even of my tolerable days—my head is uncomfortable, half aching & half-deaf—sunny & cold weather—yes, I will send "Magazine of Poetry" back—Horace ask'd last evn'g of y'r definitive date of coming, with reference to fixing for y'r lecture—I am sitting here stupidly all day by the stove

Walt Whitman
 

If things go on as they have for the past week, you will have to think yourself lucky if you get even a postal in ten days. You must remember that I am housekeeper, nurse, marketer, & have to see that the house is decent, if   possible, besides being interrupted at every ten minutes to answer some one who calls from a good motive to ask how Wm. is, but would do better not to come often.

So far I am the only nurse, & if you have been as badly   off as he is, you may have some idea of what it means, in this case it means that I wash & dress him so far as he can be dressed,—wash his urinals, for he has to be protected night & day, from the constant dripping,—& to keep   him at all clean is nearly impossible. Some nights I get not more than four hours sleep & that very broken, & some days not one moment to rest at all. To-day I am nearly blind from loss of sleep. We have some very bad nights since the   attack four weeks ago, & one of the very bad and troublesome developments is the nausea and throwing up, so you see that I am not very idle, & I some days could not write a postal card to save you. You will ask why we don't have a nurse & the   answer is William does not want one, & is not ready yet, [illegible] sends love to you & says tell you he would write if he could.

Good by. As ever — Nelly O'Connor.

I have had to leave this letter six times to do some thing else.

 

The big book with its kind inscription arrived today—I like much the 1 volume plan. Its a book one can walk about in, as in a great land, & see things of inexhaustible meaning and promise—And time for this line now, to acknowledge—

Ever yrs T. W. Rolleston  
  Dear W. Whitman:

The 22d of February (Washington's Birthday) being the seventieth anniversary of the birth of Mr. James Russell Lowell, it is our intention to publish on that date a number of The Critic consisting mainly of personal estimates of, and greetings to, the distinguished poet, satirist and statesman.

Should you care to make the tribute a more memorable one by adding your congratulations to those of the other distinguished men and women whose names will appear in this special number, we should esteem it a privilege & make room  for as many words—or as few—as you may care to write.

We need hardly add that Mr. Lowell knows nothing of the intended compliment, which we trust will surprise as much as it must please him.

Whatever you may send should reach us by Feb. 19.

Very sincerely yours, Joseph B. Gilder