
Had some oatmeal porridge & tea for breakfast—bladder trouble bad—head stuffy & thick—send off, (at their request) a little thanksgiving poemet to N Y World $10—I shall write & send (perhaps a little poetry cluster) to the Arena monthly—as they have ask'd something—(I am writing a little)—an Englishman Hamilton Aidé, companion & (I believe) secretary of Stanley, has been over to see me—talked well (good, a little passé, genteel) pleasant impression, very eulogistic—belly ache seems to have ab't fizzled out—splendid show here of the brightest prettiest yellow chrysanthemums I ever saw, & white ones too—a fine sunny forenoon but now clouded up & looks like rain or snow—
Have written a poemet "Old Chants" wh' when printed I will send you—(I wanted to bow down to the great old poems more deferentially than ever)—they are going on with the printing R G I's lecture in little book in N Y—the Dec. Lippincotts has this piece I enc: y'r letters rec'd & always welcomed—
I have sent the white (mole color'd) hat over to be dyed black & trimm'd—Have been re-reading that long letter in the old Bury (Eng) paper ab't y'r early explorations—growing colder—I have a good oak fire
Fox's eye glasses to me are failures
Walt Whitman
