
It is just after noon—raining as if it meant so all day—have had a long hot spell—am getting through it pretty well,—have lived lately on blackberries & bread—bowel action to-day—have just written a little poemet "Sail out for good for aye O mystic yacht of me" for outset of my intended last 12 page copyright Vol. annex concluding L of G. I sit here turning occasionally to the open window to see the thick falling rain—
Walt Whitman
Kennedy has sent H. a piece "W W's Quaker Traits," to be printed—