
A warm pleasant clouded day—am feeling fairly—bowel action an hour ago—have been, yesterday 3 hours, signing the autographs for the pocket-book ed'n L of G—the book will probably be a good job except the press work wh' dont suit me—the pictures appear to be all good—(I wanted to send off three or four copies to Europe, & am a little disappointed—I had even a tho't of sending it to the Paris Exposition—of course I shall send one to Sarrazin)—the Critic (18th May) has rather a tame obituary of O'C—I send it to Mrs: O'C:—If you care to see them (the Boston Trans: too) I will ask her to send them to you, to be returned to her—But there is nothing memorable—Horace wrote an obituary & sent but the C[ritic] declined it—
Horace has a situtation in a bank Phila:, likes it I believe—hours &c: easy—Ed is well—is down stairs at his fiddle—I have rec'd a letter from Mrs: Costelloe herewith enc'd—all well—was indoors all yesterday, in the room here—a bad night last—have not used the cal: powders any yet—I will keep them for specially bad spells—sweat freely—appetite good enough—a rare fried egg, graham bread, coffee, & some stew'd rhubarb for breakfast—eyes bad—rain falling copiously as I write—sitting here alone 2d story room—the complimentary dinner (in wh' of course I shall not join—it will be quite a feat to be wheel'd there & show myself—if I do that) is smoothly moving—It is now noon & after, & I thanks to Ed have had my currying of half an hour, for an interregnum—rainy & warm—
Walt Whitman
