Y'rs regularly rec'd & welcom'd (I often send them afterward to Dr Bucke, Canada)—
I am still here, no very mark'd or significant change or happening—fairly buoyant spirits &c—but surely slowly ebbing—at this moment sitting here in my den Mickle Street by the oak wood fire, in the big strong old chair with wolf-skin spread over back—bright sun, cold, dry winter day—America continues generally busy enough all over her vast demesnes (intestinal agitation I call it)—talking, plodding, making money, every one trying to get on—perhaps to get toward the top—but no special individual signalism—(just as well I guess)—I write without any particular purpose, but I tho't I w'd show you I appreciate y'r kindness & remembrance—The two slips enclosed you are at liberty to do what you like with—affectionate remembrance to the dear sister—
Walt Whitman