The days go along with me pretty much after the old sort, though I dont get my strength yet, nor feel as well as I did in the fall & early winter—I busy myself writing some & reading a little—am doing quite well with my books, & have been all winter—when the weather permits I try to get out, but my strength soon fails me—has been so now five or six weeks & gets no better, but I am in hopes things will take a turn—
loc_jc.00502_large.jpgHas been a pleasant Sunday here, coolish but sunny and calm—O how I wished I could put in the whole day down at G—but I think of coming down next Friday to stay two or three days at any rate—a friend of mine here about my age, died suddenly yesterday, Judge Woodhall—I thought him the best man in Camden—do you know Mrs Gilchrist has been very sick indeed, five or six months? & is not over it yet—I got a long letter from her last week—Susan I am afraid this is not a very lively letter—I have just had my supper, & feel as loc_jc.00503_large.jpgwell as usual, & have no trouble particular to worry me, but I am sitting here up in my room alone, & have been all day, & feel kind of dull & companionless—
Susan I suppose you got the letter I sent you about twelve days ago—I also sent one to Harry about a week ago which he has not yet acknowledged—Well it is ½ past 8, & the moon is shining, & I will go out & put this miserable letter in the box, & then take a few minutes walk around, & see if it makes me feel any livelier—How is George getting along?—Harry told me he loc_jc.00504_large.jpgwas having a pretty good winter—has he drunk up the little bottle of Whiskey? Well there wasn't more than two or three good drinks any how—I shall be down next Friday in the 4½ afternoon train to Kirkwood, if it don't storm pretty bad
Walt Whitman