Your letter rec'd to-day,—I am sorry you didn't go in & read the piece your own self—it has got to be done, speaking in public, & the more you hang back & dread it, the worse it grows—after trying it on once or twice, you find it is nothing to be afraid of—
I have been busy all the forenoon fixing one of my little pieces "How I get around at 60 and take notes" for the N Y paper, the Critic—they give me $10 a piece for them, & want several more—I make use of my notes—at Timber Creek and Glendale and every where—I shall use them in a book at a future time—Hank, dear boy, I hope you are all right again by the time this reaches you—It is now noon & I must get out a bit loc_vm.00200_large.jpg—I went out & took a short stroll, but my knees gave out & I had to turn back—beautiful day here—I saw, had 10 minutes talk with the young lady lives next door but one above us in Stevens street, (I have spoken to you about) a great friend of mine, lived here ever since we have—I think she is the handsomest woman & pleasantest ways for young, I ever knew—full figure, blonde, good hair, teeth, complexion, ab't 19, a worker too, cooks & scrubs, but when she dresses up, she takes the shine off of all—(O that I was young again)—always feel better the whole day, when I can see & talk with her
8½ Evening—after supper, I will finish—Have been over in Phila—went out a ways on Market st cars—nothing to write about particular—Shall be down Friday in the 4½ p.m. train, to Kirkwood—So long, dear son—
W W