I suppose it must look fine down there after the heavy rain last night—we had it here nearly all night, pouring & thundering—along the Hudson in New York it was a furious hailstorm, destroyed all the growing fruit & grain—
Nothing very new with me—the big Boston house has sent me word that they will publish my book for me—& I have sent them back word that I must have a bigger percentage than they offer—So that's the way it stands now—I find I can have them publish it, if I choose, but I suppose I am getting pretty lofty in my old days & must have my own terms, & pretty good ones too—
I am feeling pretty well—I think my last visit down there did me good, real good after all—it has been very hot & unpleasant ever since I came up, till last night, but is now very nice, & a prospect of some pleasant days, sufficiently cool—
I am alone in the house, have been all day—My sister went out with a number of lady friends to spend the day in Fairmount Park, & have dinner there, & a sort of woman spree among themselves—I got my dinner myself—cooked it by the gas stove, & eat it in delightful company, viz: myself!
I have got a long letter from Edward Carpenter, he has quite a good deal to say of the death of his mother—she was quite worn out, died three or four months ago—he is living with a friend, a farmer & his wife—his address is Bradway, near Sheffield, England—
There has been the most terrible accident up at Dr Bucke's town in Canada, a crowded steamboat capsized & over 200 drowned—I knew several—none of Dr B's folks however—Well I suppose you are in the agonies of the church festival—how did Wm Heiniken's affair turn out?—I hope Theodore is most well by this time—I may go on to New York for a short visit—if not I shall come down soon, for two or three days—will send you word—
Walt Whitman