I am still well, for me, & having good (or at any rate not ill) times—Return'd from Kirkwood yesterday1—Am there half the time—(have a room all to myself, good bed, good stove, &c)—Must tell you about Herb's picture, he calls September Days—(name not very good, but will do)—Picture itself, in my opinion, very good, the best he has painted, such opulence, mellowness of color that would be your first feeling, & would fill you as it did me—it is a very simple scene (story) only well shaded opening in the creek, with water 'way to the foreground, & five or six ducks & drakes—foliage meeting at top, no sky, every thing very broad, foliage in masses, all the handling easy & large, yet sufficiently defined—really a fine, original, rich picture, & in treatment no following of any thing Herb has done before2—
Our folks are well as usual—(it is toward noon)—My sister is off to church somewhere—brother down stairs balancing his acct's —I up here in my 3d story front room writing this—the Nov. wind whistling sharp, but sun shining—
The Staffords about as usual—crops & every thing pretty fair this fall, with them—Mrs S keeps about, works hard, devotes all to her family & friends, (woman like)—Debby & her husband all right—Harry well & at work at printing—I saw Arthur Peterson,3 they are all well—Return me Tennyson's and John Burroughs' letters—(no hurry though, only be careful of T's)—Best love—
W WTennyson's letter was delayed, sent back as you will see—I only rec'd it a week ago4—