It is splendid here this forenoon—bright and cool. I was out early taking a short walk by the river—only two squares from where I live. I received your letter of last Monday2—also the Star same date—& glad enough to hear from you—the oftener the better. Every word is good—I sent you a letter, on the 6th, which I suppose you rec'd next day. Tell Henry Hurt I received his letter of Oct. 5 all right, & that it was welcome. Political meetings here every night. The coming Pennsylvania & Ohio elections cause much talk & excitement. The fall is upon us. Overcoats are in demand. I already begin to think about my return to Washington. A month has nearly passed away. I have received an invitation from a gentleman & his wife, friends of mine, at Providence, R. I.3 & shall probably go there & spend a few days, latter part of October.
I am grateful to these young men on the RR. for their love & remembrance to me—Dave,4 & Jim & Charley Sorrell, Tom Hassett, Harry on No. 11.
Every day I find I have plenty to do—every hour is occupied with something. Shall I tell you about it, or part of it, just to fill up? I generally spend the forenoon in my room, writing &c., then take a bath, fix up & go out about 12, & loafe somewhere, or call on some one down town, or on business, or perhaps if it is very pleasant & I feel like it, ride a trip with some driver-friend on Broadway from 23d street to Bowling Green, three miles each way. You know it is a never-ending amusement & study & recreation for me to ride a couple of hours, of a pleasant afternoon, on a Broadway stage in this way. You see everything as you pass, a sort of living, endless panorama—shops, & splendid buildings, & great windows, & on the broad sidewalks crowds of women, richly-dressed, continually passing, altogether different, superior in style & looks from any to be seen any where else—in fact a perfect stream of people, men too dressed in high style, & plenty of foreigners—& then in the streets the thick crowd of carriages, stages, carts, hotel & private coaches, & in fact all sorts of vehicles & many first-class teams, mile after mile, & the splendor of such a great street & so many tall, ornamental, noble buildings, many of them of white marble, & the gayety & motion on every side—You will not wonder how much attraction all this is, on a fine day, to a great loafer like me, who enjoys so much seeing the busy world move by him, & exhibiting itself for his amusement, while he takes it easy & just looks on & observes.5 Then about the Broadway drivers, nearly all of them are my personal friends. Some have been much attached to me, for years, & I to them. But I believe I have already mentioned them in a former letter. Yesterday I rode the trip I describe with a friend, on a 5th Avenue stage, No. 26—a sort [of] namesake of yours, Pete Calhoun.6 I have known him 9 or 10 years. The day was fine, & I enjoyed the trip muchly. So I try to put in something in my letters to give you an idea of how I pass part of my time, & what I see here in N. Y. Of course I have quite a variety—some four or five hours every day I most always spend in study, writing, &c. The other serves for a good change. I am writing two or three pieces.
I am having finished about 225 copies of Leaves of Grass bound up, to supply orders. Those copies form all that is left of the old editions. Then there will be no more in the market till I have my new & improved edition set up & stereotyped, which it is my present plan to do the ensuing winter at my leisure in Washington.7
Mother is well, I take either dinner or supper with her every day. Remember me to David Stevens & John Towers.8 Tell Harry on No 11 I will go [to] the Hall again & see if I can find that man in the Sheriff's office.9 I send you my love, & so long for the present. Yours for life, dear Pete, (& death the same).