The letter of the 28th reached me yesterday after going wrong and was truly welcome. (I suppose you rec'd my postal card2 acknowledging your previous one, briefly, & saying I should prefer the upper room.) Since then I have had another bad spell—has lasted some fifteen days—head, legs, gastric region, all bad—but am to-day feeling decidedly better. I shall quite certainly come on—cannot now [pla]n the time, but will write before—& take up my quarters a while with you, as it seems to be agreeable, & the moderate sum you mention I should pay thankfully—Though badly disabled, I am perfectly able to take care of myself, & my sister says I am no trouble—I am sure we would all get along well together—
I have just rec'd a letter from Mrs. O'Connor, from Washington, today. Her daughter, (just 16,) is not well, has had a form of measles, a second attack, quite severe, & is otherwise ailing, but I think will probably come out of it all, & grow stronger. I was glad to hear about your dear grandchildren—and about our friends Mrs. Davis3 & Mrs. Rein4—I am alone, in the house to-day, (except Eddy)—as my sister has gone out to spend the day, & my brother has gone to Easton, about his work. My brother Jeff, at St. Louis, is well—his girls are growing finely.
I am sitting here in the parlor—it is about 11½—the sun has just come out, after a cloudy half-rainy morning—is mild & warm—I go out for about an hour generally about noon, with my cane, (& accompanied by my little yellow & white dog, a most faithful affectionate companion)—frequently take a ride in the cars, or across in the boat—the men quite all know me, & are very kind.
Walt WhitmanAbby—mind the address—your last letter went wrong—had the wrong state—