A Sick Spell
Christmas Day, 25th Dec., 1888.—Am somewhat easier and freer to-day and the last three days—sit up most of the time—read and write, and receive my visitors. Have now been in-doors sick for seven months—half of the time bad, bad, vertigo, indigestion, bladder, gastric, head trouble, inertia—Dr. Bucke, Dr. Osler, Drs. Wharton and Walsh—now Edward Wilkins my help and nurse. A fine, splendid, sunny day. My “November Boughs” is printed and out; and my “Complete Works, Poems and Prose,” a big volume, 900 pages, also. It is ab’t noon, and I sit here pretty comfortable.