I suppose Nelly has received a letter from me posting you up of my doings, &c. Any letters that come to me, up to Saturday next, please send on here. After that, do not send any, as I shall return Monday or Tuesday next. The weather here the last three days is very unpleasant, sloppy & thick. I was at the opera last night, Trovatore2—very, very good singing & acting—
I feel to devote myself more to the work of my life, which is making poems. I must bring out Drum Taps. I must be continually bringing out poems—now is the hey day. I shall range along the high plateau of my life & capacity for a few years now, & then swiftly descend. The life here in the cities, & the objects, &c of most, seem to me very flippant & shallow somehow since I returned this time—
My New York boys are good, too good—if I staid here a month longer I should be killed with kindness—The great recompense of my journey here is to see my mother so well, & so bravely sailing on amid many troubles & discouragements like a noble old ship—My brother Andrew is bound for another world—he is here the greater part of the time—
Charley, I think sometimes to be a woman is greater than to be a man—is more eligible to greatness, not the ostensible article, but the real one. Dear comrade, I send you my love, & to William & Nelly, & remember me to Major [Hapgood]3—
Walt