Yours of the 28th Feb. 1 rec'd , & indeed welcomed & appreciated. I am jogging along still about the same in physical condition—still certainly no worse, & I sometimes lately suspect rather better, or at any rate more adjusted to the situation—Even begin to think of making some move, some change of base, &c. (the doctors have been advising it for over two years, but I hav'n't felt to do it, yet.) My paralysis does not lift—I cannot walk any distance—I still have this baffling, obstinate, apparently chronic affection of the stomachic apparatus & liver—Yet, (as told in former letters) I get out doors a little every day—write & read, in moderation—appetite sufficiently good, (eat only very plain food, but always did that)—digestion tolerable—& spirits unflagging. (As said above, I have told you most of this before, but suppose you might like to know it all again, up to date.) Of course, & pretty darkly coloring the whole, are bad spells, prostrations, some pretty grave ones, intervals—& I have resigned myself to the certainty of permanent incapacitation from solid work—but things may continue at least in this half-and-half way, for months—even years.
My books are out, the new edition, a set of which, immediately on 'receiving your letter' of 28th, I have sent you (by mail March 15)2 & I suppose you have before this rec'd them.
My dear friend, your offers of help, & those of my other British friends, I think I fully appreciate, in the right spirit, welcome & acceptive—leaving the matter altogether in your & their hands—& to your & their convenience, discretion, leisure & nicety—Though poor now even to penury I have not so far been deprived of any physical thing I need or wish whatever—& I feel confident I shall not, in the future. During my employment of seven years or more in Washington after the war (1865–'72) I regularly saved a great part of my pri.00016.002_large.jpgwages—& though the sum has now become about exhausted, by my expenses of the last three years—there are already beginning at present welcome dribbles hitherward from the sales of my new edition which I just job & sell, myself, (as the book agents here for 3 years in New York have successively, deliberately, badly cheated me)3 & shall continue to dispose of the books myself. And that is the way I should prefer to glean my support—In that way I cheerfully accept all the aid my friends find it convenient to proffer (Prof. Dowden has sent me the money for seven sets—which I have forwarded to him at Dublin.4 I wish you to loan this letter to him to read.) I wish you to notify me—by postal card will do—soon as you receive your books sent on the 15th—I wish you also to loan this letter to Mrs. Gilchrist, first of all. I shall write to her to-day or to-morrow—but briefly.
To repeat a little, & without undertaking details, understand, dear friend, for yourself & all, that I heartily & most affectionately thank my British friends, & that I accept their sympathetic generosity in the same spirit in which I believe (nay, know) it is offered—that though poor I am not in want—that I maintain good heart & cheer—& that by far the most satisfaction to me (& I think it can be done, & believe it will be,) will be to live, as long as possible, on the sales, by myself, of my own works—& perhaps, if practicable, by further writings for the press.
Walt WhitmanThere is a small fury & much eructive spitting & sputtering already among the "literary coteries" here from Robt Buchanan's lance-slash at them anent of me, in his letter in the London D. News, of March 13,5 (synopsis cabled here to Associated press, & printed everywhere)—the "coteries" resenting it madly by editorials here & there already in the papers—they fall to berating R. B. first, & then me—say, if I were sick, or were poor, why then,—&c. &c. &c
(If convenient, I should like to have this letter loaned to Mr. Buchanan also. I am prohibited from writing too much, & I must make this candid statement of the situation serve for all my dear friends over there.)6