Your letter of July 17, from near Wiemar has just reached me. I am still here in Camden, & shall probably remain permanently. I do not recover my health—for over two months past have been worse than ever, but feel better to–day, as I write—(if it would only continue)—I have pretty much given up all prospect of going out again in the world, as an active worker—& the best I look for is to keep up, by care & moderation, & have the use of my mind as so far, with the partial use of my physical powers, for whatever term of life I have yet to live. I still go out in the open air a little, talk, & keep in good spirits.
I have just sent you a paper with a long piece in, that may give you more particulars about me.2 Write often as you can—your English I get the meaning of very well, & I am quite lonesome here. (All the letters you have ever sent—& papers, sheets, &c—have quite certainly reach'd me—I have a large bundle of them.)
As I write, I sit here by my open window—it is very pleasant, plenty of trees & foliage, (though I live in a street, in a city) warm, but a slight rain, just now—I have been out, this forenoon, riding in a street car—& to the printing office, where I am printing a little book, my War–Hospital Memoranda of ten & twelve years since. When finished I will send it to you. Also "Two Rivulets," you see mentioned in the paper.
Your brief words about Wiemar, only made me want more.3 Every thing now going on about literature or authors, or subjects appertaining to them, in the Old World, (Denmark included of course,) is more interesting to me than you might suppose. I have been in hopes of hearing from Elster4. I wonder if he got the letter & papers I sent him—If any Dane you know is coming to America, (if convenient,) give him my address here in Camden—(Philadelphia is on one side of the river Delaware, & Camden immediately opposite on the other—ferries constantly running—I live near the river)—Good bye, my dear Rudolf Schmidt—write often as you can.5
Walt Whitman