Your letter to Han,2 with 1 dollar—received. She is very nervous: did not sleep all night. I have a roost in noreast corner—small room, enough but brightens with early morning light. 4 or 5 oclock—
I get solitary breakfast—best I can—always did—dont mind it, if I can be helpd [illegible] little at times—sell paintings, trifle over cost of framing—go with poor clothing—very seedy—dont mind that can I but keep square on provisions—no let bill double on me—You have duk.00414.002_large.jpg great enthusaism to aid and help you perhaps with money—no such sentiment here. I painted Vermont State Coat of Arms 26 years ago—no Executive Seal—get 50 dollars for it—This is sculptured on the Gettysburg Monument, and the Army Associations—Got all this acknowledged by G.G. Benedict's in daily Journall,3 amounts [illegible] nothing toward selling paintings
On State pride—Edmunds4 and I, Stewart5—complain of poverty miserable people—ye[t] grand country in scenery—speak to George6—I must keep the house and maintain it—Han must have a home—she cant survive a sale or removal—I wrote to George before Christmas advising him to send money—This box amounts to nothing— duk.00414.003_large.jpg better had sent the dollar it cost to forward it—Han has used some thread out of it—the handsome bed spread, was examined, then thrust back in the box, and pushed uneder a table—getting dusty and musty—I have not a comfortable bed for years—yet I can sleep, after and can crowd in a form, and draw covering over me—warm with an old overcoat and cotton coverlid—I have a blanket now—I don't require it—I never undressed coldest duk.00414.004_large.jpg nights last winter—tired oft as an old vetrans, I dropped in my tracks, [illegible] and slept, after a hard day battle with life—O! oh! what an experience—narative.
Got a heater last winter, gave a picture for it—pipe passed into chimney through my room mad it comfortable—
My sister on Staten Island has been dangerously ill for some weeks—now convalescing—a frail looking creature, and yet the mother of several children and grand children—sincere—guiless— beloved——I have not seen either of my Sisters in 35 years. I have numerous choice painting [illegible] reserve for an appreciative customer perhaps—Five it is said—God, it is hard—
CharlieCorrespondent:
Charles Louis Heyde (ca.
1820–1892), a French-born landscape painter, married Hannah Louisa Whitman
(1823–1908), Walt Whitman's sister, and they lived in Burlington, Vermont.
Charles Heyde was infamous among the Whitmans for his offensive letters and poor
treatment of Hannah. For more information about Heyde, see Steven Schroeder,
"Heyde, Charles Louis (1822–1892)," Walt
Whitman: An Encyclopedia, ed. J.R. LeMaster and Donald D. Kummings (New
York: Garland Publishing, 1998).