All the papers have reached me—3 separate packets (with the hand writing on them that makes my heart give a glad bound). I look through them full of interest & curiosity, wanting to realize as I do, in things small as well as things large my Land of Promise—the land where I hope to plant down my children—so strong in the faith that they, & perhaps still more those that come after them will bless me for that (consciously or unconsciously, it doesn't matter which) that I should set out with a cheerful heart on that errand if I knew the first breath I drew on American soil, would be my last in life.
I searched hopeful for a few words telling of improvement in your health,1 in the last
paper. But perhaps it does not follow from there being no such mention that there is
no progress. May you be steadily though ever so slowly gaining ground, my Darling! Now
that I understand the nature of the malady (a deficient flow of blood to the brain if
it has been rightly explained to me) I realize that recovery
must be very gradual: as the coming on of it must have been slow & insidious. And
perhaps that, & also even from before the war time with its tremendous strain emotional
& physical & is part of the price paid for the greatness of the Poems &
for their immortal destiny—the rapt exaltation the intensity of joy & sorrow
& struggle—all that went to give them their life giving power.
loc_cb.00213.jpg
For I have felt many times in reading them as if the light & heat of their sacred
fire must needs have consumed the vital energies of him in whose breast it was generated,
faster than even the most splendid physique could renew itself. For our sakes, for
humanity's sake you suffer now, I do not doubt, every bit as much as the soldier's
wounds are for his country's sake. The more precious the more tenderly cherished, the
more drawing the hearts that understand, with ineffable yearnings for this.
My children all continue well in the main. I am thankful to say though Beatrice2
(the eldest girl, looks paler than I could wish & is working her brains too much
& the rest of her too little just at present with the hope of getting through
the Apothecaries Hall exam: in Arts next Sept. which involves a good bit of Latin
and mathematics. This is all women can do in England toward getting into
loc_cb.00210.jpg
the medical profession & as the Apoth; Hall certificate is accepted for the preliminary
studies at Paris & Zurich, I make no doubt it is also at Philadelphia & New York so
that she would be able to enter on medical studies then national preliminary work when we
come. For she continues steadfastly desirous to win her way into that field of usefulness
& I believe is well fitted to work there with her grave earnest thoughtful feeling nature
& strong bodily frame. She is able to enjoy your Poems & the vistas: broods over them
a great deal.—Percy3 is bending his energies now to mastering
the processes that go to the production of the very best quality of Copper such as is used for
telegraph wires &c. no easy matter, copper being the most difficult, in a metallurgical
point of view of all the metals to deal with & the Company in whose
loc_cb.00219.jpg
employ he is having hitherto been unsuccessful in this branch. His looks, too, do not
quite satisfy me:—it is partly rather too long hours of work—but still more
not getting a good meal till the end of it. It is so hard to make the young believe that
the stomach shares the fatigue of the rest of the body & that there is not nervous
energy enough left for it to do all its principal work to perfection after a long exhausting
day. But I hope now I or rather his own experience & I together have convinced him
in time & he promises me faithfully to arrange for a good meal in the middle of the
day however much grudging the time. My little artist Herby4 is still
chiefly working from the antique, but tries his hand at home occasionally with oils &
to life & has made an oil sketch of me which though imperfect in drawing &c gives
far more the real character & expression
loc_cb.00215.jpg
of my face than the photographs. Have you heard, I wonder, of William Rossetti's5
approaching marriage. It is to take place early in the New Year. The lady is Lucy Brown6
daughter of one of our most eminent artists7 (he was the friend who
first put into my hand the "Selections"8 from your Poems). Lucy is
a very sweet tempered cultivated loveable
woman well fitted I should say to make William
Rossetti happy. They are to continue in the old home Euston Sq. with Mrs. Rossetti &
the Sisters who are one & all fond of Lucy. I am glad he is going to be married for
I think he is a man capable both of giving and receiving a large measure of domestic
happiness. I hope the dear little girls at St. Louis9
loc_cb.00216.jpg
are well.—And you my Darling O surely the sun is piercing through the dark clouds
once more, and strength & health and gladness returning. O fill yourself with happy
thoughts for you have filled others with joy & strength & will do so for countless
generations, & from these hearts flows back, & will ever flow a steady current
of love & the beautiful fruits of love.
When you next send me a paper, if you feel that you are getting on ever so little dearest
friend put a dash under the word London—I have looked back
at all your old addresses & I see you never do put any lines, so I shall know it was
not done absently but really means you are better. And how that line will
loc_cb.00218.jpg
gladden my eyes Darling!
Correspondent:
Anne Burrows Gilchrist
(1828–1885) was the author of one of the first significant pieces of
criticism on Leaves of Grass, titled "A Woman's Estimate
of Walt Whitman (From Late Letters by an English Lady to W. M. Rossetti)," The Radical 7 (May 1870), 345–59. Gilchrist's long
correspondence with Whitman indicates that she had fallen in love with the poet
after reading his work; when the pair met in 1876 when she moved to
Philadelphia, Whitman never fully returned her affection, although their
friendship deepened after that meeting. For more information on their
relationship, see Marion Walker Alcaro, "Gilchrist, Anne Burrows (1828–1885)," Walt
Whitman: An Encyclopedia, ed. J.R. LeMaster and Donald D. Kummings (New
York: Garland Publishing, 1998).