 loc_jc.00129_large.jpg
            
                
                    Sept 7 1888
                    Slwynbarried
                    Rhayader
                    Radnorshire
                  
                Dear Mr. Whitman,
loc_jc.00129_large.jpg
            
                
                    Sept 7 1888
                    Slwynbarried
                    Rhayader
                    Radnorshire
                  
                Dear Mr. Whitman,
             
            I hope the summer has left you tolerably well at least, your occasional postal cards
                have been a comfort. We have been having a most delightful time all to-gether. The
                chance of an advertisement brought us, family, horses, servants, and baby into this
                remote corner of Wales   loc_jc.00130_large.jpg & set us down in the old house of a reduced country squire.
                It rained for a week after we came, but we lit fires & unpacked our three
                volumed novels and tried to pretend that we were enjoying it. Then fortunately it
                cleared up and we began driving & playing tennis, I went fishing with our
                vicar's son and soon the charm of the hills, the
loc_jc.00130_large.jpg & set us down in the old house of a reduced country squire.
                It rained for a week after we came, but we lit fires & unpacked our three
                volumed novels and tried to pretend that we were enjoying it. Then fortunately it
                cleared up and we began driving & playing tennis, I went fishing with our
                vicar's son and soon the charm of the hills, the   loc_jc.00131_large.jpg country lanes and the air made us
                very well contented with out lot. A good many of our neighbours (anyone within 12
                miles is a neighbour) have called on us & have turned out to be very pleasant
                people, though their intellectual horizon is a little limited perhaps.
loc_jc.00131_large.jpg country lanes and the air made us
                very well contented with out lot. A good many of our neighbours (anyone within 12
                miles is a neighbour) have called on us & have turned out to be very pleasant
                people, though their intellectual horizon is a little limited perhaps.
To think of us you must imagine a spur of a healthy mountain covered with fine old
                trees, a winding carriage drive   loc_jc.00132_large.jpg through trees coming to an open space & finally ending under
                the eaves of a low, many-gabled old house. Behind there is an old garden with high
                walls in the form of a square which are covered with peach and cherry trees growing
                like vines over them.
loc_jc.00132_large.jpg through trees coming to an open space & finally ending under
                the eaves of a low, many-gabled old house. Behind there is an old garden with high
                walls in the form of a square which are covered with peach and cherry trees growing
                like vines over them.
I try to study in the mornings, the afternoons I give to shooting, fishing or tennis.
                Only I find that afternoons of that   loc_jc.00133_large.jpg kind have a great tendency to
                swallow up the mornings. Mariechen1 and Frank Costelloe2 & I
                however have been reading one of Sophocles' plays to-gether. Just now the Costelloes
                are off in Scotland on visit.
loc_jc.00133_large.jpg kind have a great tendency to
                swallow up the mornings. Mariechen1 and Frank Costelloe2 & I
                however have been reading one of Sophocles' plays to-gether. Just now the Costelloes
                are off in Scotland on visit.
We are just off to   loc_jc.00134_large.jpg
loc_jc.00134_large.jpg
                  loc_jc.00135_large.jpg a tennis party at
                the vicar's, so good bye for the present. The paper you send Mary3 came to hand O.K. many thanks.
loc_jc.00135_large.jpg a tennis party at
                the vicar's, so good bye for the present. The paper you send Mary3 came to hand O.K. many thanks.
When will "Autumn Boughs"4 be out?
 loc_jc.00136_large.jpg
loc_jc.00136_large.jpg
        
    Correspondent:
Logan Pearsall Smith
                    (1865–1946) was an essayist and literary critic. He was the son of Robert
                    Pearsall Smith, a minister and writer who befriended Whitman, and he was the
                    brother of Mary Whitall Smith Costelloe, one of Whitman's most avid followers.
                    For more information on Logan, see Christina Davey, "Smith, Logan Pearsall (1865–1946)," Walt
                        Whitman: An Encyclopedia, ed. J.R. LeMaster and Donald D. Kummings (New
                    York: Garland Publishing, 1998).