Dr Johnston1 arrived at home on Friday the 8th
inst, as he will have told you. On Monday, the 11th, (my birthday) he came to see me and gave me
the—presents you sent me: viz the two books—("Passage
to India" & "As a Strong Bird on Pinions Free")2 and the magnificent photograph
of yourself—(Since borrowed
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by him for a copy, as arranged with you).
I cannot tell you how much I prize them—especially the latter. Carlyle's3 heart was not stirred more deeply by the friendship and gifts of Goëthe4 than mine is by yours—nor, indeed, I think, nearly so much
I have thought it a sufficient, and, indeed, a great and sacred privilege to write to you
at all, and
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to shew you some slight beginnings, even here, of the immense influence
your work is destined to
have, and of the deep personal love and reverence towards yourself, which must always accompany it,
and which millions will yet share. And I have felt it a duty, as well as a privilege, to show my
gratitude to you and to cheer you (so far as might be) by some expression of all this.
But I never dreamed of receiving such returns!
Fitly, indeed!, and with a full heart,
may I "hang up your picture as that of the tenderest lover, the friend the lover's portrait, of
whom his friend his lover is fondest"5—It shall adorn my room as long as I live,—reminding
me daily of you, of your work and life, of your great—benefactions to me personally through
your books—and
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to how many besides!—and (not least) of the consecrating friendship with which you have crowned
them, and of the tender, thoughtful courtesy and noble kindness which you have shewn
me. I trust it may also prove a daily incentive to emulation of your great qualities.
For your goodness to me—like all the good gifts of life—carries with it its own deep
obligations. And these I feel to be—to live as one worthy of
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your friendship, and to help on, so far as I can, your influence and work.
It awakens in me an old purpose, which circumstances have for the last few years thwarted and almost crushed.
Five years ago (last January) my mother died. (You, too, know well what that means!—though I
doubt if even you can have sounded so deeply—as many exceptionally harmful
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circumstances led me to sound—the unfathomable depths of a mothers tender, self-sacrificing
love.—And the circumstances of her death, beautiful & sacred, affected me infinitely more,
and were a far deeper revelation to my soul than any literature—even yours.) In the revision
of my purposes and aims that followed, one fixed project with me was to contribute to current literature
an account of your work that should include one or two things that have not yet been said—at
any rate, not with sufficient
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clearness and emphasis. But many untoward circumstances (partly resulting in & including
mental and nervous break down & exhaustion) have prevented me from attempting this, and I see
no prospect now of carrying out my plan for a long time to come.—But I trust that the time
will come,—when, perhaps, I shall be all the better fitted for it
by the long delay.—At any rate "my purpose holds," and as the old painter (quoted by
Emerson6) once said, not
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irreverently—"By God, it is in me, and shall out of me!"7
In the meantime I have led some of my friends to know you and to love you.—Dr. Johnston being one of the first. And it is your influence mainly that has made our little society of friends8 what it was lately described as being—"the truest band of brothers" the speaker had "ever met with."
(It has been very pleasant to me to note how one or two of my friends—one especially—who
are not "literary" in their
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tastes, and who care little for any authors except Shakspere
and Burns,9 but who love
manly and heroic qualities, outdoor life, boating, sailing, engineering &c, and who have
a deep inarticulate sense (deeper than usually goes with "culture" and
esthecism ) of what is good
and true—are attracted by you. It is very clear to me
that your ultimate absorption by this class (the class you have loved best of all) is only
a matter of time and will be deep and affectionate.).
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It has been a very great pleasure to me to learn from Dr Johnston,
particulars of his interviews with you and of your great kindness to him. He is still
noticeably affected by it, and by your personal presence & conversation.—and he
looks—as I told him the other day—"like one who has been awed & exalted
by a supernatural visitation."
I rejoice especially to hear of your good health ("considering") and of the wonderful
extent to which you
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have recovered from your condition two years ago. May you long enjoy health, happiness,
"halcyon days,"10 and the devotion of increasing numbers of loving friends.—
Dr. Johnston's friends are all very much pleased, too, to hear of the hospitable kindness of Mrs Davis11 and of "Warren"12 towards him, and indeed, I think I will write to them direct, next mail, (per Mrs Davis) to say so.—
I asked Dr Johnston about the canary you once celebrated
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but he could tell me nothing of it (though he told me about your "robin") and we concluded
that it must be dead. I am sorry to think that its cheering & "joyous warbles"13 are ended
for you in this way.
I was deeply sorry to hear of W. D. O'Connor's death,14, of which we had
seen no notice. The last thing I saw about him (some time ago) was that he was ill (in
California, I believe). And now I learn that he is dead! Only the week before
Dr Johnston's return
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I had been re-reading his letters (in Dr Bucke's15 book) with
renewed pleasure in his brilliant and perfervid championships of your cause, and I almost
feel now as though I, too, had lost a friend.
But I have written too long, & perhaps tired you. Again thanks to you, loved benefactor and friend, from my heart, and love to you always from self & friends.
Yours affectionately J.W. Wallace
P.S. Aug' 19th
Dr Johnston brought me a copy of "Camden's Compliments"16 and
I am very pleased to see, from an advertisement at the end, that a small pocket book edition of
L. of G. complete17 is in existence and it is to be had from
you. It appears to be just what I want—a copy that I can carry
conveniently in my pocket in my country rambles & holidays.—The ordinary edition is too
large—though I have often carried it about—and the handy volume published
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by W Scott,18 which I usually carry, is much too incomplete. I don't know what the carriage will
be, but I will enclose money order for 22s/-
which I trust will cover it, and shall be glad if you will kindly send me a copy at your
convenience. The fact that it comes direct
from you will give it additional interest.
book sent
Correspondent:
James William Wallace
(1853–1926), of Bolton, England, was an architect and great admirer of
Whitman. Wallace, along with Dr. John Johnston (1852–1927), a physician in
Bolton, founded the "Bolton College" of English admirers of the poet. Johnston
and Wallace corresponded with Whitman and with Horace Traubel and other members
of the Whitman circle in the United States, and they separately visited the poet
and published memoirs of their trips in John Johnston and James William Wallace,
Visits to Walt Whitman in 1890–1891 by Two
Lancashire Friends (London: Allen and Unwin, 1917). For more
information on Wallace, see Larry D. Griffin, "Wallace, James William (1853–1926)," Walt
Whitman: An Encyclopedia, ed. J.R. LeMaster and Donald D. Kummings (New
York: Garland Publishing, 1998).