I am writing to you on the spur of the moment in hopes it will help bring me to my senses, for I am quite stunned at the first glance of London. I have just come from St Pauls & feel very strange. I don't know what is the matter with me but I seem in a dream. St Pauls was too much for me & my brain actually reels. I have never seen architecture before. It made me drunk I have seen a building with a living soul, I can't tell you about it loc.01118.002_large.jpg now. I saw for the first time what power & imagination could be put in form & design—I felt for a moment what great genius was in this field. But I had to retreat after sitting down a half hour and trying to absorb it. I feel as if I should go no where else while in London. I must master it or it will kill me. I actually grew faint. I was not prepared for it & I though my companions the Treasury clerks would drive me mad they rushed round so, I had to leave them & sit down. Hereafter I must go alone everywhere. My brain is too sensitive. I am not strong enough to confront these things all at once. I would give anything loc.01118.003_large.jpg if you was here. I see now that you belong here—these things are akin to your spirit. You would see your own in St Pauls , but it took my breath away. It was more than I could bear & I will have to gird up my loins & try it many times. Out side it has the beauty & grandure of rocks and crags and ledges. It is nature & art fused into one. Of course time has done much for it, it is so stained and weather worn. It is like a Rembrandt1 picture so strong & deep is the light & shade. It is more to see the old world than I had dreamed, much more. I thought art was of little account, but now I get a glimpse of the real article I am overwhelmed. I had loc.01118.004_large.jpg designed to go on the continent, but I shall not stir out of London till I have vanquished some part of it at least. If I loose my wits here why go further? But I shall make a brave fight. I only wish I had help. These fellows are like monkeys. I have seen no one yet but shall try to find Conway2 to morrow. I write you this dear Walt to help recover my self. I know it contains nothing you might expect to hear from me in London, but I have got into Niagara without knowing it & you must bear with me. I will give facts & details next time. Go & see Ursula.3
With much love, John BurroughsOct 4—I went to day to see Conway but he was not in—so I went back to St Pauls to see if I really made a fool of myself yesterday. I did not feel as before & perhaps never shall again, yet it is truly grand & there is no mistake. It is like the grandest organ music put into form
P. S. I hope you & O'Connor4 will really make an effort to come over here. You need not mention it but I know it is not settled at all who will come. This you can rely upon, but there will be no more bonds sent till in November.
Correspondent:
The naturalist John Burroughs
(1837–1921) met Whitman on the streets of Washington, D.C., in 1864. After
returning to Brooklyn in 1864, Whitman commenced what was to become a decades-long
correspondence with Burroughs. Burroughs was magnetically drawn to Whitman.
However, the correspondence between the two men is, as Burroughs acknowledged,
curiously "matter-of-fact." Burroughs would write several books involving or
devoted to Whitman's work: Notes on Walt Whitman, as Poet and
Person (1867), Birds and Poets (1877), Whitman, A Study (1896), and Accepting
the Universe (1924). For more on Whitman's relationship with Burroughs,
see Carmine Sarracino, "Burroughs, John [1837–1921] and Ursula [1836–1917]," Walt Whitman: An Encyclopedia, ed. J.R. LeMaster and
Donald D. Kummings (New York: Garland Publishing, 1998).