Thank you—thank you! for several kind remembrences of you in periodicals and
for your letter & postal,2 all of which bridge over
the great separating waters of the Atlantic. Our Alys3
will have before this seen you, I trust, and given us a picture of how you fare in
these days. Having got through the murderous heats of the Camden summer, I greatly
loc_jc.00214_large.jpg hope that you
will have a cheerful winter. I would that I could look in on you now & then in
your wilderness of books & papers! With much to bring pleasure to you from far
& near—the hearty tribute of reverence and affection from those whose
lives you have helped to illuminate & cheer, yet I know that there must be mixed
with it physical & mental heart sinkings when the unsolved, unsolveable problems
of sin, pain, sorrow & the unrevealed future
loc_jc.00215_large.jpg must press upon spirits more or
less controlled by physical depression. As Keeble tells us—"the nearest heart
& next our own, knows not one half the reasons why we smile or sigh"—and down in the depths of unrevealable consciousness, the problems are
fought out—alas! with what small results of certitude. Not a few of us have
met great audiences with bold words while the depths of purgatory were being stirred
up within us!
Well, dear Comrade, we are helpless—we must go on with the deepest problems unsolved, & face pain, grief, loneliness, death bravely as we can. From the condition of my heart death is a daily probability to my conciousness & I face all my responsibilities in the sense that it may be for me the last time. And yet I find that I can do it cheerfully & can plan & work as though I had a century before me.
You have many, many friends among the young & earnest in whose unsoiled vigorous
natures your bracing, tonic words loc_jc.00217_large.jpg
find a quick lively response.
In our country home at Haslemere—close, by the way, to Tennysons5 home—are many highly cultivated people who love you. Alys will tell you how like paradise our home there is—and how often we have wished that we might have you there to drive around the beautiful hills, two thirds in woods & undergrowth for miles. I had hoped to guide you across the ocean, but I fear that we may not now hope for that.
Logan6 is bravely & industriously doing his work at Oxford. He shows clear signs of talent but is not in haste to use his pen for the public. Alys has the courage to go alone across the sea to finish her college course & get B. A. added to her name. Mary7 is under a nervous break-down—not suffering much but compelled to great quiet. Her two years old "Ray"8 is all sunshine to us. Her husband9 is pushed forward on the top wave of the new Radical politics—and I am a foundered horse at grass quietly waiting—while always
Yours affectionately R. Pearsall SmithCorrespondent:
Robert Pearsall Smith
(1827–1898) was a Quaker who became an evangelical minister associated
with the "Holiness movement." He was also a writer and businessman. Whitman
often stayed at his Philadelphia home, where the poet became friendly with the
Smith children—Mary, Logan, and Alys. For more information about Smith,
see Christina Davey, "Smith, Robert Pearsall (1827–1898)," Walt
Whitman: An Encyclopedia, ed. J.R. LeMaster and Donald D. Kummings (New
York: Garland Publishing, 1998).