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December 3, 1867.My dear Mr.

I cannot and will not consent of my own volition to countenance an expurgated edition of my pieces.

I boil: burn up: but often I keep my mouth shut: I am a slow mover: I don't hurry even in my tantrums

That infernal damned meter's getting on my nerves.

"My head and my heels tell me so."

Also said: "I have great faith in my power of endurance.

I have no doubt now but I shall hold out my time—that is, I shall not hasten my death by anything I do

cause—make my cause theirs: quite a cluster.

It was a tempting offer—it pulled at my heart-strings: my friends over there all said, come, you will

Even some of my friends here said, go: and some were angry when I decided not to: but my own heart never

As usual, having to answer my question, he spoke first of his health.

They would come over to interview me—insist on knowing my sensations!

(my book). Glad to hear of your new books. Am still reading proof.

But read the letters: I'd rather refresh my memory a bit with 'em." 36, Marlborough Hill,St.

Not that of 1855; for I hear that can be had for three or four.When at my friend Mr. W. B.

He had a strikingly positive blue gown on which at once attracted my eye and occasioned remark.

It is a present from my sister, George's wife."

my dear! You've come again!"

Jenkins, of the American, returned my article on O'Connor as "too eulogistic."

It's as bad as it used to be when I sent Mary out a-searching for my socks.

Harned said something which disparaged my politics.

, or, Give him my love.

Lots of my fish fight shy of my rod for a long time but I eventually game them all."

I keep freshening and shaping my books at my leisure, and hope to put them in type the coming year.You

I keep it in my prose volume.

I have friends, enough money, comfort—as good things as my age, my condition, will permit.

guard, my promise, yet past all possibility of demand.

I almost think if I had to ask fulfillment, the rock, now my saviour, my peace, would be my wreck, my

ruin, my night!

But you cannot know how these days of my waiting, this night-coming time of my life, are confident, happy

.: "GoodBye My Fancy 2d Annex to LofG". Did he propose to put his name on title-page? No.

Longaker said they had nothing at all to do with my depression, but I stopped them today.

My sleep didn't amount to a small coin.

My belly kept me awake—yes, awake and awake—which is unusual, for in my own way, as a usual thing, I

And then, "But I have just had my dinner—and ate heartily—and took a couple of swallows of the wine.

Botolph Club years ago to arrange for my lecture in Boston—my lecture on the murder of Lincoln.

There will be no more occasions like that: my time is gone—my time for gadding about on speechifying

"He prints editions each time upon my special grant," explained W.

purpose—was within my means: so here I came, have been ever since."

I shall mail you my latest piece in a magazine to be out presently.

"I'm turned clean over—off my keel—am badly shaken.

I seem to see things all right with my mind but my body won't see things at all!" Mildly laughed.

I must get to my bed: my head reels: I feel as though a minute more on my feet—on my feet—here—would

finish me—be my last."

He reached out, took my hand. "My cane! My cane!" I put the cane in his hand. He could say nothing.

, through my consciousness since I commenced to be untrammeled in thought: he has given me views which

help to render my 'dark days' endurable and my nights teem with companions.

He travels with me and he points out the goodness of men and things and he intensifies my pleasures by

I thought I knew the greatest American in my dear friend Henry George, but no!

any extreme statement, he seems to hit several real proper nails on their heads—gets pretty close to my

Myrick set up at my insistence alternative title-pages.

Fairchild writes me as follows: May 4 My dear Mr.

Pray give my love and a goodby to W. W.

"My benison attend her! How always nobly good she is to us! A rare woman, every way."

(the only one I can lay my hands on at present) taken some time ago by Johnston in my little room in

My sister sent him in a jar of the clams recommended by Burroughs when here.

I was to take this to my father who was to make a design for it.

He answered: "I still ask my old question: did it ever go?"

Philp starts from Washington this evening so I must cut short my letter.

dear sir, please accept with my trust in the success of the enterprise my kindest respects to yourself

I do not want anything my fault to interfere with your progress.

It never quite approves itself to my eyes but I yield.

"I shall like to have it right here where I can put my hands on it—and my eyes."

Then we need title pages for your set and Bucke's and my own, and contents for all.

yes, Redpath was always partial to me—even went out of his way to curl my hair.

"My today's mail has been chiefly an autograph mail.

Not a day but the autograph hunter is on my trail—chases me, dogs me!

I settle myself in my chair, get the glasses on my nose, and lo! every note is for an autograph.

Amer—about April 10, I shall return here again and my address will be—— I am writing this at my desk—as

My mind advises me that I must suspend operations for to-nighttonight.

I shall never know, of course: I know no language but my own.

My whole—not exactly that: my best—knowledge of Hugo was derived from that man."

My father was Walter. He had a right to Walter.

My sister had sent W. some cakes.

All my feeling is against it. My feeling decides the day."

"It is amazing—or at least tantalizing—how many important matters slip my mind.

My memory for new things is becoming less and less dependable—markedly so."

On my way to the Whitman meeting in Philadelphia W. advised me, upon my questioning: "Should you feel

moved to say anything, tell them, you came here this evening, found me here on the lower floor, in my

, massage—by my young friend here"—he will never say nurse—"who knows well how to handle me—knows to

work and having my jaunts together.

I will call on you on my way back to New York.

So my dear old friend I have protected your interests to the best of my judgment and if you want me to

I would also like you to answer my letters.

All right my dear J.

My dear Sir:Dr.

Bucke left me, to my publisher Schabelitz, of Zurich, Switzerland, and offered the MS. to him.

Rolleston accept my assistance and wait so long. Shall I write to him, or will you do it?

Clifford saw my father's picture of W. for the first time at my sister's Sunday—thought it the best he

"My dear daddy used to advise me—my boy always keep on good terms with the cook."

My folks were always worried about me—my mother especially: some of them regarded it as a crazy whim:

Jeff you need not be afraid about my overdoing the matter.

torments my best love.

Jeff give my respects to Mrs. Lane and Dr.

He laughed and took my hand. "Horace, what wouldn't my enemies say with or without provocation?

Again: "I never commit poems to memory—they would be in my way."

It excites my curiosity.

I look round the circle of my acquaintance for her equal.

He said: "Charles Aldrich is my good friend: he has ideas, faiths, which lead him affectionately my way

A great change has taken place in my life since I saw you.

my neck about: but my brain gives out: I feel sick and dizzy—unsteady."

slinging off my overcoat.

Have I fulfilled my ambition? God knows.

I am well, weigh nearly 200, and eat my rations every time.

I look at my three children and think what a work I have yet to perform.

I have been busy with my pen, turning out pot-boilers, nothing else.

My opinion is that life is becoming pretty thin.

It will be my last volume—my finale—without a doubt.

So this will really be my good-bye!" Then into details.

My first point will be to get all the batch of copy—the poetry—into galleys at once: it probably would

My beloved Walt—I have read the sublime poem of the Universal once and again, and yet again—seeing it

It raised my mind to its own sublimity. It seems to me the sublimest of all your poems.

Now I would like to see you, in order to temper my heart, and expand my narrowness.How absurd it is to

The note is below:"Go on, my dear Americans, whip your horses to the utmost—Excitement; money!

He put four of them in a paper bag and gave them to me for my mother.

Thanks to you both.I had planned to have some leisure at my command to write you a fairly long letter

at Johnston's—sitting up with him till after 1, both loathe to separate.I read the College some of my

of & gratitude for all your kindness by my cold, undemonstrative passiveness—"the cold silent manner

you both love & blessing.All the time I was in Camden I felt it all too deeply—beyond my capacity to

wil gradually take its due place & proportion & perspective in my mind.

could not or would not understand their deeper meaning, nor recognize their subtler beautiesRepeating my

I send papers to friends and friends of my friends—often to people I have never met.

Detailed the incident: "It was my old Alabama admirer, who came up here several years ago—was talked

My old friend did not cease his admiration, so far as I know.

Referring to use of words, W. remarked: "In my abolition days, some of my friends were furious at my

I am keen about all that myself—jealous of my right to fall down and break my neck if I choose."

He called my attention to the medallions, duly signed, tied up, with a label on the outside designating

them as my property.

I could not tell how to get it, but I can recognize my own when it appears."

My quarrel with the most of what purports to be history is that it is not history at all.

"It was all done, except for capping, in my time.

"Yes, it has all my fortunes! Watch, bankbook, pocketbook, everything."

I stood over him and dictated as he wrote—he making out check in my name.

figures, through which I have drawn my pencil.

As, in fact, I think is usually the case with my manuscript.

entirely to my taste.

It is probably that my state is reaction from the severe work of the winter at Washington.

Told him of my letter to the Chicago News.

He took my hand.

I am a postponer when it comes to making them: I put off my yes, my no, on the slightest pretext: this

My alarm was instant.

He held my hand warmly and firmly.

I may dance my last dance any day now.

He took my hand—held it saying: I feel more and more my dependence upon you—I feel more and more that

I questioned him sharply today and that is my impression."

My friends!

I did put it into my pocket.

Accept my thanks.

"You've said it for me: that's the substance of my philosophy.

My p. o. address remains the same. I am quite well and hearty.

He looked at me and seemed to see some distrust in my face. "You think I am condemning Lathrop?

I love him—honor him: if there's anything comes short it excites my regret: I judge no one."

My dear Mr. Burroughs,I have just finished your book on Birds and Poets.

accumulating thunder in my own way.

I get my hands loose now and then, and feel that I have done a little something.

Was perfectly satisfied with my arrangement of it.

revelation—brought me conviction of many stray thoughts, observations—was in itself confirmation of my

the Post—was coming upon my close—reserving for the end my sally, my big guns—as the Irish carter, who

It sat down without mercy on my Irishman's spirit.

When I told him my trouble in doing this—"Well—it was well done at last, which is the important point

During the pause he laughed very gently and took my hand and said: "See—I am off again—talking about

my health—as if there was nothing in the world but my pains and aches to be considered."

That eases my conscience." We exchanged rolls of proofs.

My sister Gussie had sent him in some asparagus. "Oh! it was princely!

Spent the rest of my timetilluntil bed writing letters for W. Friday, July 6, 1888.

"My head is behaving itself right decently just now. But it's funny, how unambitious my body is.

My fatal procrastination has tripped me up at last.

"My notes are very accurate.

"I want no club founded in my name."

The effect upon me was slow, though one of the surgeons there finally called my attention to my own peril

Add- ing, after looking in my face: "Don't feel bad about it—I don't."

They may be wrong in what they say of my book but they are not wrong in their love: love is never wrong

So I wonder over Kennedy—do not quite get him adjusted in my perspective.

I get to look for Bucke as I look for my breakfast." While we were talking Harned came in.

As I left W. held my hand for a long time (his hand was very warm) and said: "What I say of my head does

But I was about to say, thank the Professor for me—give him my love.

Now I am sorry—my stomach won't digest it—and there it is!

I find that so much of my food seems to amount to nothing just in that way."

the public in my literary products.And I owe it to him that my heart warms to you, who are helping him

I seek and feel after the bodily presentment of a man who occupies my thought.

I did not attempt to show him my letters.

It is impossible to say why I have not done so—pardon my procrastination, which, with regard to my private

correspondence, I am afraid is one of my sins.

Here at my work I am delighted. I like my work—I am partly on the Ledgers & partly at the Counters.

I intend giving our Clarke permission to quote from my Notes but my feeling in regard to the letter is

would try to write, blind, blind, with my own tears.

I will only say that my soul and my sympathy all go out towards you and I often think of you as the one

Traubel,My thanks for your very good note.

The "circle" is my own creation.

Give him my love. I haven't things ready-made to say to him. Just give him my love.

And then, "Yesterday—if I had not felt my pulse—known by its regular beat that all was right there, I

These visits are in some ways my damnation! These strangers—who make me deaf and blind!

And my sister, George's wife."

I never lose my respect for the printer boys, however they aggravate me at times."

My experience has been that they have left me honestly alone, always to say my say as I wished to say

"The text is a little mixed up," W. said of it apologetically: "My mind is not now-a-days a perfect machine

"My brain often takes speed and is away—gets rein-free and flies without will or plan—and I am helpless

"My whole soul revolts against that line: my very first feeling was one of utter disgust."

My place in Washington was a peculiar one—my reasons for being there, my doing there what I did do.

I do not think I quite had my match.

"Is this my little growl?

Well—you must let me have the growl—listen patiently—my growl is worse than my spring."

William O'Connor used to say this was rather a contradiction between my life and my philosophy.

I know I ought to know Weiss and Johnson—they are my men, I am their man—but I own up to my entire ignorance

Ask my enemies if I ain't extreme.

yesterday—"but only a very little—a shade better: though, as you understand, a little is a great deal in my

Linton once used his portrait in a book he prepared for Bohn—asked my permission, which I granted.

The minutes to a man in my straits are golden.

I seem to have only one thing in mind—only one: the book, the book, only the book—and you, who are my

"Yes I did: I never gave my assent to any abbreviated editions which I didn't live to regret.

anything—I was only lamenting to myself my own limitations, and wishing that I had something to do with

And laughingly to my insistence that we might try, "Yes, try, but this den does not lend itself that

My evening hours at home have been about as fully occupied with official labors as my days at the Department

Now that Congress, the presence of which always complicates our work, has adjourned, and my office is

gradually approaching a settled condition, I hope soon to be able to redeem my promise.I wish, if it

I talked freely and calmly to him, then gave him Longaker's and my Philadelphia addresses—telling him

Now new samples of paper, out of which he readily settled upon the one I had told Ferguson was my own

two books bound together—mainly for my own use.

"Yes, I think I have—my name certainly gets about more—but what does it amount to?"

"No rally seems possible—it is my last run of fish." Had been down in the parlor today.

Found Longaker sitting there with W., Longaker immediately going on my entrance, having other patients

doubting laugh, "It is always funny—sometimes exhilarating—to me, to be sometimes told after one of my

I had the Lippincott's proof with me, would leave it till eight, to call then to have my own look at

W. contends still, "This is my 73rd, not my 72nd birthday"—meaning that the 72nd anniversary is the 73rd

shoulder (I was working)—that my signature was one of the hardest he knew to imitate.

I expressed the feeling that the book as a whole did not reach my expectations—that it was too literary—not

For my pleasure it could not have assumed a better form."

Further—"This will undoubtedly be my last public appearance—" I interrupted laughingly—"Like the farewells

consciousness it is that what I say is true—that this is my last—that there comes an end, and here are

of the big book to give to Jennie May—just married to Sam Fels—which I transferred with Anne's and my

I quoted my dentist who got off an old saw while he was working on one of my sensitive teeth: "Seeing

My dear Whitman: I find your book and cordial letter, on returning home from a lecturing tour in New

I have had the first edition of your Leaves of Grass among my books, since its first appearance, and

My first notion is one of disappointment.

It's not in my line at all.

s—and when into his room, found him, eyes open, alive to my presence.

Fairchild's letter, received last night: Boston, Jan. 12.My dear Mr.

and my trumpet-call to the end of my life.Will you tell him this?

—and that my thoughts are often with him in love and veneration.

And again, "Bless her and give her my love!"

Is acting on my idea to proceed with circular for book.

My dear Traubel:You are much in my thought these days—days to you of trembling hope and dread, of life

That would be my last and sweetest prize, tuft, plume, gift—Manhattan Island—my first love."

But this is one of my bad days—one of my worst—and I am not up to a talk with you.

Take my love, dear boy—and take with you, too, my best remembrance to all the fellows in New York, telling

cuss did me lots of good: he left me temporarily in a quarrelsome mood: I hated the room here, and my

lame leg, and my dizzy head: I got hungry for the sun again, for the hills: and though Mary brought

me up a good supper she didn't bring the sort of food required to satisfy a fellow with my appetite.

But later, next day, yesterday, the tramp's gift got into my veins—it was a slow process, but got there