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Said as to my inquiries: "I am bad again, very bad—somehow start into a new siege: it is my head, my

My dear Mr.

That is my habit—they call it my procrastination—it has always been my habit.

old days, my youth, my forty years ago, any more!"

But my memory! my memory!"

My friendships are my own—for Ingersoll or another.

" (from the Independent) and his comment upon W. was this:In some cases, as in Whitman's O Captain, My

"I am all of a jumble today—my stomach, my head."

It is loyal, generous, correct, and true, and doesn't labor to prove that "My Captain" is the best of

Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, "We have not struck," he composedly cries

"My head and my heels tell me so."

My life from my bed to my chair, from my chair to my bed again, is tedious, but endurable."

so—in my friends than in my enemies."

W. writing a note to Harper Brothers who have asked permission to print My Captain in their Fifth Reader

Said to me: "It's My Captain again: always My Captain: the school readers have got along as far as that

But neither do some of my friends understand my love for the prairies—my statement, insistence, that

It taught me my own definiteness of address—what my friends call my superfluity.

address—read on that 'My Captain.'

, my Captain," which he will also read, is a pathetic tribute to the same noble name.

A curious letter (dated 3/12/90) starting off—"Dear Walt, my beloved master, my friend, my bard, my prophet

My Captain! I want to learn it to speak in school."

It is my nephew—the second son of my sister.

Captain: Could you give me a little further information about my brother Capt. George W.

my boy!

way back to my central thought again—my spinal conviction: I resent my resentment—am ashamed of my questions

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

My head, my belly, my bladder—all are out of gear, and for what end?"

My dear Mr.

The failure to rhyme, I mean, for the poem itself—"O Captain! my Captain!"

Some words, all of us, with Captain Noell, who said, "This is possibly my last trip."

in my optimism, my democracy."

Weda Cook sang a My Captain song of her own composition.

I attribute much of my success in weathering this attack to my good stock—to my father, my mother: indeed

man,' 'my man,' 'my man.'

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

W. asked me what was my middle initial, which he has never used in writing my name.

Give my love to all the rest—explain that I am tied down to my chair here—that my head needs to be humored

will should be my sister in law Mrs: Louisa Orr Whitman and my brother George W Whitman (now resident

effects, money, of my house and lot 328 Mickle Street—Also that my said executrix under this will is

Nancy Whitman, my brother Andrew's widow, fifty dollars ($50).In sign of my writing my nameWALT WHITMANall

don't say my say for me in the most conclusive way.

I am doing my job in my way: it don't suit them: they growl, curse, ridicule: but what is left for Walt

I have loved you for years with my whole heart and soul.

And yet I am a writer and make a living by my pen.

I am proud of my feeling for you.

The O'Connor home was my home: they were beyond all others—William, Nelly—my understanders, my lovers

Take my darling dear mother: my dear, dear mother: she and I—oh!

oh my, hardly the Leaves!

general: they were my unvarying partisans, my unshakable lovers—my espousers: William, Nelly: William

so like a great doing out of the eternal—a withering blast to my enemies, a cooling zephyr to my friends

Rose on my entrance. Today I got from Ferguson revised proofs reaching to page fifty-six.

"I told Mary to tell him my head was too sore.

He took my hand.

I shall (as I see now) continue to be my own publisher and bookseller.

Each book has my autograph. The Two Volumes are my complete works, $10 the set."

W. said, "I am looking forward to my friends—to have them read all these pieces: there's a new flavor

These two months I am up and as strong as ever.I am now quite used to my new situation, and my opinion

In this way I secured my "bread and butter" and, now, can set to my intellectual task; I can read, write

The question comes up in my mind whether they have the Ingersoll pamphlets yet—any of them."

It will be my last—my last! I haven't the least doubt of it now."

I can never answer my own question—never make up my mind.

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

him he is often in my thoughts as I sit here in my den."

My purse and my heart are yours!" or to that effect.

Long have I kept my road—made my road: long, long!

I looked at my muddy boots, my flannel shirt—and then W. exclaimed: "Go!

own satisfaction, for last ten years.But my dear comrades I will now tell you something about my own

folks—home here there is quite a lot of us—my father is not living—my dear mother is very well indeed

in my mother's house.

dear comrades, and I pray God to bless you my darling boys, and I send you all my love, and I hope it

"My opinion is that I have no opinion!

My dear Sir,Yours of 27 January, and Leaves of Grass, received.

and therefore my allusion to it.

I had told Dowden of my not having received any reply to my cards or letters and my apprehension that

That's all there is to my hoarding up these records—as you call it.

I have had a bad day—a very miserable bad day: but I notice my bad days often come just before my best

I am more likely any time to be governed by my intuitive than by my critical self, anyhow.

, in my need: who can tell?

To my sister and my father who in these last few days have seen W. for the first time since his present

One of my doctors thinks much of my head trouble the past three months is from the sun.

I have been very feeble—O my!

For one thing, it gives my idea of my own book: a man's idea of his own book—his serious idea—is not

one point, marked my caution very high—seven and over.

Their seven was backed by my experience with myself.

man,' 'my man,' 'my man.'

Rossetti, too, has always declared for me, stood by me, staunchly assented my right to my own.

more at home with my old than with my new history—than with affairs I am mixed with (if I mix with any

my eyes."

"I spoke of the defects of my memory, but bad as they are they are not fatal—some ways my memory's as

They remind me of my triumphs and my defeats.

"I do poorly, poorly: this has been as bad a day as any since my sickness began.

The doctor just two hours ago said my pulse was very good—I have eaten my meals today with some relish—so

the trouble don't seem to be primarily with my heart or my stomach.

I always thank my friends for pointing out any oversights that occur in my book.

W. humorously said: "Music is my worst punishment." I asked: "How's that?" "Oh!"

My brain will not solidify."

Well—I don't want to assume my cure." "Why not?

I attribute much of my success in weathering this attack to my good stock—to my father, my mother: indeed

Your Leaves of Grass I keep with my Shakespeare and my Bible and it is from these three that I have got

I never met men in all my experience who caught on so well."

"This was made for me by my sister.

my singing years.

Is that to be my good fate?

idea, is still my idea."

"Next to getting out of my room here is to stay in my room and get a letter from William.

Spent a good part of today, like yesterday, up stairs—"in my big arm chair there—God bless my big arm

I have my doubts—minor doubts—but somehow I decide the case finally on my own side.

Howells, James and some others appear to think I rest my philosophy, my democracy, upon braggadocio,

I find that Ingersoll is not altogether my man: does not say all my say for me: that is, is right in

Never had I thought in my days (during my lifetime) to get a spirit (or ghost, none of the expressions

Held a letter gleefully up before my face. "Here is the Whittier," he said: "Take it—be satisfied."

But I, for my part—we—must not play the game with that end in view.

Osler respected my objection." Box of flowers from Charlotte Fiske Bates.

"I do not seem to get the thing very clearly in my own mind: it eludes me."

He said of it: "I have no doubt you are right: I will give the poems my attention.

my love to a living soul.

And I am still all these and much moreover.I glory in my mutability and my vast receptivity.

I glory in my invincible supremacy over prejudice, my superb contempt for custom.

He is the author of all my suffering, but he hath redeemed my soul. And alas!

(I have expunged the word "SIN" from my writings.)

—Dear comrade, I still live here as a hospital missionary after my own style, & on my own hook—I go every

I have cut my beard short & hair ditto: (all my acquaintances are in anger & despair & go about wringing

Then around my majestic brow around my well-brimmed felt hat—a black & gold cord with acorns.

I had to give up health for it—my body—the vitality of my physical self: oh!

My body?

He wants my book to be personal.

I'd as likely go back on my mother.

I hope he will accept my letter: he will some day see my position."

, period of my life, all told—in some ways possessing features not unlike my present experience.

My interest in the books and my consideration for you!

Then stopped and added: "I suppose you get disgusted coming here every day to hear my perpetual whine—my

"Both my fingers and my memory gave out." Very calm.

I remember well how one of my noblest, best friends—one of my wisest, cutest, profoundest, most candid

"My memory is shamefully abusing my faith nowadays."

My dear sir,I send by this mail the second part of my study of your works.

But as time wore on, while my curiosity remained, its direction changed somewhat.

I have gone right on—my bent has remained my bent,—everything remained as it would have remained otherwise

I have for a couple of days been trying to get my hand down to the work of jotting my impressions—my

I don't know what will come of it—how well the memories will revive and my pencil stay them.

"On my trip out today, I stopped and left a copy of the leather book for Sam Grey.

the rest of my days in that vicinity.

happiest hours have been spent there—some of my freest hours."

Upon my remonstrance he said: "I will make it a religion to like the new man."

He took it out of my hand, scanned it, handed it back.

"If I die in the midst of things you may fall heir to all my work: think of that: all my work!"

He had my list—over 50—the main body foreign.

I had the first proof of the poems in my pocket—gave to him.

I may not be able to read them before evening—evening is my best time: from eleven to five are my worst

Wishes my father to see them. Shall forward to Bucke.

One of my deep joys is to see my own thought well expressed by another, hence I am grateful to you for

"I have had my second bath today," he explained, "and that may in part account for my good condition.

my trump card—the abiding thing of all, and it is that I wish to point out.

That is one of the fruits of my receiving you downstairs instead of here yesterday afternoon.

"You know all about Eddy, my brother there. We put him there at the start because of Mrs.

"Very little—I could not say, nothing, but then my memory is such a devilish queer factor in my economy

Upon my saying that Brinton's stock was Quaker far back, W. said: "Ah!

And upon my remarking, with the heavy book in my arms—"It is a great institution"—W. continued: "It ought

It is in part the explanation of my work—of Leaves of Grass.

hold me from my contract."

to my objection that a man should save some heat for something else.

Rossetti.No. 4Washington, Dec. 3, 1867 My dear Mr.

of the full volume of my poems.

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

My Prefatory Notice explains my principle of selection to exactly the same effect as given in this present

I had previously given it a title of my own, Nocturne for the Death of Lincoln; and in my Prefatory Notice

I reminded him of my original favor.

"Is my time at last here? Alas!" Was he curious to see the book?

I had and yet have a sort of idea that my books (I am getting ready, or about have ready, my completed

But my means, meagre at best, have gone, for my expenses since, and now, while not hitherto actually

bodily ills would seem to leave me—then I'dI would feel almost like my complete self again: what my

Saturday, April 2, 1892All the papers moved to my house today. Bucke took supper at McAlister's.

without an owner: Anderton, near ChorleyLancashire, England15 March 1892Dear Walt,Just a line or two, my

dearest friend, my comrade & father, dearest of all to my soul, to express the triumph & joy & cheer

with which I think of you & with which I receive tidings of you.Outwardly sad enough, but deep within my

Be it as if I were with you, & here upon the paper I send you one as a token of my dearest love.

me—it is urgent, persistent: he sort of stands in the road and says: 'I won't movetilluntil you answer my

I have had my own troubles—I have seen other men with troubles, too—worse than mine and not so bad as

This is my permanent address.

Yet I felt that if you liked my poem [See In Re Walt Whitman] you would write.

to you to have arrogantly confounded your own fine thought and pure feeling with the baser metal of my

He sat eating and talking during nearly the whole time of my stay.

my preference.

But neither do some of my friends understand my love for the prairies—my statement, insistence, that

But I understand why I make my claim—I know—I see its justification—its necessity.

Fixed up my Gutekunst picture for me as I waited.

The misfortune of the case is, that he happens to be married to my sister. You know the Mrs.

side, who commerces my anxieties, troubles, trials—my brotherly affections—and my sister there, she

Why," he added, "I always went in my early days to the 25-cent place in the theatre, and it was my breath

My early life especially was full of it.

My intimate friends would have their best fun with a man who brought them such a doubt!"

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