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"Exactly—exactly: so do I: this man says neither in a way to excite my admiration.

I admire a good many of my enemies more than I admire some of my friends.

"I have a dim notion of the truth in my brain but I am not confident I know.

Tell all the boys what I have said to you about that—give them my love."

I pricked up my ears. Was the revelation about to come? He saw my interested face.

My greatest loss will be in you, my dear Walt, but then I shall look forward to having you up here a

I hope you are well and will write to me, and will go up and see my wife.

Next best is your admiration of my lightnings.

I think John will be delighted with my swordplay.

My task is to do this, and thoroughly, the first time. No afterclaps.

He endorsed my set of plate-proofs as follows: First proof-sheets of November Boughs—to my friend Horace

But what mystifies me about it is, where the devil he got my sitting, my superscription, and when the

If you like, and I can put my hands on them, the letters may be transferred to your collection.

words, Whitman [or Walt Whitman or Walt]—mark my words, put them down: I want to say them now because

W. was lying down on my arrival but got up at once and hobbled to the chair, asking me what I had to

my friends, the sky: thinking life away from, outside, all appetites."

W. said: "That all goes to corroborate my argument—it confirms my own experiences—my own excursions everywhere

That was exactly my case.

in my optimism, my democracy."

I am greedy—never satisfied: their house is an oasis in my domestic desert."

He took my hand. "I feel somehow as if you had consecrated yourself to me.

That entails something on my part: I feel somehow as if I was consecrated to you.

He took my face between his hands and drew me to him and kissed me. Nothing more was then said.

I went back to my chair and we sat in silence for some time.

November Boughs will be my good bye." Friday, May 25, 1888.

"I feel a bit better today but you notice I wear no extra feathers in my cap."

I am not embittered by my want of success.

My last volume is in response to the interest of my friends abroad.'"

There were tears in my eyes.

I stuck them in my pocket.

My dear Sir,I hardly know through what a malign series of crooked events—absence chiefly on my part in

This is now framed and hangs in my bedroom.

My sister, Tom's wife, sent him a spring chicken.

It printed my Grant piece."

All my own tastes are towards books you can easily handle—put into your pocket.

Washington, giving you my new address, as yesterday came the Conservator, with the 112 M St. on it.

My love to Annie, & to you. I hope that you are both well.

He took a slip and his blue pencil and wrote at my dictation. Where was the address book?

Finally at my urging said, "Well, a dozen, then."

"I forgot my copy—lost it here—fully intended to send it."

despise the Copperheads, irrespective of who they are, their fame—what-not: but aside from that, all my

My impression of Julian as I met him here at the dinner was a good one—very good."

I wrote of it in my letter to Doctor—that you had such a letter—that it was not to be publicated, at

I also feel sure that he also felt that my home would be with my dear sister Mrs.

don't know who will be my guardian now!

of Grass" imperfect enough (which of course enters another phase of the subject).I had Poet-Lore in my

My "Lowell, Holmes & Whitman" was well received.

My lecture is with my sketches, about 2 hours long—1/2 hour to each part, & about 1/2 hour to the sketches

My sculptor's art begins at 8. and gets done at 10. or 10 1/2—just as the people feel.

Traubel last night giving her some of the particulars she asked for of my voyage.

My yesterday's telegram to Ingersoll was: "Slightly favorable change. Will write."

My opinion now is that January will put an end to all this business."

"Of course I will keep my promise and speak at the funeral.

Give my love to all—my love to all—all," and seemed exhausted, adding after a slight cough, "The great

But you know I am not my own master—that I have duties." "Yes, Maurice, I know."

I don't know what it indicates—but my spirit is getting into rebellion.

Repeated to W. the purport of my discussion with McKay.

W. instantly said, "No, my disposition is immediately to say no, to negative him.

I have waited long and long and long to pronounce my determination.

O'Connor has called my attention to this: Washington, November 24, 1868. My dear Mr.

He started up instantly on my quiet entrance. "Oh!"

You have touched a chord that always induces my sympathy."

I looked at my watch. He asked: "Haven't you time?"

over the manuscript to my colleague.

I wanted to send Minden my translation of Starting from Paumanok, with my preface to the work and Freiligrath's

Yet all my feeling was in good temper.

I have a constant bath in my own perspiration.

Only my brother is now upon the old farm.

my sleep a good deal.

My book, Signs and Seasons, will be out this month.

From the medical point of view they tell me I'm getting on all right, but from the point of view of my

"My head is no good tonight. Last night I felt extra strong." Had not read much proof today.

You'll find in one of John's letters that he talks to me like a Dutch uncle about my health.

Tell them I cannot write myself—describe my situation: tell them how helpless I am.

I think it would lengthen my days to see you once more.With loveJohn Burroughs.

I suppose I have been called crazy at least a hundred times to my own face!"

W. thereupon saying, "Give me my money back, Maurice!"

My piece appears in Post, making a stretch of a column and a half.

O'Connor, my father and Anne together.

My father and Bucke especially at it.

My dear friend:I think that Mr.

Adding, "I do not think my friends understand the extent of my advocacy and approval of Ingersoll, of

my recent thought.

My mood was this.

The letter you showed me has been my surprise, my rejoicing."

My own position is the writer's, not the publisher's.

New YorkSep. 16. 1891.My Dear Traubel,Your tender letter of sympathy reached me in due course.

And thanks to the careful nursing of my dear wife, and the pure and healthful air of the mountains, my

My shattered right arm is still however a cause of great anxiety.

against me in the days of my worst struggle.

"That is something that is often said even by my friends: I do not appreciate it: I have made my decision—must

as it was laid on my arm."

My mother spoke to me: she said (laid her hand on my arm): 'I know what you are thinking—I know you feel

My dear mother was wonderful wise and cute.

Whitman, that my idea is not that there is evil in the book: my idea is that by taking certain things

"My God, no!

"You may go along, to give my step a sort of certainty."

Just today I read Bucke out of my notes W.'

My God!" W. mockingly said: "Maurice, you shock me!"

and still my withers are unwrung!"

I was looking through some of my scraps today—these were some of the results—I thought you would perhaps

I get from Walt by means of the newspapers, & new & then a postal.With very sincere regards to you, my

My dear Traubel:Here is postal note for the doctor's book—$4.00.

CliffordLove to WaltThank him for liberal terms to my doctor. W. exclaimed: "Good! Good!

Had written Morris' and my own names on the big envelopes, on the former's giving "respects and thanks

through this paralysis pretty sadly disabled," but he always tells me (which he hardly needs to), "My

W. said, "Morris will be one of us yet," and to my, "Yes, don't you remember the walk I told you of only

Callingham has my everlasting thanks for this happy introduction.Below please find a copy of Mr.

Carnegie's letter on my new Year's Greeting to Whitman.Yours sincerely,James D.

I know nothing better—little as good—it fits in with all my theories of democracy. Mrs.

"I put my name in all," he explained, "yet in one or two it already appears several times.

I left with him a copy of New Ideal containing my paper on Parker and Johnson.

"It does my eyes good—is handsome." Had laid out American for me.

"You know—I pride myself on my inclusiveness—that I embrace everybody—and that must stand."

My friendships are my own—for Ingersoll or another.

New England Magazine piece), "I think I will get you to set out at greater length—more definitively—my

It is a thing which ought to be plainly said—which my books do not make naked, plain—which perhaps I

He told this once to Bucke (substantially) in my presence.

This time voice, all, strong, pictorial, eloquent.I told W. it was my mother's birthday. "Oh!

"It is a trifle," he said, "but trifles are indicative: tell her that my heart goes with it."

He seemed to see an inquiry in my looks. "It don't go very well," he remarked. "I am not up to it."

I took the two Ingersoll articles out of my pocket and gave them to him.

Give him my regards."

They set my head in a whirl—mixes me all up—and besides hurts my throat.

I am not sure but that is the point—and my deficiency!" Passing along, "Who have you seen today?"

I can describe it no better than by my old figure—that it seemed as if all the vital insides had fallen

A preliminary cable but does not know when he must sail.W. gives me [notes] for my "memoranda," to be

W. asked, "Did you notice this letter—that it was from my sister's husband at Burlington?"

I ignore him, never recognize him in any way—pity my poor sister—old, sick.

weakness—knowing the spot where I am sore—my love for my sister—ramming his knife in there!

My appetite keeps at a high grade, probably three-quarters of the time, for about one-quarter it flunks

Told him I had read "An Old Man's Rejoinder" in Critic on my way over.

Perhaps your feeling is a little mixed with what you know of my criticism from the talks here."

It would be my argument still.

And this may account for my article; having these things in me, they were bound to come out."

Once during my stay got up to urinate but could not.

I said something about the birth of the boy at Harned's: my sister's courage and physical sanity and

I told him that my sister had sat up reading Robert Elsmere last night.

It reminded him of a kindred experience: "When I had my great attack—my great paralysis—I was reading

My dear poet: I wrote you from N.

s at 9.30 on my way to Germantown.

He knew me, dark as it was—called my name.

Harned in during a part of my stay this evening. I met Michael J.

all: I feel I have lost what I call my grip."

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

—adding with the same fire: "My 'verbal' suggestion would be for him to stop the whole thing at once.

Insisted on my taking Burroughs' Pepacton to read.

My few friends are a great host—my many enemies are a few."

Dear Walt:I have sent you the MS. of my letter to Bucke.

Do you see my dilemma?

It's meaty and original anyway—like yr article.Thank Walt for the slips & give him my love.W. S.

that is so familiar a guest in my mind, and so loved and respected a guest too.

sound and that my prospects of life and vigor seem excellent for a man of my age.

Of course I would like to have my piece in and would overhaul it carefully 5.

I thank you sincerely for the honor & compliment in submitting it to my eye.

Wonderfully cheerful in the evening on my arrival, talking most freely for more than an hour.

My last thought confirmed my first: it seemed like supererogation to impose such a statement upon the

"But Washington, New Orleans, Brooklyn—they are my cities of romance.

He asked me some questions about my health.

I could not stand before a Millet picture with my hat on." Monday July 23, 1888.

My ground is a peculiar one: I know nothing on the other side of the question—the side of statistics,

I build up my conviction mainly on the idea of solidarity, democracy—on the dream of an America standing

I have kept quiet through practically my whole career—almost utter silence—and have never had occasion

and then upon my saying "yes": "Well—give him my love: tell him I know as little about that Herald author

I set up some of it myself: some call it my hand-work: it was not strictly that—there were about one

W. was greatly interested in my repetition of this.

I was on my way to Philadelphia to hear Tom Davidson's lecture on Aquinas.

W. inquisitive—greatly "tempted" by my description of D.'

My details few, but he evidently a good listener.

He was amused with my account of nervousness preceding.

my body against his.

My God! has my love of life survived? have my dreams survived?" A sob burst from his throat.

"Horace: you must return as my delegate to Walt: take my body and take my soul, with you: set them down

God was on my side after all.

I run my pennants up up into the air and fill the skies with my cry: Victory is mine forever!"

"I have been out of my chair today—had a delicious trip—the day fine beyond words.

I went up to Tom's—knocked at the office door with my cane—but evidently nobody was in." Alex.

Directed my attention to a French paper in the chair. "It comes from Bartlett's son, now in France.

"The paper contains a translation of my 'Bravo Exposition' piece, whether good or bad I do not know.

It had made W. read 'Old Poets' again, as I found him doing on my entrance.

My laughing question, "Do you never get tired reading your own articles," seemed vastly to excite him

Said to me, "I have a new idea about the portraits—have changed my mind: will get several envelopes made

I shall bind it in my volume with the lecture.

Looked over [Harper's] Young People.W. had written me my "dedication" as follows. Would it do?

W. reading Lippincott's, which he put down on my entrance.

My sister was here: George's wife, I mean—my sister-in-law: she did not stay long: she is a comforting

"I have been more on my bed than on my chair today." Little reading. "I only skimmed the papers."

Meanwhile I am up to my eyes—and over my eyes even to blindness—in the slough of a fearful road to that

to have of my object in calling on you.

Complained, however: "While that is true, my vim and strength do not return: I despair of recovering

"It don't go very well: my brain is not equal to it: could not cope with it—gets tired, takes my pen

out of my hand."

Finally: "Hicks is entitled to my best—not my worst.

My best would be too little—my worst would be an insult."

way—he was gentle but firm—he opposed my observation.

The Colonel is always my friend—always on the spot with his good-will if not in person."

Well—I have been lucky in my friends whatever may be said about my enemies.

My fixed residence is 50 Wellington Road, Dublin, Ireland.

My work there is that of Professor of English Literature in the University of Dublin.

Yet we want very little from him—very—simply a copy, in which my corrections are duly made.

My idea is, to ballot for Brinton, science, liberty—against the minister." How did he feel?

"Well, it is all I can do to hold my head up.

I am so faint, weak, merely to keep straight, to be on my feet at all, is a victory.

Adding to my "no"—"Well, I suppose after all that is provided for in the nature of things.

hasn't my prosperity walked on its uppers almost from the start?"

In any event, I hope to hear your address and to see you at my office.

I am anxious to have one or more contributions from you for my Cyclopedia for which we pay ten dollars

I'm afraid my pen let loose would have seemed out of character in such a place: my pen tied up I haven't

I tell you, Horace, it's no fun for words when they get in my hands, though the howlers may not know

"The minute I attempt to work my brain gets into a snarl."

My own greatest pleasure at Pfaff's was to look on—to see, talk little, absorb.

I had, in my years of loafing, forgotten how sweet toil was.

I had quite lost my interest in literature and was fast losing my interest in life itself, but these

two months of work have sharpened my appetite for all things.

My purse and my heart are yours!" W. exclaimed, "How grand! How quick!

On top of all my other troubles and labors my daughter Clare considered it "de rigueur" to give a ball

My work is done. Nothing remains now but to ring the curtain down."

My good-bye and his rather more than usually affectionate.

"My best love for all the boys at the club." Tuesday, November 17, 1891

Give my best regards to Whitman.

He laughed gently and responded, "Yes, caution, caution—it is my old virtue!"

Now he inquired, "Is there any news of the literatures—anything at all my kind?"

I consider Ingersoll and Symonds my proof.

"You are not the least of my comforts, Horace!" he exclaimed.

My love to her. It is curious you do not hear from Mrs.

He was not asleep on my entrance—his eyes wide open, facing the light.

"Yes, that is my idea, but I leave the final decision to him.""

Yes, say it is my wish—wish, not order: I acknowledge his privilege.""

Found my letter from Arthur Stedman awaiting me.

Mary is away today—Warrie is my cook.

I find I must exercise my utmost wits, to keep myself in a certain negative plane—which seems my only

Present my compliments to your wife & believe meTruly,D. G.

Now the book is completed, I want it made and kept my way." I had written Ingersoll today.

And I want you to let me know about it—for my curiosity has been aroused."

I wasted many of my own opportunities."

He would not permit my defense of Oldach.

I put my hand over my heart. "From in here." He wanted to know: "Have you a safe guide in there?"

I explained: "I don't mean my future beyond this life but my future here." W.'s face lighted up.

W. poked his thumb up before my eyes.

Of course I cannot venture to give my opinion on the matter.

My eyes grow moist as I realize the sad, sad situation.

May heaven guide you to wisdom, my dear friend, my comrade indeed, my brother beloved.

'Good-Bye, My Fancy'—based, absorbed in, the natural.

And as he pressed my hand, he said slowly, "Good night." Mrs.

"I can't get adjusted to it: the thought of our separation—of my personal helplessness: then my memory

I struggle against my own inner convictions."

My dear Walt,This morning I had occasion to call at the house of a Mr.

But I worked my way through it. He'd say: "Don't give up," laughing.

own personality (things seen through my eyes and what my vision brings)—a book full enough of mosaic