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Howard Lake June 28, 1874 My Dear Friend I Receivied received your kind & Most Welcome Letter A Short

Well My Health I But Verry Very little Better But If I Had Stayed In W Va West Virginia dont don't Suppose

when I went In the army I had a Com fortable Home Was a good Lover My Mother Leives Lives In My Father

Not Seen Her For 8 year My Brothers & Sisters Lives too I Will Close My letter By Saying I Hope you

kindness And Care to me My Children Sends their Love to you Now My Dear Friend I Hope you will write

minnesota Wright Co Howard Lake may 12 1874 Walt Whitman my dear friend I received yours dated April

be good for your the there are some comming coming from the different Stats states for their health. my

friend Whitman I love you when I think of the kindness you shew show to me my heart is swelled with

gratitude to you may the lord preserve you and giv give you a home in heaven my friend i have bin been

in a bad stat state of health for 10 months I have the dropsy of the heart I am getting better & my

Newark, New Jersey June 21st, 1874 My Dear Friend Your Letters & papers came duly at hand.

I left New York in Oct. 1868, and me and my Brother started A Milk Depot here And we until the Spring

When we separated and I commenced to Paddle my own Canoe: I have A small route And keep A Depot.

Enclosed you will find A Card which my friends say resembles your Humble Servant Very Much you shall

I suppose this is your last production: My Best Wishes from your friend, William H.

My father & mother is still living in Bridgeville But myself & my little Family live near the capital

I am alone at home, with my brothers—Papa & Mother are gone visiting to Uncle John's Father's-in-law.

Whitman My Dear Sir I received your letter on the 8 , & was very glad to hear from you.

You asked about my Grand-Mother, she is alive, but, I cannot say well.

I attended an Academy last winter, but, my teacher went away, so I stopped going there We are having

I would send you my picture but I want you to come & see me myself. & very much Oblidge Oblige Your loving

letter of May 14 has come to hand to-day, reminding me of your being in Armory Square Hospital & of my

I send you my love, & to your dear children & wife the same.

it is just comfort enough to be together, almost without any thing else)— I remain about the same in my

red, (though looking now very old & gray, but that is nothing new)—weigh 185 now—am badly lamed in my

am well situated here—but very lonesome —have no near friends, (in the deepest sense) here at hand—my

My dear Reid, Hasn't this got vim enough—from your point of view, even as editor of the paper—to make

one could fail then [during the War] to admire his zeal and devotion, and I am afraid that at first my

I am not sure you will remember me, or my occasional salute to you, in Washington.

the Attorney General that in any changes in the Solicitor Treasury's office, I be not disturbed in my

position as clerk in that office—all my duties to the government being & having been thoroughly & regularly

performed there, by a substitute, during my illness.

Thanks for your letter, statement of acc't. account , of my books Leaves of Grass &c. which have just

Forty One Dollars, fifty-four cents, on acc't of sales of my books, in 1873.

Comparing your rec't receipt of my books from Doolady , April 28, '73 (239 Leaves of Grass, &c.

&c)—with the of books handed over by you to Butts (168 Leaves of Grass, &c &c)—see my last letter to

Deduct 25 copies sent to Boston by my order, & 3 copies to Graphic , leaves 43 copies (@ $1.40) to be

Dear Rudolf Schmidt The Danish edition Demokratiske Fremblik , of my Democratic Vistas , has reached

I suppose you rec'd received my letter from here of Jan. 25—about my illness, paralysis—(& the papers

Tribune , with a poem, (my latest,) Prayer of Columbus So you will see I cannot desist from writing,

Don't fail, my dear friend, to write me at least as soon as you return.

Graphic ) with acc't account of my illness —also February Harper's , and the , by this mail—I like to

Jan. 25, '74 My dear Rudolf Schmidt , Your letter of Jan. 2 has just reached me here.

I have been at death's door myself—& during the year have lost my dear mother & a dear sister by death

probably get well again—But I remain paralyzed yet—walk with difficulty & very little—have bad spells in my

If so, give him my address, & tell him to come & see me.

America (I have not given up my place in the Solicitor's office, Washington—but keep up communication

criticism—when it comes I shall have it carefully translated to me—if you communicate with him, please give him my

Clausen, who Rudolf Schmidt called "my old friend and countryman," corresponded with Schmidt after he

My dear Rudolf Schmidt , My lonesomeness & sickness here, (for I am still sick, & here,) have been much

rejoiced to–day today by my getting your good & copious letter of 28th February, on your return to Kopenhagen

copies Demokratiske Fremblik , & one copy in sheets—also three copies picture paper Folkeblad , with my

Tribune ) my two latest pieces Song of the Redwood Tree , (California,) and Prayer of Columbus , which

the head—walk hardly any, (from the paralysis,) but maintain good spirits, keep up in body & face, (my

My dear Rudolf Schmidt , As you have rec'd received my letter of April 25, you know that the copies of

Commencement Poem to a College near Boston city—the College is the headquarters of the Universalists—my

I intend to send Kristian Elster a copy of my poems, & my photograph—how shall I address him?

Well Pete, my dear loving boy, I have just come in from a 15 minutes walk outside, with my little dog—it

Philadelphia you think I would like to see, give 'em my address—I am glad to see most any one for a change

feeling quite an improvement, or let up, the last two days & nights on the bad spell I spoke of in my

think if I was fixed so that I had you with me every day, I should get well—good bye for this week, my

Dear boy Pete, Both your letters came this week—also one from my friend Eldridge, he too speaks of meeting

with snow, as I look out—not the least thaw to-day, as it is cloudy—I rise pretty late mornings—had my

mutton-chop, coffee, nice brown bread & sweet butter, very nice—eat with very fair appetite—I enjoy my

the same as before described—no worse, no better, (nothing to brag of anyhow) I have mentioned about my

June 5 Am getting along somewhat better last two days—As I write this, (3 p. m.) have had my dinner—&

Though some bad spells still, things decidedly more favorable in my condition. I shall get up yet.

Jersey Friday afternoon Jan January 30, 2 o'clock Dear Pete, I am having another of my bad spells to-day—but

folks, every one I know—I am feeling as well as usual, as I finish this letter—Good bye for this time my

I am still the same—am all alone in the house to-day, as my brother has gone to New York & my sister

Jersey , Dec. 3—noon Dear Pete, Dear son, I am getting over my late bad spell—I have been very sick indeed

, the feeling of death & dizziness, my head swimming a great deal of the time—turning like a wheel—with

expected—& shall go out, or try to, to-day, as it is very pleasant—You must not be needlessly alarmed, my

partially well & strong enough—The doctor is quite encouraging—comes every day—& I feel a good heart yet—My

paper—I have some spurts of visits, & company—but very little that goes to the right spot, with me—my

sunny to-day here, though middling cool—I am sitting here in the parlor alone—it is about 10—I have had my

off—they go by constantly—often one right after another—I have got used to them & like them— —Did you see my

Nash—& to Parker & Wash Milburn—& in short to all my friends— Your old Walt Walt Whitman to Peter Doyle

Monthly just out (February)—shall have another in the March number —Can't seem to do, without occupying my

day—nights are worst for me—I cant can't rest well—has been so now for a month—But I must not fill my

letter with my complaints—To-day is just a Year, since I was paralyzed, (23 d Jan.

January '73)—What a year it has been to me—Good bye my loving boy—write me all the news & gossip.

I am very much the same—My being disabled & want of Exercise for 16 months, (and many other wants too

what the doctor calls gastric catarrh, very obstinate, causing me really more suffering & pain than my

I have bad spells enough, thank God I also have middling good ones—& as I write this have just had my

Dear boy Pete, Nothing particular or new in my condition—I have been to the Doctor's to-day—had quite

Good bye my loving son. I will try to do better next week.

Jersey, Feb 20–1874 Friday afternoon—2½ Dear boy Pete, Well Pete, dear son, I have just had my dinner

(stewed chicken & onions—good,) & here I sit again in the same old chair, in the parlor, writing my

time comes— Have not written any for publication the past fortnight—have not felt at all like writing—My

—I have a poem in the March Harper —as I believe I mentioned in my last.

Take care of yourself my darling boy— Your old Walt, as always.

Pete I thought I would send you a little change enclosed—all I have by me to-day—(but I have plenty at my

with the frogs & lilacs in the spring—I keep a bully good heart, take it altogether—& you must too my

—Still I go out some, though very stiff—& lately some spells in my head rather bad & queer.

What I have said in former letters about my general strength still holds good—otherwise I am in a bad

Dear son, I send you my letter a day ahead this week —Nothing new with me—rec'd the letter of last Sunday—also

Dear Pete, Here I am yet, in my big chair in the parlor—I am up & around, but not very well—I am having

O'Connor— I have no doubt I shall feel better—my sickness comes & goes—& my relief spells the same—I

me a long time, & which I had quite given up—which puts me in better spirits—good bye for present, my

July 10 1875 Dear, dear son, I am still here—still suffering pretty badly—have great distress in my head

, & an almost steady pain in left side—but my worst troubles let up on me part of the time—the evenings

Eldridge to see to the sending on here of my boxes at Dr. Whites.

Pete didn't you get my last Saturday's postal card? I wrote you one.

I got yours last Monday—Did you get the Camden paper with my College piece in? I sent one.

April 10, 12 M Dear Pete, 74 Nothing very new or different in my condition, or any thing else—have hardly

Not much of a letter this time, my loving boy—as I dont don't seem to be able to write much—though, as

Washington to New York, & so was some in hopes of seeing you in Philadelphia)— No change in my condition

or prospects—the young man, Walter Godey, still works as my substitute in the Solicitor's office—I havn't

—My sister has just called me to my dinner—so I will close for this time.

My dear Marvin, Your letter of 13th has reached me.

I should have made my visit the current week, but one of my bad spells has intervened —will write to

March 29, 1874: "It seemed hard to see the great man afflicted, bowed down, and I could not suppress my

Grier on June 2, 1874: "He reiterated his theory that my sufferings, (later ones) come nearly altogether

the very great distress & pain I have been under in breast & left side, & pit of stomach, & thence to my

begin the use of an injection syringe, (Fountain No. 2. tepid water for clysters)—was favorable to my

Christmas Graphic " —(comes out in a week or so,) in which I say a brief word about Emerson— To eke out my

All other books seem to me weak and unworthy my attention.

I read, Sunday, to my wife, Longfellows verses on Sumner, in the last Atlantic, and then I read your

since I last wrote you has passed on, bringing no decided change in my condition—in my bad spells, (&

I have them often enough) I 'most think the end is not far off—but I get over them & my natural buoyancy

reässerts itself—(& in the main keeps control of the helm)—though to a man of my lazy-activity this

I was discharged from my clerkship on the last of June, by B.

plate are ready —I shall be coming along—will send you word when— I have hardly any thing to tell about my

My dear niece, I received your nice good letter—and also Hattie's a week or two before —& have been very

I am not much different in my health—no worse. All the rest here are well.

This little cut picture was one I intended to send last Christmas, but it got lost in my papers—so I

enclose it now, for fun— Best love to you, dear child, & to my dear Hattie too, from Uncle Walt— I will

Without any thing very definite at this moment, my idea is of a poem, fitting in not unappropriately

All the pay I would want would be enough to pay my expenses, transportation &c., probably between 30

Sir: Yours of June 30, informing me of the necessity of terminating my services in the Solicitor's office

heart, lungs, kidneys—(those, according to him, are all right)—thinks it indeed not improbable that my

dear baby— Walt Whitman Frank, I wish to be remembered to Arnold Johnson in the office—tell him I sent my

[am] feeling decidedly better than usual this morning—I have spent an hour in the bath room, (quite my

For I suppose you know that my condition is very tantalizing in its fluctuations—Like today as I write

G. of 7th March is my last no. —did you get it?

August 5 Dear Nelly, Your good letter came all right—it is pretty much "the same subject continued"—with my

square frame, with thin strip of gilt inside, & good plate glass)—I shall look for Charles Eldridge— My

Johnson & her sister mentioned in my article —& please give them my best remembrances.

I feel that I am better, in the main—yet still have daily & nightly bad spells in the head, & my leg

I have been waiting ever since I wrote, to get the photos. of my nieces, (my dear sister Mat's girls,

Drinkard—I sent Garaphelia Howard a paper, the Graphic that has my picture—how is she?

Give her my love—Poor, good Mr.

I know—I send you a piece by me from the paper here —the young man alluded to was much like one of my

shall come on to Washington yet—on a brief visit—Tell Charles Eldridge I shall write to him this week—My

brother & sister & Eddy here are well—My sister at Burlington, Vt. was as usual at last acc't account

Louis—As I write I am sitting here in my big chair alone ( alone muchly ,) in the parlor by the window—It