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Mother, all the news I have to write about my affairs, is the same old thing—we have had another long

this week—they have carried all their measures successfully over the President—I am writing this at my

already—the grass & trees are beginning to look green—they have made a large flower garden right in front of my

idea for days & days, & of course suffered awfully—One of the watchmen of the Treasury, (formerly a Captain

Walt If Mary & the girls come, you must give them my love, & tell Mary I shall send her a small package

My dear Mr. McGuire, The money you gave me for Mr.

My head does not get right, that being still the trouble—the feeling now being as if it were in the centre

I keep pretty good spirits, however, & still make my calculations on getting well.

They are the rooms in which my mother died, with all the accustomed furniture, I have long been so used

I have written to Harry Douglas, my fellow clerk in the office, asking him to send me my letters here

My lift at the Ashton's was a great help to me—the change from the 15th st. rooms, & then the weather

My dear friend, I am here a while on leave—am in good health as usual—have been engaged in electrotyping

a new edition of my book in better form—You sent me word a year or more ago of some Boston publisher

, or bookseller, who was willing (or perhaps wished) to sell my book —Who was it?

biography, The Ferry Boy and the Financier (Boston: Walker and Wise, 1864); he described their meetings in My

O'Connor in 1867: "Every year confirms my earliest impression, that no book has approached the power

I have just written to the Postmaster at Washington, asking him to forward my letters here, as I suppose

In my case there is no notable amendment—& not much change—I have irregular spells of serious distress

the day or night only, with intervals in which, (while I remain still,) I feel comparatively easy—but my

C[lerk] at which I am truly pleased —Nelly, as I suppose you will see this letter, I will send you my

& did he say any thing new about my sickness or symptoms?

Trübner & Company, Dear Sirs, Please make out acc't account of sales of my books, Leaves of Grass &c.

for the closing year, & remit me am't amount due, by mail here, by draft payable to my order.

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

Nov. 24, 18 68 Dearest Mother, I suppose you got my letter last Saturday, 21st—All goes along at present

last—To-day it is very fine—I should like to be with you on Thanksgiving, Thursday—I shall take dinner at my

Benedict told me yesterday to bring any of my friends to dinner I wanted to—I still have the same room—I

the office that keep me hard at it— Love to you, dearest mother—& to all— I have had to scratch off my

letter in a hurry, but I wanted you to have something, according to promise in my last.

Sunday Evng Sept: 2 '88 Your good letter just rec'd & here I am sending word back—still imprisoned in my

sick room—non-rehabilitated yet but middling well for all that—my booklet November Boughs ab't finish'd

—& a large vol. comprising all my stuff begun —I am here just at sunset—Love to you all old & young—I

up & imprison'd in sick room—y'rs of a week ago rec'd & welcom'd —I want to send over some copies of my

Camden NJ America Thursday Evn'g Oct 4 '88— Still keeping my sick room but fair spirits & no worse—great

particulars—H Gilchrist seems to be thriving & happy—I hear often from Dr Bucke —I will send you forthwith my

— Finest sort of weather, sun, skies &c here days & nights—I was out last evn'g to supper and stopt my

New Jersey U S America Feb: 10 '90 — It is near sunset after a bright winter day & I am waiting for my

supper—my young nurse is down stairs practising practicing his fiddle lesson— —I have just written three

and his brother Harry were the sons of Henry Whireman Fritzinger (about 1828–1881), a former sea captain

Davis, Whitman's housekeeper, who had also taken care of the sea captain and who inherited part of his

Still in my sick room—less well to-day, but have had a fair fortnight. Clear & cold weather.

as usual—took a long drive by myself midday yesterday—basked in the sun & drove slow—Have just had my

money for it, (& great good it does me, coming now)—Herbert Gilchrist is here—he is drawing & painting my

perhaps the best thing yet—Love to your father, yourself & Alys, the baby dear, & all—as I end, after my

Camden NJ US America April 19 '89 Am still anchor'd here in my second story in Mickle street—not much

hottest day of the season—but I have got thro' fairly with it—& have just finish'd & quite enjoy'd my

Not yet left my room for down stairs— Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to Mary Whitall Smith Costelloe, 4 August

sill—every thing all right—had toast & a great mug of Whitman's chocolate & hot milk (excellent) for my

yesterday —Your letter of Nov. 12 has been read & re-read, & quite gone the rounds—much admired—I send you "My

over, in a very kind & good letter—enclosing some printed slips from paper—one written by you ab't my

close, but we are having a warm spell here—(now the fourth day of it) —I am ab't as usual in health—my

431 Stevens Street Camden New Jersey Feb: 22 '81 My dear Eustace Conway I am sorry I was out when you

for there is nothing to write ab't—only the fact of writing to you if that is anything—Here I am in my

den as for a year & a half, but not so much different or given out yet—My sleeping & appetite yet hold

fair—you know I am along now in my 71st— Love to you all— Walt Whitman Walt Whitman to Mary Whitall

Christmas—1884—'5 328 Mickle Street Camden N J Thanks my loving young friends for the magnificent chair—so

cloudy warm forenoon, I feel that I would just like to write a line (quite purposeless no doubt) sending my

love & thanks to you & yours—Do you know this is the anniversary day of my receiving the present through

There is nothing new or noteworthy in my own affairs.

I keep fashioning & shaping my books at my leisure, & hope to put them in type the current year.

You speak of my prose preface to first "Leaves of Grass."

I am writing this at my desk in the Treasury building here, an immense pile, in which our office occupies

From my large open window I have an extensive view of sky, Potomac river, hills & fields of Virginia,

I gaze at the Sea while I eat my food and think of thee. . . . and often while I gaze thereon I think

If convenient please give the bearer, for the Photo: Process Co: for me, the negative of the photo: my

still holding out after a fashion)—am writing a little, mentality—(sort o') & good right arm—I sent you my

both—Logan's letter rec'd & gladly—With me slowly jogging along (down hill)—easier the last few days of my

watching half an hour or more—was there last evening at sunset—Suppose you rec'd the papers, accting my

birth day supper (I am now in my 72d y'r you know)—Dr Bucke is home in Canada at his Asylum busy as

a bee—is well—I have heard of my lines & note ab't the Queen's birthday in the English papers —my last

My friends I wish to deeply & gratefully thank the author of "Victor Hugo" in Critic of May 30, for the

328 Mickle street Camden New Jersey July 27 '86 My dear friends If you can use this, the price would

431 Stevens street Camden New Jersey US America Sept 8 '76 Edward Dowden My dear friend I send you by

Dowden's set was directed right—My second batch of the new edition (600 copies each Vol.) is at last

I have many things to say to you my dear friend.

Whitman referred to Rossetti's edition as a "horrible dismemberment of my book" in his August 12, 1871

I wish each to be told my remembrance (or to see this letter if convenient).

positions & ideas in your Westminster article—and radiating from the central point of assumption of my

I would say that (as you of course see) the spine or verteber principle of my book is a model or ideal

(And I want my friends, indeed, when writing for publication about my poetry, to present its gay-heartedness

And now, my dear friend, I must close.

to-day to be what you are, than to be him, with his $10,000 a year—poor thin-livered cuss that he is— My

It is now Thursday afternoon, between 3 and 4—& I am writing this in my room in Portland av.

Pete, one month of my leave exactly is up to-day.

On my way back, I went up in the pilot house & sailed across the river three times—a fine breeze blowing

Then home—took a bath—ate my dinner—& here I am all alone, most stript stripped , taking things as cool

I work several hours a day keeping things straight among the printers & founders, on my books.

bells are slowly ringing—Otherwise it is pretty quiet—The last two hours I have been up here reading my

Nash & your cousin, & all, I send them my best respects—Also Henry Hurt —also Andy Woolridge on 7th st

Dear Pete, Well here I am home again with my mother, writing to you from Brooklyn once more.

New York to visit the lady I went down to the ferry with—so you see I am quite a lady's man again in my

old days—There is nothing special to write about—I am feeling in first-rate spirits, & eat my rations

to-day—a stiff breeze blowing & the smell of the salt sea blowing up, (sweeter than any perfume to my

Pete—& I wont be so long again writing to my darling boy.

As I am now sitting in my room & have no desire to go to bed yet, I will commence another.

Give my best respects to George Smith —also to Pensey Bell & his brother George —also to Mr.

Shedd —and in fact to all my railroad friends, whenever they inquire after me— Dear son, I can almost

about the heavenly bodies—& in the midst of it I look around & find you fast asleep, & your head on my

shoulder like a chunk of wood—an awful compliment to my lecturing powers.

while said this morning—"Why Walt you are fatter & saucier than ever"— but I will close by sending my

love, to my darling son—& to him I shall always be the same old Walt.

Pete, you say my sickness must be worse than I described in my letters—& ask me to write precisely how

Yesterday I thought I felt as strong & well as ever in my life—in fact real young & jolly.

It is now towards 3—Mother & I have just had our dinner, (my mammy's own cooking mostly.)

Pete, the fourth week of my vacation is most ended. I shall return the middle of next week.

Give my love to Johnny Lee —let him read this letter, & then return it to you.

There is nothing new or special in my affairs or doings.

My folks all continue well—mother first rate, & brothers ditto. I do not have such good luck.

I have taken three or four of my favorite rides on Broadway.

I believe I described them to you in my letters a year ago.

Tell Johnny Lee I send him my love, & hope he is well & hearty. I think of him daily.

I have thought of you, my darling boy, very much of the time.

I have not been out of the house since the first day after my arrival.

of, insulting to you, never for one moment in my thoughts.)

Dear Pete, dear son, my darling boy, my young & loving brother, don't let the devil put such thoughts

I will write again before long—give my love to Johnny Lee, my dear darling boy, I love him truly—(let

Dear son, I am sitting here in my room home, alone—it is snowing hard & heavy outside, & cold & wintry

—I have attended to the bringing out the new edition of my book, but as the plates were all ready before

fire—here now I am not like I am in Washington—you would laugh to see me hovering over the fire)— —My

I am now in the eighth week of my furlough—it is seven weeks last Tuesday night since we parted there

add only a few words, in order to put it in the mail this evening—I am working a while every day at my

printing yet—but I go around considerable—still go out in the bay—& enjoy myself among my friends here

find myself now far more for the French than I ever was for the Prussians — Then I propose to take my

It is likely that this will shorten my leave, & that I shall have to come back & do my work myself, about

I don't write, I thought I would send a few lines—they would be better than nothing— God bless you, my

Ned Stewarts Stewart's —When you write tell Ned I am here in Brooklyn, loafing around—& that I send my

fine—warm through the middle of the day, & cool mornings & nights— I fall in with quite a good many of my

you & me—no women in the house—he is single—he wants me to make my home there—I shall not do that, but

that night—My dear loving boy, how much I want to see you—it seems a long while—I have rec'd a good

loving son, & give my respects to any of the boys that ask about me.

the hot weather, & especially since I left Washington—so I read & write as little as possible, beyond my

printing matters, &c—as that occupies several hours, & tires my eyes sometimes.

distinction however—I admire & love the French, & France as a nation—of all foreign nations, she has my

is—to say nothing—only a good smacking kiss, & many of them—& taking in return many, many, many, from my