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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

Rukh–mabai, my Indian friend was with us—her first visit to Oxford, and she was tremendously interested

This is a most unsatisfactory letter—but I feel as if the fog had got into my head.

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

I am on the Free Trade side, in spite of my American upbringing.

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

Milburn, or any of the railroad boys, or other friends that may inquire after me, that I send them my

best respects—not forgetting my friends Mr. & Mrs.

every thing lovely—It will not be long now before I shall be back—Till then, take care of yourself, my

car, 50 cts extra—plenty of room & a very easy riding car—thought while I was sitting up here now in my

yesterday afternoon & evening—took a ride up & down Broadway—am now laying off & taking it easy in my

just as natural into habits of doing nothing—lie on the sofa & read the papers—come up punctually to my

it for Sunday—I am feeling well & enjoying myself doing nothing, spending a great deal of time with my

will write you a few lines as I sit here, on a clump of sand by the sea shore—having some paper in my

splendid swim & souse in the surf—the waves are slowly rolling in, with a hoarse roar that is music to my

send it, as I can get along otherwise — I am doing very well, both in health & business prospects here—my

see that you too are jogging along about the same, on your car, with an occasional let up—Often in my

Dear Son, I am sitting here in my room, having just eat a hearty dinner with my mammy , (who has this

month entered on her 76th year, but to my eyes looks young & handsome yet.)

c—he has one fault, & a bad one—that is he will drink, & spree it—which spoils all—True it is none of my

would give it up, & find his pleasure in some other way—Pete, should you see Allen again, give him my

Brooklyn, Friday, July 14. 1867 or '8 Dear Pete, It is pretty much the same with me, as when I wrote my

former letters—still home here with my mother, not busy at any thing particular but taking a good deal

letters that every thing goes on right with you on the road—give my best regards to my friends among

the drivers & conductors—Dear son, I shall now soon be coming back, & we will be together again, as my

Love to you, my dearest boy, & good bye for this time Walt.

Received from Thomas Donaldson Ten Dollars for books— Walt Whitman Dear TD I am here imprison'd yet in my

I have a copy of my big 900 Vol.