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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.

O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial!

have I also give you. 9 The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music; And my

heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, My heart gives you love.

O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial! What I have I also give you.

The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music, And my heart, O my soldiers, my

veterans, My heart gives you love.

O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial! What I have I also give you.

The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music, And my heart, O my soldiers, my

veterans, My heart gives you love.

O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial!

have I also give you. 9 The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music; And my

heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, My heart gives you love.

Belmont My Dear Walter (as poor Emerson wd would say) I some weeks ago devised a cunning scheme for getting

I took up the idea & having my time at my disposal, I am going to work you up a lecture.

Do you think you will be able to come by that time, my dear friend?

I have never heard you either read or lecture & shall be a thousand times repaid for my trouble. aff—

"Last of Ebb" is my favorite. William Sloane Kennedy to Walt Whitman, 28 August 1888

dear walt i got your letter tuesday Tuesday my hand is some better to day lou returned home yesterday

visit has done her good i had a rather hard time of it i was so very lame at times i co u ldent shut my

hand my finger were so swoln swollen but we got along and had pretty good things to eat i cooked with

my left hand and edd helped me if i hadent hadn't been so dreadfull dreadful lame and my hand pained

money up to get it for a long time so she made it out with edds board money it was 46 dollars good bie my

Walt Whitman, Esq., My dear Sir:— At the suggestion of a friend some weeks ago I began to read your poems

, and have become so much interested in them from my hasty perusal of them that I have decided to make

them the object of my studies during the present summer.

I have one difficulty, however, and it is the occasion of my writing this letter to you.

testify as to the pleasure, comfort, and instruction they have put at my service.

O'Kane has undoubtedly sent you all the copies of my books remaining in his possession—he received originally

And since then he has delivered about 30 Leaves of of Grass to my order—leaving only 30 or 40 more to

As said in my note, you now, (with the exception of about 350 copies of As A Strong Bird , which are

at my printer's in N.Y., & which I can send you an order for,) you now have my books in the market.

Strong Bird on store in N.Y., which I can send you an order for, if you wish, at once.) you have all my

Sent a paper—slips—& Mem Memoranda Aug 10 '76 Copenhagen 24th of July 1876 My dear Walt Whitman.

I wrote to you in April a forthnight fortnight before my marriage.

If the letter should not have reached you, I hereby tell you, that at the 14th May I married my dear

My thoughts were with on the 4th.

My dear wife is greeting you as a friend.

I am now quite used to my new situation, and my opinion, too, is that such a change of base will be something

I was poor, unfit for journalistic work and, nevertheless, wanted to free my intellectual life from pecuniary

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

I wish you, dear Walt, a bright and happy new year; be assured of all my love Gabriel Sarrazin see note

you, & sister & father, & have you located —All sorrowful, solemn, yet soothing thoughts come up in my

mind at reminiscences of my dear friend, your dear mother —have often thought of you all, since '73

mine—I know him well — I have just returned from Boston, where I have been the past week—went on to read my

under the benumbing influences of paralysis, but thankful to be as well as I am—still board here (make my

head quarters here) with my brother & his wife—Eddy, my brother, is living & well, he is now boarding

Mickle St Camden 1890 8½ PM Oct: 28— Sitting here alone in my den—rather a bad day—this grip on me heavily—sweating

last hour & rather better—y'r good letter of 26th came at sundown mail & has somehow cheer'd me—had my

fingers & rather pleasant as work to my mind— Have been putting the last hour in a leisurely body bath

—& shall have a good massage in a short hour f'm now, as I get to bed—Give my love to dear boy Pardee

am —dark wet forenoon—good bowel action—Wm Ingram here this mn'g—nothing new—ab't as usual with me—my

Washington, Feb 3, 1865 My dear friend, From the deep distress of my mother whose health is getting affected

, & of my sister—& thinking it worth the trial myself, I write this hastily to ask you to do, or rather

one of the special exchanges (of which they are now making quite a number) shall be made, in favor of my

(both the above officers have been promoted from the ranks for conduct on the field)— Walt Whitman My

C. as I go to post office for my letters. Walt Whitman to John Swinton, 3 February 1865

My journey home was very pleasant to me & what made it the more so (I suppose) was the anticipation of

once more being with my friends.

I arrived here on the 19th the joy of friends on my arrival I will not attempt to say anything about,

My mind is taken back to when I lay suffering in the Hospital & I have a particular feeling of gratitude

the helpless (when away from home) than to find a friend, one in whom we can confide & trust, as was my

to see them—I wrote to you to write & confer with him (R) —but have no word f'm you—Did you receive my

this time—I have nothing from R. now for a long, long while (with that exception)— I am laid up in my

sick room—essentially the sixth recurrence of my war paralysis—& have been (two or three spells serious

feeble, cannot get across the room without assistance—have a nurse, a good, strong Canadian young man—my

the same as hitherto—have mean time bro't out "November Boughs," 140 pages, & a big Vol. 900 pages, my

and brain action (while easily tired and sore at the best) remain, the muscles, especially my right

fair—and the main elementary functions active at least half (or even plus half) to keep off so far my

bound edition of L. of G. including the "Sands at 70" and "Backward Glance," as a sort of commemorating my

Bucke —my dear friend O'Connor at Washington very ill yet—Wm.

Walsh on the Herald , and Julius Chambers World are friendly to me—I am sitting in my big rattan chair

wall before me this moment with the Bacon —(I am ashamed to say never before acknowledged—but it is in my

little sitting room & before my eyes every day—more than half the time is taken for Shakspere) — I am

in general health—full as well—but laid by with lameness—added to by a fall two months ago & turning my

invitations to me which I should be most glad to accept—but I find it best not to stray too far from my

Give my best love & remembrances to her? I am comfortable here in my shanty.

There is no need that I should pause here to dwell on my meeting with my benefactor Lee, and the shame

with which I acknowledged my guilt, and gave him back his letter.

But great as was my fault, I was hardly prepared for his storm of anger.

: and at the end of a fortnight I left my place.

My little guide crouched down close by my feet—it may be that the knowledge of the presence of death

" thatwould Who is he become my follower?

What I and be asregardless experi ence or shall go from my composition with portray out a shred of my

I heard low one my you,too, murmuring through ofthe wristsaround my head, Heard the pulseof you,when

"He you who spreads a wider breast than own the my proves width of my own.

"BefIrwas born out of my mother, generations guided me, My embryo has never been torpid nothing

We mean Walt Whitman's "Good-bye my Fancy."

rhythmical prejudices, will hold its own with "Crossing the Bar," or the epilogue to "Asolando": Good-bye my

going away, I know not where, Or to what fortune, or whether I may ever see you again, So good-bye my

—now separation—Good-bye my Fancy.

my Fancy. C . Review of Good-bye My Fancy

April 18 Thursday Afternoon 89 I do hope my dearest brother you are feeling a good deal better to day

today I do want you to be. so much. my My greatest comfort is thinking about your being pretty well,

I think of you always my dear brother as I always like to tell you indeed Walt I dont don't think I could

I had not heard you was were sick my dear brother It is right pretty to hear about those wild flowers

.— Walt dear I send love with all my heart.

431 Stevens Street Camden New Jersey U S America Dec: 18 '81 My dear Rudolf Schmidt Yours of Nov: 27

too mourn the death of Elster —though unknown I had formed a liking for him—I shall forward one of my

book will not be published for some months—perhaps a year—I send you, same mail with this, a copy of my

is Sunday, just before sunset—& we have had a fine day—indeed a fine mild winter so far—have been in my

new edition is David Bogue, St Martin's Place, Trafalgar Square— I have heard that my book is to be

distinctly I comprehend no better sphere than this earth, I comprehend no better life than the life of my

I do not know what follows the death of my body, But I know well that whatever it is, it is best for

I am not uneasy but I shall have good housing to myself, But this is my first—how can I like the rest

face the same, But this is the nipple of a breast of my mother, always near and always divine to me,

— and that the experience of this earth will prove only one out of myriads; But I believe my body and

Though it is but a few days since I posted a letter my dearest friend, I must write you again—because

I cannot help it, my heart is so full—so full of love & sorrow and struggle.

Soon soon as ever my boy has one to love & care for him all his own, I will come, I may not before, not

if it should break my heart to stop away from you, for his welfare is my sacred charge & nearer & dearer

than all to me verily my God, strengthen me, comfort me, stay for me—let that have a little beginning

54 Manchester Road Bolton England Jan 13 th 1891 My dear old friend, I was greatly pleased at receiving

My best thanks to you, too, for your kind offer to "send, or notify" me of, any thing you may write I

a personal affection for you which is almost filial in its intensity & of the gratitude with which my

God bless & keep you now & always, my life's Blessing, my Soul's Guide, Philosopher, Friend & Comrade

By last mail I received a kind letter from Mr s O'Connor acknowledging the receipt of the copy of my

Houghton, Mifflin, 1891), for which Whitman wrote the Preface (which he later included in Good-Bye My

America July 31, '75 My dear Rudolf Schmidt , Your letter of July 17, from near Wiemar has just reached

I do not recover my health —for over two months past have been worse than ever, but feel better to–day

world, as an active worker—& the best I look for is to keep up, by care & moderation, & have the use of my

mind as so far, with the partial use of my physical powers, for whatever term of life I have yet to

this forenoon, riding in a street car—& to the printing office, where I am printing a little book, my

Y. or Brooklyn, so as not to incommode my folks at home—taking my meals at the restaurants, & home &c—leaving

my time free for my work &c—Now have you such a room for me , at a fair price?

would be very agreeable—Your going off for a week or two would not make any difference—as a lodging is my

main object—write immediately & let me know, as my leave of absence will probably date from Monday next

I have an agreeable situation here—labor moderate—& plenty of leisure—My principal work is to make (from

it over & over again —it is very, very good—so much about your dear mother , it brought the tears to my

eyes, & I had to stop many times—my dear, dear Sister Martha , she must have suffered so much, & to

got just well enough to go out, in a carriage, but, dear Hattie, I am in a miserable condition, as to my

power of moving—The doctor says I shall get well, but it is very, very slow and irksome—my mind is clear

Louis are addressed wrong)—My right address is Walt Whitman Solicitor's office Treasury, Washington,

I am still kept in my sick room, (but no worse)—My book printing goes on smoothly—My "Notes," such as

they are, on E[lias] H[icks] among the rest—the bunch of golden rods on my table as I write— Walt Whitman

And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love?

O wild and loose to my soul—O wondrous singer!

voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.

While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed, As to long panoramas of visions.

I cease from my song for thee, From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee

And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love?

O wild and loose to my soul—O wondrous singer!

voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.

While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed, As to long panoramas of visions.

I cease from my song for thee, From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee

I suppose you got my second letter last Wednesday.

I put down off hand, & write all about myself & my doings, &c. because I suppose that will be really

what my dear comrade wants most to hear, while we are separated.

I am doing a little literary work, according as I feel in the mood—composing on my books.

Among the pilots are some of my particular friends—when I see them up in the pilot house on my way to

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.

Covering all my lands! all my sea-shores lining! Flag of death!

Ah my silvery beauty! ah my woolly white and crim- son crimson !

Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty! My sacred one, my mother.

, with bends and chutes; And my Illinois fields, and my Kansas fields, and my fields of Missouri; The

My limbs, my veins dilate; The blood of the world has fill'd me full—my theme is clear at last: —Banner

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.

O, it makes my nerves quiver as I think of it.—Yes, anathema!

—Of course, I build now and then my castles in the air.

like wreaths of smoke, and about as substantial, my day dreams.

—It is my sanctum sanctorum, which profane foot invadeth not.

—My best wishes I waft to you, wrapped up and sealed with a wafer.

compliance with request in your name in letter from George Routledge & Sons, New York, of December 28th & my

For my own convenience & to insure correctness I have had the MS. put in type, & thus transmit it to

It is to be distinctly understood that I reserve the right to print it in any future editions of my book

Hoping success to the Magazine, & that my piece may be found acceptable for it, I remain Respectfully

&c yours, Walt Whitman My address is at Attorney General's Office, Washington City, U.S.A.

I am prompted to take this liberty by a sense of my indebtedness to you, and I feel sure that you will

It is one of the desires of my life to look upon your venerable face in the flesh, and to be taken by

the hand of my loving Comrade; and I am not without the hope of one day being thus honoured by him who

has done so much to enrich my life and to rescue my Soul from its quagmire of Doubt and Despondency.

My dear Mr. Whitman: Allow me to introduce to your acquaintance, my young friend, Mr. E. H.

I remember with great pleasure my visit to you last March, when I was on my way home from Johns Hopkins

I am, my dear Sir, Very truly yours.

April 15 1876 My dear sir Please find enclosed my check for $5.—for a copy of "Leaves of Grass."

My delay is because of my intention to canvas canvass my friends and secure additional subscribers and

You know I am well on my 71st year—lame and almost helpless in locomotion—inertia like a heavy swathing

ample dropping pall over me most of the time, but my thoughts and to some extent mental action ab't

I have had my daily mid-day massage (another just as I go to bed).

Tho't of going out a little in my wheel chair but it is bitter cold today here and I shall not.

I have just had a drink of milk punch—am sitting at present in my two-story den in Mickle St, alone as

Dear Friend Abby, and all my friends, Helen & Emmy & Mr.

Arnold, I will write a line only—My paralysis still leaves me extremely feeble—& with great distress

I have lost my dear, dear sister Martha, in St.

present I can hardly move ten steps without feeling sick—I am sitting here now in the rocking chair in my

writing this—most of the time alone which suits me best—it is paralysis of left side—Love to all— Walt (My

I remember I said, before my leaves sprang at all, I would raise my voice jocund and strong, with re-

con- tribute contribute to them, When breeds of the most perfect mothers denote America, Then to me my

I have press'd through in my own right, I have offer'd my style to every one—I have journey'd with confident

step, While my pleasure is yet at the full, I whisper, So long!

Remember my words—I love you—I depart from materials, I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead.

from want of love for you, not because I am not always in communion with you:— that I am, & so are all my

friends; there is a fine young fellow, son of Col Brackenbury, lying dead now in my neighbor's house

No: it is not that I do not love you, & do not dwell with you, that I have sent no token of my work.

You will see that I have stamped my two books of Sonnets with the heraldic coat borne by my ancestors

I will send you photos of my house, myself (done by Clifford), & 3 of my daughters.

Besides numerous other "good" people as almost everybody else would call them, I have in my mind the

instance of my first wife—a girl whom I became acquainted with at a school I attended in my 15th year

in the business of could keep her really contented with out ing my principles.

When it became necessary in order to retain my home that reconstruct my family, I preferred to be content

me "one bit" , and few of my near relatives lost their lives or otherwise badly "hurt".

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?

And so will some one when I am dead and gone write my life?

(As if any man really knew aught of my life, Why even I myself I often think know little or nothing of

my real life, Only a few hints, a few diffused faint clews and indirections I seek for my own use to

And so will some one when I am dead and gone write my life?

(As if any man really knew aught of my life, Why even I myself I often think know little or nothing of

my real life, Only a few hints, a few diffused faint clews and indirections I seek for my own use to