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would try to write, blind, blind, with my own tears.

I will only say that my soul and my sympathy all go out towards you and I often think of you as the one

Traubel,My thanks for your very good note.

The "circle" is my own creation.

Give him my love. I haven't things ready-made to say to him. Just give him my love.

"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.

I think I shall remodel my piece (that I sent Walsh of Lippincott's) and make it into a review of the

Kennett Square, Penna.Nov. 12, 1866.My dear Sir: I send to you by the same mail which takes this note

, a copy of my last poem The Picture of St.

The age is over-squeamish, and, for my part, I prefer the honest nude to the suggestive half-draped.

If I had stopped to dispute with my enemies, even to dally or luxuriate with my friends, the book would

I quoted my dentist who got off an old saw while he was working on one of my sensitive teeth: "Seeing

My dear Whitman: I find your book and cordial letter, on returning home from a lecturing tour in New

I have had the first edition of your Leaves of Grass among my books, since its first appearance, and

My first notion is one of disappointment.

It's not in my line at all.

I quoted my observation made in a discussion about W.

I am, everywhere in my talking and writing, making your claims felt and shall continue to do so.

W. exclaimed, breaking in: "Read it again: I want to get it clear in my noddle for keeps!"]

I hope to be able please you with my treatment of your great work.

That country out there is my own country though I have mainly had to view it from afar.

—that my mind is bound to last me out whatever becomes of my body." Spoke of the Harneds.

My father spoke of the Twenty Years' drawings in the Magazine of Art as being "so Scotch."

Gilder has always been my friend—very good friend—indeed, I may say my 'dear' friend, speaking for myself

Gilder as well as Watson himself, I'd had one of the times of my life.

appreciation, my love for them, has no ifs and buts either." [1905.

I anticipate a time, not very far distant, when I will lose my physical volition altogether—suffer an

I am extremely cautious—weighing every grain before giving in my adhesion."

All that is required under the present idea, my idea, might be a little preface, stating my reasons for

this particular issue of my works."

My first taste of the country was at Alloway, Burns' birthplace.

"This was made for me by my sister.

my singing years.

Is that to be my good fate?

idea, is still my idea."

"Next to getting out of my room here is to stay in my room and get a letter from William.

I sit here all day, or lie over there"—motioning towards the bed—"and that is what my life amounts to

"I see—I see: it must be wrong—but that is one of my idiocrities—to put it there and let it be, wrong

personal decency, even my goodness, and then dismissing my literary insanity and worse with a shrug

I have lived as yet but eighteen years; yet in all the constant thoughts and acts of my last few years

, your words have been my guides and true oracles.

Here is the letter:Farmington, Maine,Aug. 21, 1888.My dear Mr.

My own family is for calling me 'Walt'—all of my family. Dr.

"Don't that bear out my idea?"

I clapped my hands. He threw his arms out as if in acknowledgment of applause.

He laughed at my dig.

My taste is alien—on other currents: I do not seem to belong in the Swinburne drift.

I find it difficult to account for my dear woman's taste.

It's a good sight for my old sore eyes: leaded, double-leaded.

Dowden sent it to me himself: I have always kept it near my chair—I wanted it handy.

On another occasion he said of it: "Sylvester is on several sides my friend—my friend, I think, for general

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

I have had a bad day—a very miserable bad day: but I notice my bad days often come just before my best

I am more likely any time to be governed by my intuitive than by my critical self, anyhow.

, in my need: who can tell?

To my sister and my father who in these last few days have seen W. for the first time since his present

One of my doctors thinks much of my head trouble the past three months is from the sun.

But my remembrance of her all centers about New York.

Now, in our new book, I try in my Hicks to confirm another item of my triple oath.

I hope if my Paine piece is little it's also O hell."

My hesitations make me think of a story.

'Captain, here's the preface!' 'Is that the preface?'

He answered: "I suppose I have destroyed the most of the letters that came back with my poems.

There is some Galaxy stuff still coming to you: I can't just now just put my hand on it."

But he still said: "Read a few: I want to have my memory refreshed."

My dear Mr. Whitman,I am glad you can do the nursing article. Thanks for the Father Taylor.

Musgrove will step in presently and put me to bed with or without my consent, and then——".

Rossetti, too, has always declared for me, stood by me, staunchly assented my right to my own.

more at home with my old than with my new history—than with affairs I am mixed with (if I mix with any

my eyes."

"I spoke of the defects of my memory, but bad as they are they are not fatal—some ways my memory's as

They remind me of my triumphs and my defeats.

I do not want anything my fault to interfere with your progress.

It never quite approves itself to my eyes but I yield.

"I shall like to have it right here where I can put my hands on it—and my eyes."

Then we need title pages for your set and Bucke's and my own, and contents for all.

yes, Redpath was always partial to me—even went out of his way to curl my hair.

Bucke had also written: "I have been thinking over the Riddle Song and have made up my mind that the

"Horace, I made the puzzle: it's not my business to solve it.

But I wanted something down there and thought I would start off on my own hook and get it.

There's something peculiar in my notion about this book.

Give the new mother my love: tell her I glorify her in my thanksgivings—that Walt Whitman glorifies her

I realize that I am at last on the verge of dissolution: my vim has departed, my strength is gone, life

He used to handle my skepticism about Poe without gloves: Edgar Poe: he would not have my qualifications

life and may be used as in some byways an explanation of my addiction to the trades and my apprenticeship

What he says of Scott has my entire approval: Scott is my man, too: I go to him sometimes with a real

They have made my summer glorious. My love of that man is something strong as fate.

"I regret my ignorance of German: German is the one foreign language I am sorry I did not go into when

"They are not wrong—they are only my whims, oddities: as such I must let them pass."

It is my old play-book, used many and many times in my itinerant theatre days: Richard: Shakespeare's

Yes, I have made the best of my sluggish pulse by trying to keep it sure, strong.

Every man has to learn his own best method: my method is to go slow, extra slow.

You remember I wrote it on one of my off days." "Now this is an on day and you correct it."

You mean that it would be significant as showing my condition the day I wrote it?

It is the fore-dream of my own questions: I put that question to myself every day.

My impression of it was favorable—not the common one at all.

My own curiosity to see him is great.

But I held my own.

shakes in himself but because he has done some honor to his office—has done his best: not your best or my

My sister Agnes remarked: "The drives are certainly doing you good—you show it." He assented.

I forgive everybody: I am in a good mood for gentle things: the beautiful day, my hearty reception here

Give him my love: describe the last hour here at Harned's—the talk, the good feed, the good drink; say

My dear Walt:The article you sent Nelly from the London Leader is in my possession. Good!

a great deal of it in.If, ever since I have been here, I have not had the worst cold I ever had in my

this point as time has passed and the sweet country air and relief from labor cleared and refreshed my

poor boiled brains.On my way through New York I enquired at Harper's for Curtis and found he was out

My wife returns your friendly remembrance and yours, I hope, has not forgotten me.

I always argue that all the time there is my time: so I go slow with what I do—take the reasonable maximum

Paul was too much for me and my brain actually reels. I have never seen architecture before.

My brain is too sensitive. I am not strong enough to confront these things all at once.

Paul's, but it took my breath away.

It was more than I could bear and I will have to gird up my loins and try it many times.

This is a safer place for me—this little town, this little room, my own bed and chair."

reading Gladstone's reply to Ingersoll—"It is a great weariness—but I stuck to it, thinking it probably my

Its protestations seem to me a sort of Captain Cuttle business—the 'yes I do,' 'no I don't,' 'perhaps

Horace Traubel, a personal friend of mine, the same as you would with me, and consider him as my fully

last cent—at least you'll get it: I am no good anymore, that way speaking: I am tied down here fast to my

She is a friend of my Quaker friend, Mary Costelloe: it was no doubt through Mary that we came together

W. said: "My attention was first called to him by William O'Connor, who may have met him personally—I

My taste has been modelled on another theory—in the school of Scott, of Cooper, of some others of the

I remember the Tales of my Landlord, Ivanhoe, The Fortunes of Nigel— yes, and Kenilworth—its great pageantry—then

My God!

I first met him after my sickness, on coming north.

He was full-blooded, large, splendid—a real human being—full of unction—a man after my own heart: much

He called my attention to a remark of a Methodist minister at a recent conference: "I propose to discuss

She must have made a guess on my size and guessed wrong."

He throws nothing in my way, but he does nothing to welcome me.

W. called my attention to some newspaper criticisms of his books.

But my feet are eternally gone." I happened to say to W.: "I will be honest.

My dear Mr.

The sweet sun has got into all my old bones." Here are a few of W.'

That's my part of the story.

Logic does very little for me: my enemies say it, meaning one thing—I say it, meaning another thing."

The public want to know whether I have been an honest servant —whether I have stuck to my guns (to their

I would come in he woke up, and I would lean down and kiss him, he would reach out his hand and pat my

he wandered a good deal of the time—I would say "Erastus, don't you remember me—don't you remember my

In my limited talks with him he told me about his brothers and sisters, and his parents, wished me to

Farewell, dear boy,—it was my opportunity to be with you in your last days,—I had no chance to do much

I send you and all Erastus' brothers and sisters my love.I live when at home in Brooklyn, New York, in

I shall never know, of course: I know no language but my own.

My whole—not exactly that: my best—knowledge of Hugo was derived from that man."

My father was Walter. He had a right to Walter.

My sister had sent W. some cakes.

All my feeling is against it. My feeling decides the day."

"Is this my little growl?

Well—you must let me have the growl—listen patiently—my growl is worse than my spring."

William O'Connor used to say this was rather a contradiction between my life and my philosophy.

I know I ought to know Weiss and Johnson—they are my men, I am their man—but I own up to my entire ignorance

Ask my enemies if I ain't extreme.

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.

Any one of you fellows knows more about my book than I do myself.

most of them—and then go off and picture me as standing out in the middle of the room and spouting my

That word, they said, was out of place, not my word, inconsistent with my philosophy.

My enemies would even dispute my knowledge of the English." W. talked of "Shakespeare worship."

No magnificent cathedral could quite so well have rounded up my simple picture.

, who has been here to pay me a visit, says that I am mistaken, that Browning is my man, only that I

I do not assent to that—Corson does not know my appetite and my capacity as well as I know it myself.

I have almost made up my mind to make some use of the themes myself, though I don't know as I'll ever

get to them—so many physical obstacles drop into my pathway these years."

"Yes indeed—lots of 'em—lots of 'em: in fact, some of my best friends in the hospitals were probably

I have lived to regret my Rossetti yes—I have not lived to regret my Emerson no.

But how much does a man succeed in setting me right, in arriving at my purpose, in getting my measure

(yes, my motive) who wants to expurgate me?

Then he exclaimed: "Horace, take my advice: never take advice!"

Take my word for it—don't take advice!" Rabelais was somehow talked about.

W. again: "Stedman thinks I should be happy to have my Lincoln poem classed with Lowell's ode.

W. said as to that: "Many of my friends have agreed with you, Doctor, about that.

I don't have much bother with my conscience. But books—well, books make a coward of me."

My dear friend—It is just dawn, but there is light enough to write by, and the birds in their old sweet

My first knowledge of you is all entangled with that little garden.

the sofa in the parlor and complaining of ill health—of being "constipated, listless"—and saying: "My

blood is so sluggish—my pulse is so low."

Everything don't come my way but lots of things do." Talked for a long time recumbent.

A kind of love passage—that's my sort of fight. But let me tell you a little more about Rhys.

Some day I'll die—maybe surprise you all by a sudden disappearance: then where'll my book be?

Some of my friends say, 'Watch Dave.' I do watch him, but not because I do not think him square.

But when it comes to my books he shies some—they are more or less suspected.

Her influence on my side has perhaps helped some to save me with Stedman.

He laughingly called my name. I stopped.

I advise you to study its mechanics: that's where my advice ends.

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."

"It should be printed before my birthday, on the 31st.

why Walsh did not print it: I have always considered him friendly to me: yes, friendly: he surely is my

"From books I have read about him—from my talks with him, with his friends—I do not consider that Emerson

"My sort, sort of!" To which W. replied: "Hardly—your sort of preacher is no preacher at all.

W. frequently broke in on my descriptions to say: "Well, that is beautiful to hear!"

The Century under Gilder has always accepted my pieces and paid for them.

Some of my friends have quarrelled with the editors but they have never done it with my consent.

I am well satisfied with my success with titles—with Leaves of Grass, for instance, though some of my

You have saved my books: I could not do these books without assistance.

entirely down in the mouth—I do not seem to have any scare in me—but I am wide awake to the fact of my

My little quarrel with Stedman is not about anything he does but because of something I think he could

I said: "That is my birthday."

My term's work is over and I am going away for a month, to Cambridge and Brighton.

I have to be true to my reputation."

Well, I am holding myself under restraint: as they say out West, I 'hold my horses': perhaps that best

I was in early life very bigoted in my anti-slavery, anti-capital-punishment and so on, so on, but I

But I recognize that nothing can be done without it—therefore I pay my way right through, preferring

to have it understood so at the start—being rather averse to arranging for my books on any other terms

after my reply adding: "I guessed right, anyway. Offer him the one fifty spot cash.

In a case so obvious it would seem as though things might very easily be brought to a head in my behalf

W. gave me what he called a "document" to go among my "war records."

children in age yet—so good, so sweet, so brave, so decorous, I could not feel them nearer to me if my

W. laughed: "If I had my way," he said more gravely, "I'd try my medicine first on the rich—make them

I contend that I am the safest of men—that my gospel is the safest of gospels.

"I am getting more and more satisfied with my bed and chair, which is suspicious."

Explains: "The fall in my pulse is getting more and more evident: I've got no time to lose."

In talking about signatures W. said: "O'Connor once took one of my signatures to a clerk in the Treasury

I have about made up my mind to live another year: why not?

You will see that he harps on the Calamus poems again—always harping on 'my daughter.'

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.

"Yes—they are my fool lines. I was giving Hotten some advice and tried to illustrate it.

I was only trying to give him an idea how I seemed to myself in my own eyes."

You are the victim of a disease I should not encourage—but then we've agreed to work together—you're my

I should like to know who wrote the piece in the Morning Star—it flushed my friends and myself too, like

Once he got to the house while I was out—went straight to the kitchen where my dear mother was baking

My friends!

I did put it into my pocket.

Accept my thanks.

"You've said it for me: that's the substance of my philosophy.

My p. o. address remains the same. I am quite well and hearty.

Gave me My Book and I to take over in the morning—that "to be the opening piece."

That's because I don't always agree with my- self about Stedman.

W. jumped on me for my "radical violence."

"He has not sent the poem back—has not answered my note in any way. I do not understand it."

That may be true: I wouldn't go to the stake for my opinion on this subject."