Search Results

W. said: "My brother Jeff, from St.

My dear mother had every general faith in me; that is where she stopped.

Expect to stay in the neighborhood another week, when I shall shift my diggings as my bedroom window

My feeling about him is not condemnatory—only indifferent." I told W.

This is not the general view: it is my view.

I confessed my concern.

He said: "I've had the same concern myself: my body is nowadays so easily shoved off its balance: but

It cuts to the marrow—at least to my marrow: is a sort of confession of faith on my part.

without lowering my colors.

I am always more or less on tenter hooks about my health these times."

I kissed W. my congratulations. He was very fine about it.

Weda Cook sang a My Captain song of her own composition.

W. addressed Weda Cook: "My dear—who taught you to sing?"

W. was very warm towards Harned and his wife, my sister.

W. to me: "My love is anybody's love today."

I said Gosse had shown a leaning my way—was more than cursorily courteous and warm.

It will serve to back up my answer. Was it you who asked me?""Yes—I asked the question."

Dear Sir:When my friend Mr.

The Leaves of Grass have become a part of my every-day thought and experience.

Harry has always been ten times over my friend where once would have done.

"So they wonder about my use of the apostrophe, do they?

I have so accustomed myself to it in my verse that I extend it to my prose for uniformity's sake.

My 'peculiarities,' as your printers call them, hardly go further than this.

My opinions are all, always, so hazy—so slow to come.

I have been treated fully up to my deserts and over."

I was a good deal uncertain about the title until your unanimous vote removed my uncertainty."

My first experience with that sort of a character was an unfortunate one: it has become a mere memory

a man I think I of all men doubt: a pious, sanctimonious, unctuous, oily individual: his victim was my

—or something or other of that sort—contracted with my father, who was a builder, for the construction

It was a sample case—I could match it with many incidents that have come my way since.

My alarm was instant.

He held my hand warmly and firmly.

I may dance my last dance any day now.

He took my hand—held it saying: I feel more and more my dependence upon you—I feel more and more that

I questioned him sharply today and that is my impression."

"I am inert, feeble, borne down with lassitude—my head being sore and sick: but there has been no recurrence

—I am not so sure of it, my hearty.

"I always designate my price when I submit a piece: it is far the simplest way: I make my own valuations

lines—a touch)—that was a mere thumb-nail, a hint—yet I named my sum and got it."

Alexander Dumas to write my memoirs from.

Spent a good part of today, like yesterday, up stairs—"in my big arm chair there—God bless my big arm

I have my doubts—minor doubts—but somehow I decide the case finally on my own side.

Howells, James and some others appear to think I rest my philosophy, my democracy, upon braggadocio,

I find that Ingersoll is not altogether my man: does not say all my say for me: that is, is right in

Never had I thought in my days (during my lifetime) to get a spirit (or ghost, none of the expressions

In reply to my question he said: "I'm not violently afflicted, as I was the other day, but I am feeling

He called my attention to the dent in the hat.

O'Connor was the earliest of my friends—the first of his race.

I like Scovel's wife, his daughters—spent some of my happiest hours there—at dinners, suppers, about

Hotten.I thank you for the copy of my poems sent by you. It has just reached me.

Upon my protest he said: "No, it's all right: I was just thinking whether I should not go over to the

My own personal choice among books is for those you can put in your pocket."

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

visit to you last March, when I was on my way home from Johns Hopkins University.

Pardon my delay in acknowledging, due to illness.

—seeing the rolls in my hand.

On my return I took the chair at the foot of the sofa. There was no light in the room.

"She calls attention to the money I am making on my poems—says it is rare.

Tom, do you want to borrow some of my poetry money?

I had twelve hundred and fifty of my own—George W.

was originally intended as a sort of barricade: I set it up to hold back the desperate assaults of my

a condition of half-suspended life"—adding: "Do you just keep things moving until I get balanced on my

Stopped at Osler's on my way to church. Not at home.

I hate to have anybody around, right in my room, watching me. Maurice, do I need to be watched?"

I trust that you have not so far forgotten my article as to think my meaning was that attributed to me

My dear Mr. Whitman, I received a few days since your last letter.

It is very pleasant to me to find you liked my ShakespereShakespeare book, but much more to know that

But I do not doubt that half-a-dozen of my friends will wish to have the books, so I should be obliged

I am commencing to feel my grip coming back."

The last three or four days have been the most desperately anxious days of my life.

W. asked me what was my middle initial, which he has never used in writing my name.

Give my love to all the rest—explain that I am tied down to my chair here—that my head needs to be humored

will should be my sister in law Mrs: Louisa Orr Whitman and my brother George W Whitman (now resident

effects, money, of my house and lot 328 Mickle Street—Also that my said executrix under this will is

Nancy Whitman, my brother Andrew's widow, fifty dollars ($50).In sign of my writing my nameWALT WHITMANall

Greeted me by name and took my hand rather heartily.

Then they say I defer too much to English opinion in my favor.

That's all bosh—I defer to nobody—I do my work.

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

It seems to be a fine average specimen of his current lectures.And now my friend, I must close my letter

"I did not feel like ittilluntil nightfall—then when I got to work my head gave out.

I find my digestive apparatus still fitful—still unwilling to do its work smoothly.

I thought I was having my last little dance.

"Look on page 66—see if my picture is there—Herbert's." Yes, it was there.

Washington.I send herewith the copy of my American Institute Poem.

My offer to light the gas was rejected, though he used my arm to assist him in doing the thing for himself

Then he reached forward and took my hand. "I see what you mean, Horace.

"When a man comes to my pass he'd best take the next step as quickly as possible."

But that work—that work: we must get it done before I write down 'finis' next my name."

Is this my sorry face?

"I go from my bed to the chair—from my chair to the bed—again and again—never staying long in either

place, never losing altogether the sense of lethargy which characterizes my present condition.

"I feel keenly my mental shakeup—my loss of continuity: my overwhelming weariness.

He knew of my special interest in his hospital records. "Yes—read it—keep it, if you like.

I send my thanks and love to yourself, your sister, husband, and the sisters Wigglesworth.

Smooth my way—with all the aches and pains I've had for a week!

Asked me to have my sister Gussie prepare him some mutton—described how, &c., with amusing detail.

This is my Harned day. I wonder if the Harned Sundays will ever return?"

Was very particular to have me keep up my writing to O'Connor and Bucke.

He called my attention to it. I asked: "Are you sure this is not a love letter?

—adding with the same fire: "My 'verbal' suggestion would be for him to stop the whole thing at once.

Insisted on my taking Burroughs' Pepacton to read.

My few friends are a great host—my many enemies are a few."

Dear Walt:I have sent you the MS. of my letter to Bucke.

Do you see my dilemma?

My brain will not solidify."

Well—I don't want to assume my cure." "Why not?

I attribute much of my success in weathering this attack to my good stock—to my father, my mother: indeed

Your Leaves of Grass I keep with my Shakespeare and my Bible and it is from these three that I have got

I never met men in all my experience who caught on so well."

"I do poorly, poorly: this has been as bad a day as any since my sickness began.

The doctor just two hours ago said my pulse was very good—I have eaten my meals today with some relish—so

the trouble don't seem to be primarily with my heart or my stomach.

I always thank my friends for pointing out any oversights that occur in my book.

W. humorously said: "Music is my worst punishment." I asked: "How's that?" "Oh!"

"I do not seem to have the mental grasp: I find my mind unwilling or unable to apply itself to the proofs

manuscripts, as it should, methodically, systematically: I am only imperceptibly if at all regaining my

As he says himself: "The right word won't answer—my tongue gets unruly—I lose my cues.

I picked up a slip of paper from the floor under my feet. W. asked: "What is that?"

He smiled: "Read it—my eyes are no good." The sheet contained this: "Mem for Life.

Rose on my entrance. Today I got from Ferguson revised proofs reaching to page fifty-six.

"I told Mary to tell him my head was too sore.

He took my hand.

I shall (as I see now) continue to be my own publisher and bookseller.

Each book has my autograph. The Two Volumes are my complete works, $10 the set."

I have eaten freely and seem to digest my food: have felt altogether better, except, perhaps, at the

top, which will finally feel the effects of my bodily rehabilitation I am sure.

So you see, my flag is no more at half mast: I feel the touch of life again!"

I do not make light of such messages—indeed, they have a profound place in my consideration.

"My Herald is stopped and I do not regret it: my subscription is run out.

"I am afraid if I don't pay my debt to Hicks now I will never do it at all.

And it is a sort of filial debt, too—a debt I owe my father, who loved Hicks."

He said: "On my bad days I like to kiss you good bye.

He grew very quiet, looked very gently into my face, pressed my hand, and turned to the window.I copy

I can't for my poor self at any rate. But never mind this.

Rose on my entrance, and went, with my assistance, to the chair.

"Have you heard of my latest splurge? No? Well—listen: I pulled a tooth today!

The fact is, I am on the move again, in spite of my disabilities."

"My eyes are poorly. It's so hot. You read it—read it for yourself—read it aloud."

"I am unable to do it myself: my pen can't go even on crutches."

I have been very feeble—O my!

For one thing, it gives my idea of my own book: a man's idea of his own book—his serious idea—is not

one point, marked my caution very high—seven and over.

Their seven was backed by my experience with myself.

man,' 'my man,' 'my man.'

But yet I must exchange my token for yours—brazen for golden gifts, as the Greek poet said.

The misfortune of my poem is that it presupposes much knowledge of antiquity—as for instance that this

"Any consecutive reading hurts my head—I cannot apply myself."

W. took my jog kindly.

Wrote in a firm hand in my presence, the card resting on his knees.

Indeed, all through those years—that period—I was at my best—physically at my best, mentally, every way

I'll send a copy too of my last book, Songs of the Heights and Deeps.

I formerly sent you some of my poetry, but it was early work.

My debt to you is great. Would that I could express it in person!

He does not do full justice to Emerson as I hope to show in my essay.

"I seem to have improved this afternoon and evening: my mind is clearer than any day yet: less sore—with

If I keep on fooling with one will and another I won't know which is my last.

"In a general way Dana was favorable to my work—not in any thorough-going fashion.

I slipped out, avoided the beaten paths, tried a way of my own—that was my experiment.

My impressions regarding this literature I have published in various works.

From the medical point of view they tell me I'm getting on all right, but from the point of view of my

"My head is no good tonight. Last night I felt extra strong." Had not read much proof today.

You'll find in one of John's letters that he talks to me like a Dutch uncle about my health.

Tell them I cannot write myself—describe my situation: tell them how helpless I am.

I think it would lengthen my days to see you once more.With loveJohn Burroughs.

would make my blood as thin as possible, and so lessen the arterial strain.

Well, my time has come—that is all. You see, I am somewhat of a fatalist!"

I take it my spirit sense of your condition is not likely to fail after all.

For all, accept my friendliest good wishes."Direct, W. W. Solicitor's office.

I get published, in spite of my enemies." "Your enemies never really hurt you?"

"I'm turned clean over—off my keel—am badly shaken.

I seem to see things all right with my mind but my body won't see things at all!" Mildly laughed.

I must get to my bed: my head reels: I feel as though a minute more on my feet—on my feet—here—would

finish me—be my last."

He reached out, took my hand. "My cane! My cane!" I put the cane in his hand. He could say nothing.

"The minute I attempt to work my brain gets into a snarl."

My own greatest pleasure at Pfaff's was to look on—to see, talk little, absorb.

I had, in my years of loafing, forgotten how sweet toil was.

I had quite lost my interest in literature and was fast losing my interest in life itself, but these

two months of work have sharpened my appetite for all things.

I am keen about all that myself—jealous of my right to fall down and break my neck if I choose."

He called my attention to the medallions, duly signed, tied up, with a label on the outside designating

them as my property.

I could not tell how to get it, but I can recognize my own when it appears."

My quarrel with the most of what purports to be history is that it is not history at all.

Then stopped and added: "I suppose you get disgusted coming here every day to hear my perpetual whine—my

"Both my fingers and my memory gave out." Very calm.

I remember well how one of my noblest, best friends—one of my wisest, cutest, profoundest, most candid

"My memory is shamefully abusing my faith nowadays."

My dear sir,I send by this mail the second part of my study of your works.

During the pause he laughed very gently and took my hand and said: "See—I am off again—talking about

my health—as if there was nothing in the world but my pains and aches to be considered."

That eases my conscience." We exchanged rolls of proofs.

My sister Gussie had sent him in some asparagus. "Oh! it was princely!

Spent the rest of my timetilluntil bed writing letters for W. Friday, July 6, 1888.

Called my attention to an old letter in the Philadelphia Press describing a visit to Emerson with Louisa

You will see by it how that point staggers my friends as well as my enemies.

Dear Walt Whitman:Pray forgive my long silence. I have been deep in troubles of my own.

I know the purity and righteousness of your meaning, but that does not alter my regret.I think your reputation

When I tried to take those pieces out of the scheme the whole scheme came down about my ears.

I have been making a few notes to-day," said W., "on the subject of my removal from the Interior Department

know, Secretary Harlan took the Leaves even more seriously than Munger: he abstracted the book from my

The more or less anonymous young writers and journalists of Washington were greatly incensed—made my

Louis: 'The removal of Whitman was the mistake of my life.'"

Honored Sir—and Dear Poet—I beg you to accept my appreciative thanks for your great kindness in sending

I put the letter in my pocket.

in the Brooklyn days—and even behind Brooklyn—I was to be an orator—to go about the country spouting my

pieces, proclaiming my faith.

, through my consciousness since I commenced to be untrammeled in thought: he has given me views which

help to render my 'dark days' endurable and my nights teem with companions.

He travels with me and he points out the goodness of men and things and he intensifies my pleasures by

I thought I knew the greatest American in my dear friend Henry George, but no!

any extreme statement, he seems to hit several real proper nails on their heads—gets pretty close to my

My mother had sent W. some cookies. "The best part of every man is his mother," said W.

along in the sun and rain and write while I am housed up here in the dust of a dead room eking out my

My Dear Whitman:Why have I not written to you? Why has not spring come?

cuss did me lots of good: he left me temporarily in a quarrelsome mood: I hated the room here, and my

lame leg, and my dizzy head: I got hungry for the sun again, for the hills: and though Mary brought

me up a good supper she didn't bring the sort of food required to satisfy a fellow with my appetite.

But later, next day, yesterday, the tramp's gift got into my veins—it was a slow process, but got there

He looked at me and seemed to see some distrust in my face. "You think I am condemning Lathrop?

I love him—honor him: if there's anything comes short it excites my regret: I judge no one."

My dear Mr. Burroughs,I have just finished your book on Birds and Poets.

accumulating thunder in my own way.

I get my hands loose now and then, and feel that I have done a little something.

I fully see the advantages of it and have mentioned it in my Preface.

But I think I can rely on my father's helping me to the extent needed.

I was born in this town and know every field and nearly every tree since my childhood.

He and my mother are greatly delighted with the two grandchildren we have brought them home.

Rolleston," said W., "has proved to be one of my staunchest friends.

has been giving me the very devil in Liberty for calling the Emperor William a 'faithful shepherd' in my

As he said: "It is all from my friends.

There was nothing in this little poem to contradict my earlier philosophy.

leave W. reverted to the Emperor William affair: "Do you think I had better write a little note to my

"That is true—true—if I wrote I would do no more than make it clear that my reference was to the Emperor

My beloved Walt—I have read the sublime poem of the Universal once and again, and yet again—seeing it

It raised my mind to its own sublimity. It seems to me the sublimest of all your poems.

Now I would like to see you, in order to temper my heart, and expand my narrowness.How absurd it is to

The note is below:"Go on, my dear Americans, whip your horses to the utmost—Excitement; money!

He put four of them in a paper bag and gave them to me for my mother.