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My dear niece, I received your nice good letter—and also Hattie's a week or two before —& have been very

I am not much different in my health—no worse. All the rest here are well.

This little cut picture was one I intended to send last Christmas, but it got lost in my papers—so I

enclose it now, for fun— Best love to you, dear child, & to my dear Hattie too, from Uncle Walt— I will

"My today's mail has been chiefly an autograph mail.

Not a day but the autograph hunter is on my trail—chases me, dogs me!

I settle myself in my chair, get the glasses on my nose, and lo! every note is for an autograph.

Amer—about April 10, I shall return here again and my address will be—— I am writing this at my desk—as

My mind advises me that I must suspend operations for to-nighttonight.

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."

like to read—(T B Aldrich's also tho' short is very friendly & eulogistic—not sent here)— Nothing in my

, I have had a notion for, & now put out partly to occupy myself, & partly to commemorate finishing my

For the regard, the affection, which convoyed your noble argosy to this my haven,—believe me, my dear

Well: there is too much taking off of hats, but I certainly should doff my own to the Sun-God.

Pray give my kind regards to M. Traubel. Walt Whitman to William Sloane Kennedy, William D.

"My health?

My income is just sufficient to keep my head above water—and what more can a poet ask?

"My opinion of other American poets?

"My religion? I should refuse to be called a materialist.

I recovered what I call my second wind from nature.

close, as we have had real winter here, snow & bad weather, & bad walking—I have been quite alone, as my

off to Delaware on Wednesday on a Christmas visit, to return to-morrow, Saturday—I am about the same—My

strength still keeps quite encouraging—I think is better than any time yet—my walking no better, & still

a good deal of distress in the head—but, as I said in my letter of Monday last, (did you get it Tuesday

is so much complicated machinery about one of these heaters with all the late improvements—give me my

Camden Friday Evn'g Oct: 19 '88 It is dark & I have had my dinner & am sitting by the fire & gas light—anchor'd

& tied in my old big democratic chair & room, the same as all summer, now in the fall & soon the long

winter & (if I live) probably through all—I have been occupied most of the afternoon writing my autographs—there

are to be 600 for the Edition of my complete writings—it will be ab't 900 pages, & include all —a last

I wait with anxiety—I told you ab't my dear friend John Burroughs being here—he is now back at West Park

Walt Whitman Dear Friend I am now at my own home but hav not got my discharge yet.

I have to go back to rochester to get my discharge. the day that I left thare went to the patent ofice

them kicked me on the forehead and then they start to run and the wagon wheel struck me on the back of my

My friends their respects Please if get this rite and if you will Please to sennd me that potographs

all alone in the house , & have had a good time—fine bright warm day—been out twice for short walks, (my

little dog accompanying me)—rest of the time up here alone in my 3d story south room—done up & sent

off my two books to a subscriber in England —Eat my dinner alone, wished you could be with me then, &

them—About coming on I cannot say now, but I shall come , & before long —Love to Mr and Mrs Nash—Love to you my

I do not forget what I am owing to you, and try in every way to raise something towards discharging my

In order to tide over the dullness, I have accepted proofreading outside of my business, altho' although

My business is in the hands of a rural boy, & I attend to my correspondence from 4 A.M. till 6:30 A.M

But my mortification at having to ask you to wait, under all the circumstances, is very great.

My visits to you this winter have been such a pleasure to me & it is one of my greatest regrets in leaving

I can hardly realize that I shall see all my dear family so soon.

Please give my love to Mrs. Davis, & keep a great deal for yourself, my dear, dear friend.

But I have a good fire in my office, have just had a good dinner of roast turkey and potatoes boiled

Augustine Birrell), so I feel that I can defy the Pope the Devil and the Pretender—(an old expression of my

the same blessing"—seriously I trust all is going well with you—and with the big book —I hope to get my

There is nothing further from Gurd and I feel my patience wearing thin again—all quiet and going well

is a year today since our fire—hope it will be a good many untill until the next —I had a proof of my

of fresh air, have since had a cup of tea and a piece of dry toast and am now (630 P.M.) sitting at my

desk in my office at the Asylum.

Sometimes as I read it I feel as if my whole previous life were rolling en masse through me and as if

Tomorrow I give my 7 th lecture to the students—one more will end the course for this year.

We are all well I send you my best love R M Bucke Richard Maurice Bucke to Walt Whitman, 8 December 1889

. /76 My dear friend, I send you the enclosed piece (printed in a paper here, with my consent,) —quite

My theory is that the plain truth of the situation here is best stated.

Conway, Lord Houghton, &c I have lately heard from, but not seen, Marvin, my Boston friend.

I have about got ready my two Volumes —"Leaves of Grass" remains about the same, (a few new bits) "Two

Houghton wrote to Joaquin Miller on September 1, 1875, from Chicago: "Please give my best regards to

good week so far—am either throwing off (or easying) some of the worst bad subjections and grips — My

combined, comprehended at one glance—and here it is—of course I shall send you a copy— I am sitting yet in my

sick room now in my usual big chair by the oak wood fire, & alone.

I have plenty visitors enough & good ones—my appetite & sleep are fair—I have a new helper & nurse, a

I think of you every day—& most all my friends coming here ask ab't you—I rec'd the letter last week

Price, & all My dear friends, I sent you a telegram, ten minutes ago, telling you that I have just succeeded

In the office, & my work, every thing goes on as usual.

Helen & Emmy, my dear friends, I send you my best love—Go over & see my mother when you can—Best remembrance

Washington February 4 1865 My dear friend, As you see by the date of this, I am again back in Washington

I spend a portion of my time around among the Hospitals as formerly—I find quite a good many bad old

My health is pretty good, & I remain in good spirits considering.

I send my love to Emily and Helen and all— Walt Whitman Direct to me simply to Washington, D.

C. as I go to post office for my letters. Walt Whitman to Abby H. Price, 4 February 1865

My dear Walt, The books are duly delivered.

Meanwhile I am up to my eyes—and over my eyes even to blindness—in the slough of a fearful road to that

plainer English I am fighting like a thousand Humans to establish the Saturday Press, and have for my

My brother George will deliver this. He is of the right stamp. In haste Henry Clapp.

My dear Nelly, I sit down home here in the front basement alone to write you a few lines.

I find it makes a mighty difference in my visit—(What is home without—&c)— My dear little California

worse—the fourteen days are up next Sunday—meanwhile she grows weaker & weaker— I am middling well—My

I send my love to Charles Eldridge—same to Ashton—when you write tell me the latest from the baby & Mrs

alternations—not perhaps quite as well, of late, (the last ten or twelve days)—& yet I dont don't abandon my

& hope— feel to , which is a main thing with me—I have a good deal of pain, more or less steady, in my

been so since—(though not enough to prevent me from eating some nice stewed oysters in moderation for my

needlessly apprehensive, Nelly dear—for I shall get better, & we will meet yet— When you write tell me about my

Tell me all the news—tell me about Charles Eldridge—& all my other friends.

work and having my jaunts together.

I will call on you on my way back to New York.

So my dear old friend I have protected your interests to the best of my judgment and if you want me to

I would also like you to answer my letters.

All right my dear J.

to file a map of their route, etc., has been withdrawn, and that therefore there is no necessity for my

This Opinion was then considered by me as my final action upon the subject.

argument upon such facts, not intending to reëxamine the questions unless such facts should be brought to my

Co. not at any request, but, as I suppose, for my convenience in the event that cause for revising the

My consent to hear further argument on new facts was not intended as a recall of the Opinion, or as a

Who Learns My Lesson Complete? WHO LEARNS MY LESSON COMPLETE? WHO learns my lesson complete?

as every one is im- mortal immortal ; I know it is wonderful, but my eyesight is equally wonderful, and

how I was conceived in my mother's womb is equally wonderful, And pass'd from a babe in the creeping

And that my soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other without ever seeing each other, and

Who Learns My Lesson Complete? WHO LEARNS MY LESSON COMPLETE? WHO learns my lesson complete?

as every one is im- mortal immortal ; I know it is wonderful, but my eyesight is equally wonderful, and

how I was conceived in my mother's womb is equally wonderful, And pass'd from a babe in the creeping

And that my soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other without ever seeing each other, and

shape like "Fancies at Navesink"—that ("November Boughs") is the name, by the by, I think of giving my

summer cottage fund —(dear Boyle, if you see him say I sent my best love & thanks)—I wish you fellows

be put of course to that definite single purpose, & there I shall probably mainly live the rest of my

tainted here, five or six months in the year, at best —As I write Herbert Gilchrist is here sketching in my

oil painting—I hear from Dr Bucke often—nothing now of late from O'Connor , who is still in So: Cal—My

Dec. 2, 1866 My dear Whitman: I find your book and cordial letter, on returning home from a lecturing

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

frankly, that there are two things in it which I find nowhere else in literature, though I find them in my

There is not one word of your large and beautiful sympathy for men, which I cannot take into my own heart

I say these things, not in the way of praise, but because I know from my own experience that correct

new, all strange, & very mixed; but I am now fairly master of the situation, & though I do not expect my

I was so warm & snug & my nest was so well feathered; but I have really cut loose & do not expect to

My greatest loss will be in you my dear Walt, but then I shall look forward to having you up here a good

to close up this bank, then I shall make me another nest among the rocks of the Hudson and try life my

I hope you are well & will write to me, & will go up & see my wife.

Camden Monday 9 A M '89 Am sitting here just ended my breakfast, an egg, some Graham bread & coffee—all

wh' I relish'd—rec'd my morning mail, & send you this f'm Dr B —with my scribbling on back—fine sunny

hours down to the Delaware shore, high water)—sky & river never look'd finer—was out also at one p m to my

bottle of champagne—(lunch, or dinner, but I ate nothing)—So you see I am getting around sort o' in my

summer—I want to get out somewhere (sea side or mountains) but it is a fearful job for me to be moved from my

"It is amazing—or at least tantalizing—how many important matters slip my mind.

My memory for new things is becoming less and less dependable—markedly so."

On my way to the Whitman meeting in Philadelphia W. advised me, upon my questioning: "Should you feel

moved to say anything, tell them, you came here this evening, found me here on the lower floor, in my

, massage—by my young friend here"—he will never say nurse—"who knows well how to handle me—knows to

Scented Herbage of My Breast. SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST.

SCENTED herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves

O blossoms of my blood!

grow up out of my breast! Spring away from the conceal'd heart there!

Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast!

But in any case after you get this letter, my address will be care of my nephew in Boston which I will

I shall make a few short stops with nieces & others till I return home, & as my nephew is a fixture,

But I try to keep up a good heart, & not to worry my friends with my troubles.

I have one hope that I am clinging to, and that is that my sister Mrs. Channing may come on.

I send my address on the enclosed slip. With love always— Nelly O'Connor.

England Oct 24 th 1891 My Dear good Friend, My best thanks to you for yr kind p.c. of Oct 12 rec d two

Harned —the latter in acknowledgement of the copy of my "Notes I sent."

Last night I deliverd my Lecture on "My trip to America" & shewed all my pictures by the oxyhydrogen,

sweethearts & their wives & succeeded in holding their interest for an hour & a half while I talked about my

He afterwards came along & had tea with my wife & me & we were joined by R. K.

In his March 9, 1892, letter to Traubel, Greenhalgh wrote that "Walt has taught me 'the glory of my daily

In all the departments of my life Walt entered with his loving personality & I am never alone" (Horace

Dresden '83 My dear Master I got your post card last Tuesday morning.

Yet in writing my essay, I had no thought of him, nor had mentioned him.

As to my translation of the I am now ready to cooperate with any competent German, i.e.

Perhaps my essay when published may lead to something. I got Dr. Bucke's book.

I will send him my essay when it appears. Nothing more to say now.

March 19, 1873 Walt Whitman Dear friend, By my sister Nell's request I send you today by mail the best

copy I could find of my Medical Electricity.

more pretentious books, published by medical electricilians electricians in this country who have made my

I wrote to my sister my haunting fear that you might use electricity prematurely & incautiously & I rejoiced

I for one have felt my indebtedness to you for great thoughts & words more than ever before.

Scented Herbage of My Breast SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST.

SCENTED herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves

O blossoms of my blood!

grow up out of my breast! Spring away from the conceal'd heart there!

Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast!

And in my own day and maturity, my eyes have seen and ears heard, Lincoln, Grant and Emerson, and my

I have put my name with pen and ink with my own hand in the present volume.

I felt it all as positively then in my young days as I do now in my old ones: to formulate a poem whose

, and has been the comfort of my life since it was originally commenced.

Then the simile of my friend, John Burroughs, is entirely true.

My folks were always worried about me—my mother especially: some of them regarded it as a crazy whim:

Jeff you need not be afraid about my overdoing the matter.

torments my best love.

Jeff give my respects to Mrs. Lane and Dr.

He laughed and took my hand. "Horace, what wouldn't my enemies say with or without provocation?

rais'd by a perfect mother, After roaming many lands, lover of populous pavements, Dweller in Mannahatta my

, Or rude in my home in Dakota's woods, my diet meat, my drink from the spring, Or withdrawn to muse

place with my own day here.

My comrade!

my intrepid nations! O I at any rate include you all with perfect love!

rais'd by a perfect mother, After roaming many lands, lover of populous pavements, Dweller in Mannahatta my

, Or rude in my home in Dakota's woods, my diet meat, my drink from the spring, Or withdrawn to muse

place with my own day here.

My comrade!

my intrepid nations! O I at any rate include you all with perfect love!

My dear Sir:Dr.

Bucke left me, to my publisher Schabelitz, of Zurich, Switzerland, and offered the MS. to him.

Rolleston accept my assistance and wait so long. Shall I write to him, or will you do it?

Clifford saw my father's picture of W. for the first time at my sister's Sunday—thought it the best he

"My dear daddy used to advise me—my boy always keep on good terms with the cook."

Again: "I never commit poems to memory—they would be in my way."

It excites my curiosity.

I look round the circle of my acquaintance for her equal.

He said: "Charles Aldrich is my good friend: he has ideas, faiths, which lead him affectionately my way

A great change has taken place in my life since I saw you.

my blue veins leaving! O drops of me!

, from me falling—drip, bleeding drops, From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd, From my

face—from my forehead and lips, From my breast—from within where I was conceal'd— press forth, red drops—confession

my blue veins leaving! O drops of me!

from me falling, drip, bleeding drops, From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd, From my

face, from my forehead and lips, From my breast, from within where I was conceal'd, press forth red

my blue veins leaving! O drops of me!

from me falling, drip, bleeding drops, From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd, From my

face, from my forehead and lips, From my breast, from within where I was conceal'd, press forth red

My dear Dr. Channing: I yesterday received your kind note.

My leave of absence continues for some time yet, & I should probably like to visit you for a few days

I send my best respects & love to Mrs. Channing.

I wish you & wife to read my last piece in The Broadway London Magazine for October.

The Daily Tribune Denver, Colorado, Mch 27th 187 8 Mr Walt Whitman My Dear Sir I am one of those ubiquitous

Now if you could take a peep into my album, which I have been over fifteen years in making, and see my

If you have made a rule never to reply to requests of this kind, please make an exception in my case

AS TOILSOME I wander'd Virginia's woods, To the music of rustling leaves, kick'd by my feet, (for 'twas

this sign left, On a tablet scrawl'd and nail'd on the tree by the grave, Bold, cautious, true, and my

Long, long I muse, then on my way go wandering; Many a changeful season to follow, and many a scene of

the unknown soldier's grave—comes the inscription rude in Virginia's woods, Bold, cautious, true, and my

my blue veins leaving! O drops of me!

, from me falling—drip, bleeding drops, From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd, From my

face—from my forehead and lips, From my breast—from within where I was conceal'd —press forth, red drops—confession

my neck about: but my brain gives out: I feel sick and dizzy—unsteady."

slinging off my overcoat.

Have I fulfilled my ambition? God knows.

I am well, weigh nearly 200, and eat my rations every time.

I look at my three children and think what a work I have yet to perform.

entirely to my taste.

It is probably that my state is reaction from the severe work of the winter at Washington.

Told him of my letter to the Chicago News.

He took my hand.

I am a postponer when it comes to making them: I put off my yes, my no, on the slightest pretext: this