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Give him my cordial sympathy.Yours sincerely,W. D.

"Well, when you do need, do not neglect me: I want to be called on for my share."

I shall cherish to my dying day as I wd. my choicest heart's blood.

Nor ever, I believe.Am pegging away at my Whittier.

W. remarks, "You can hardly imagine how much my curiosity is aroused.

I shook my head—Williams exposing me—I arguing, "I don't see the bitterness of it."

and I reported my quotation—he suddenly exclaiming, "Bosh! Bosh!"

They were talking of Edwin Arnold on my entrance. Ingersoll hearing me sprang up with warm hand.

W. shook his head, "No, Colonel, no—my work is all done."

Brown, my daughter, and by Miss Maud, my other daughter, to say to you, that you must not leave us yet—that

He took my hand with a good sound grasp. And he is better, anyway, than I expected to find him."

And on the way out to the carriage, "Don't forget me to the wife, Traubel: give her my love.

I feel he is not averse to me or my care.

Am up to my eyes (and over) in work.Love to AnneYoursR. M. Bucke 6:20 P.M. In at W.'s.

This—the great revolution of feeling—my recognition of it all—I have had a notion to acknowledge—say,

Informed me, "I wrote my first letter today—a short one. It was for my sister, Mrs.

It shoots in lively style about my body, but chiefly in the legs.

to send you two prose books of Carpenter's which I have lately read & like immensely.Please to give my

If Walt is well enough to heed, give him my dearest & tenderest love—always the same.

Give him my warmest love & tell him I am again in my little skiff coasting up & down his shores.

"Yes, my best respects!

Held my hand warmly on departure. "Bless you, boy! This is a hard monotony to bear!"

He did not move at my entrance nor did I disturb him. Then to Philadelphia. (Mrs.

This is now my own personal, authenticated volume—sealed, signed, made as it stands, by me, to so remain

It is my ultimate, my final word and touch, to go forth now, for good or bad, into the world of the future

left with him.Speaking again of his condition, "I am weak—weak—weak, but everybody is so kind to me, my

Give my love to Walt.

W. spied my figure but could not distinguish who it was. "Who is that?"

My eyesight is not much good at such a distance!" Longaker then questioned him about his condition.

"I try to do a little writing and reading: my worst affliction is to have to lie still so much of my

He was in warm mood—held my hand all the time we talked.

He grasped my hand ardently. Does he sometimes think it may be the last?

to the papers as a literary item—that part of it, at least—those eight or ten lines—in which I make my

As I have said to you before, the point is, to substitute this for all other editions—to make of it my

I ache for news—for the best things from all the fellows: it is my balm, after lying here, unvarying

I could have wept and laughed, with the conflict of my feelings.

Long have I kept my road—made my road: long, long!

And laughed heartily over my account of W.'s reception of her letter.

He looked very bad—very bad: it was a pull at my heart to look him in the face.

life, of my faith—and just as it stands—every word, every word.

Many things are now going on—I depend upon you: you are more than my right arm."

"It seems to answer all my notions—whims, you might call them.

He was as cordial as ever, and held my hand all through the talk, which lasted 20 minutes or more.

And again, "If you ever have occasion to write to Walsh or meet him, give him my congratulations."

My doctors and attendants cont. first rate. Horace ever faithful. Am propped up in bed.

He held my hand then without change till I said good-bye.

Tell him my love is with him daily & hourly.

Also give my love to that little wife Annie whom I forgot in my other letter.

And to my assent, "And did he say it was all in good order, in no way damaged?"

Said W. thereupon, "My latest judgment is like my first—that this is far and above the best thing we

Saturday, January 30, 1892In my forenoon visit to W.

Had just got a letter from Ingersoll at the Post Office on way down, but I did not leave it, as was my

(My telegram was: "Whitman see you briefly at 12 o'clock tomorrow morning.")At first W. said he would

"In spite of my request for an antique or black letter, Dave has carefully avoided them.

Traubel.Daniel Longaker Was over yesterday specifically at my request. Saturday, January 30, 1892

He seemed to see an inquiry in my looks. "It don't go very well," he remarked. "I am not up to it."

I took the two Ingersoll articles out of my pocket and gave them to him.

Give him my regards."

They set my head in a whirl—mixes me all up—and besides hurts my throat.

I am not sure but that is the point—and my deficiency!" Passing along, "Who have you seen today?"

And remarked, "The nights drag wearily through," replying to my questions to say, "I have spent a bad

Advised me as I left, "Arrange everything with Dave: you know my whims, notions—I trust to you."

he had said, "I have passed a lifeless, useless, helpless day—have not read, written—hardly opened my

W.: "This part of the back of my belly to the left is the great trouble—sore and hurts and swells."

I went into next room to look for my mail.

I had scribbled all this down on my knee—standing in doorway.

"I will do my best to read it today. It ought to strike a true note—it is in John's field."

Telegram from Ingersoll, received at Bank: "Give my love to Whitman and to it add my hope that he may

My old journalistic friend remembers him here thirty-five years ago, when he first put out his "Leaves

Left him my written notes of the talk with Stedman on 27th.

office alone with my books and pen.

Told him however of my possible sale of "Two Rivulets."

Found my copy in the next room, but it contained no portrait.

Hurry him up—tell him I want my grog." I went downstairs.

My own mail included letters from Bucke and Kennedy.At McKay's later in day found our Washingtonian preferred

Sit here on the bed—tell me the news," he taking my hand and I sitting there, detailing such things from

I consider Baxter one of my best friends."

My new writing on Walt takes quite a different turn from the old.

I have my material all out, & I have now to sort out & reject & put it together.

My deepest love to the dear old man. I keep well, but need a change.

My evening's talk with W.

W. said to my description, "How glorious! I can feel it all.

TraubelI am almost glad of my delay in sending you my cheque, since it has given me the opportunity to

Pray excuse a hurried note; my profound love to Walt; my love also to your wife & youElisabeth Fairchild

At 328 on my homeward way. W. passed an average day.

Indeed put it in my own words."

I whipped a sheet of paper out of my pocket and wrote in the dark as he dictated.

My warmest thanks to him & you, which please convey to him if you can.

Then repeated to him the substance of my talk with Dave.

My dearest love to you & my most fervent prayers & good wishes are yours always.Wallace I, too, had letters

My own larger.

Is acting on my idea to proceed with circular for book.

My dear Traubel:You are much in my thought these days—days to you of trembling hope and dread, of life

That would be my last and sweetest prize, tuft, plume, gift—Manhattan Island—my first love."

But this is one of my bad days—one of my worst—and I am not up to a talk with you.

Take my love, dear boy—and take with you, too, my best remembrance to all the fellows in New York, telling

W. awake and so I went immediately in for my talk. Had found at W.'

Traubel,If Walt Whitman is in a condition to receive a message, give him my love & heartiest thanks for

They have a way at Bolton of doing these things so well—paper—ink, even—that even my eye is cheated."

Give them all my love, too, and safety for the Colonel." W. asked me, "Who is in the next room?"

Good of you to attend to the complete vol. for my friend Muirhead—wh.

And he added, "Paine was one of my first loves and is one of my last, and he will yet achieve a high

Described my day's letter to Symonds. "I like it well—I like it all."

It was a good answer—would have been my own." A few more words, then farewell.

After I had left he called Warrie, "My grog, boy."

His mail like my own—scarce. I had no letter concerning W.'

Described to him my talk with Arthur and its result.

Our talk pretty brief though I was there with him for some time—he holding my hand, I his.

Upon my rising to leave, he finally suggested, "Make your contract with Arthur just as if it was for

yourself—I could not make my own ideas clearer by telling you more."

s, finding at my mother's on the way this special delivery letter from the Telegram office: The Evening

"It was my first struggle in that field and it will be my last." Sunday, February 14, 1892

My morning's round took me to W.'s.

Could then only leave my order. Wrote Creelman.

—seeing an open paper in my hands.

Imparted substance of my correspondence with Creelman.

, and so on—that is the nature of my desires.

Wrote Creelman, specifying my notions of the flower business and W.'

Warning again against appeals, speaking of my fund and of W.'

Defined my message to Creelman.

Adding, "Give her my love: tell her to take the best care of herself."

I often rub my eyes to see if much or most of this kindness is not a dream."

My mail brought me intelligence from Burroughs of the "publisherial" fate of his late writing on W.:

My love to Walt.

"Good night," I said, "Good night," and he pressed my hand and replied with his own "Good night!

My many exuberant letters of forenoon already knocked off their feet.

It is hardly fair to use these strong words but there are no others to express my meaning.

In my mail, which I sat down and read, was this letter from Baker: Law Office, Robert G.

Ingersoll45 Wall StreetNew York, Feby 19.th 1892 My dear Traubel:How is the dear, good and great one?

Those lines, beautiful, true, horrible, stick in my memory. I would not forget them if I could.

I won't give you a letter, but you can say you are from me—and you may give him my good word and tell

him he is often in my thoughts as I sit here in my den."

Now today Warrie takes one of my boxes here.

But the court steps in and says, you shan't dispose of your goods that way, there's only one way—my way—and

And when I restated, "It could not have been in my copy—must have come in a later edition."

W. said, "Chances are against my going," but I was "to order" if I thought best, and Wallace could go

W. laughed with great heartiness, rolling his head round on the pillow my way, "That's so—Whitman don't

W. had said, "Give them all my love there—the baby and all. Yes, my dearest love.

But I am tempted to try my hand on the question.

Miss Porter has been solicitous to use my Whitman-Lowell paper. Wrote me about it—date 27th.

I must off to my duties wh. await me.

so divines from my few missives.

Bucke's letter 29th very hearty and specially recognizing my occupations and excusing my silence, even

I had these words on my lips as I entered, "Here are all the pilgrims!"

Then towards Wallace, "I guess there's a great field for preachers and churches, but in my area there's

And of one thing I am convinced: my heart is sound, thoroughly.

My description as I went on moved him. "What a good place to go to!

Wallace, however, "I have my passage engaged, Mr. Whitman—I have put it off long enough."

And emotionally, at least, he accepts me—accepts my book."

commenced to write a postal, asking who was responsible for it—for somehow I felt as if I owed him my

He will take my O'Connor picture, reproduce it there.

And, Horace, you must be my tale-bearer, to bring me an account of it all tomorrow.

My love to Brinton—give him my love—and tell him to come over."

What do I not remember of my own dear, dear mother!" Then he asked, "And Wallace is gone?

I had said in my letter to Ingersoll that Wallace had come from us both.

"But it is rather out of my line." "What, to speak?" "Yes." "Oh! jump overboard.

It stirs the cockle of my blood to read the nice things you say of me."

Have you some of my poetry in your memory?" exclaimed the aged poet.

Found him in very good condition, with the best of cheer to dispense—so much this, that my toil and its

I had the idea to make my new piece—"Walt Whitman and Some of His Comrades."

"My time is completely over. I am too much of age." Had he seen this in the Post?

Called my attention to a letter from Kennedy. "Sloane complains I do not write. I suppose I do not.

But he deserves my best good will."

perhaps there was not something in him after all—but much that has lately been happening has disappointed my

Harrison has been lately playing a constant part—a devilish, picayune part—worthy of him—worthy of my

original idea of him, unworthy of my hope.

Scott at first protested that he would not go up at all, but finally went, on my assurance that he might

I was on my way to Unity Church to hear Wande speak about King Lear.

"You know I never read my own poems." "Or recite?" "I don't recite because I don't know them.

And after a pause, I saying nothing between, "You are well enough aware that I don't sing my own songs

Then after a pause, "I gave him a copy of my big book—gave away three copies, in fact—one to each of

And as for my own? No, never!

In fact, I am not a demonstrable being, even to my intimate friends.

And to my "yes" he added, "Then you have said truth.

Give her my love, anyway." Saturday, November 7, 1891

Whether because he saw my protest—inarticulate—whether I looked objection (which I hardly intended to

I have met him several times, and that was my impression.

And that reminds me to say, Horace, that there's one break in my piece—at least, one mistake—or not even

One place there you remember I spoke of my return to Washington and reception by O'Connor and his noble

I should not have permitted it—should have put my foot down on that.

I thought to send him a copy of my last book."

I want you to send him my love for that letter when you write."

And, "I wish I could go with you: it would stretch my old legs!"

I live my days through here—get nowhere (to the washroom, nowhere else).

And when I spoke of dreamless nights my own, W. exclaimed, "How grand! It is a report, the best!

Washington, giving you my new address, as yesterday came the Conservator, with the 112 M St. on it.

My love to Annie, & to you. I hope that you are both well.

He took a slip and his blue pencil and wrote at my dictation. Where was the address book?

Finally at my urging said, "Well, a dozen, then."

"I forgot my copy—lost it here—fully intended to send it."

And when you go you will take my love!" And again, "Good for Baker! Good for the Colonel!"

"Exactly, that was always my idea.

I had no view but this: that a few of us—my father, mother, some very dear friends—should be put there

As to Moore's proposition that I should raise the money and my refusal, W. exclaimed, "Good! Good!

This is entirely my affair—no other's.

This with reference to my promise yesterday (my suggestion, too) to see Wilson Eyre—have him go to Camden

I informed W. of my idea to buy the 328 house, to preserve and guard.

In the Shakespeare matter, my sympathies are with the fellows who are disturbed, chaotic, off rudderless

But for my part I go with the sinners who are not so damned sure—who do not feel willing to swear we

And as for a message, "Give him my dearest love. Tell him we think he has scored a great triumph.

Likewise a letter from Johnston (N.Y.), "quite a long one for John," which he felt should go among my

My purse and my heart are yours!" or to that effect.

"Up to my usual standard, which isn't high at all."

"My impression is, yes, but I don't really —.

"They are my angels, to deliver me out of these walls!"

It always excites my respect—always stirs me!"

In my father's case I'm afraid they'll find a little difficulty in identifying the body."

My purse and my heart are yours!" W. exclaimed, "How grand! How quick!

On top of all my other troubles and labors my daughter Clare considered it "de rigueur" to give a ball

My work is done. Nothing remains now but to ring the curtain down."

My good-bye and his rather more than usually affectionate.

"My best love for all the boys at the club." Tuesday, November 17, 1891