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Bielby, & Dear Doctor, I read the letter of Oct. 29, (full of good kindliness & sympathy—My general physique

still [ke]eps up, the battle with my [se]rious special cerebral ailment—& I think the physique will

yet carry the day—& that I shall come back to Washington, & see you all again—though my case is very

get it Saturday—which may have made you some uneasy—but you need not be, as I still continue to hold my

proposed Centennial Exposition —I will send you pictures of the buildings soon— I am sitting here in my

& come and call on me, should he come to Philadelphia—Tell Wash Milburn, & Parker also, I send them my

at their bloody tricks till the U.S. (& perhaps England) steps in & kicks them out of Cuba—which in my

Dear Pete, dear son, I am sitting here in my room again writing to you—there is no particular change

in the situation—we are having some pretty cold weather here—I go out a little every day, but my walking

I suppose you got mine last Tuesday— —I have just had my dinner, bean soup, boiled beef, & pumpkin-pie

worse—it is now just after 2, & I am feeling quite comfortable—& hope this will find you all right, my

Dear Son Pete, Nothing very new with me—I continue about the same—my general strength the best it has

—As I write this holding the paper on my lap I am sitting here in the parlor, by the heater—have had

my dinner—drank quite a goblet of wine, which I believe has flown into my head.

I wear my old gray suit, & the old black overcoat,—& when very cold, or stormy my gray shawl—If you should

see me now leaning against Milburn's counter, you wouldn't see any difference from last winter —(but my

Dear Son Pete, Here I sit again by the heater in the parlor, writing my weekly letter—I have just had

my dinner, some cold turkey & glass of Missouri wine &c.

—had been out to the P.O. some five or six squares distant—but have to take my time—Am still getting

is undoubtedly better, which, I hope will in time bring improvement in my walking, & in my head, &c

November 25, they print a portrait of my beautiful phiz. & a criticism on my books, one of the best &

that's about the best I can say—continue to get out a little every day when the weather will permit—but my

last night) is to wear over—I got the stuff, it is first rate Middlesex flannel, cost $5, (same as my

necessary—must then be washed by some one experienced in washing nice flannels—I sent Graphic with my

portrait —(as they sent me some)—also my Capitol letter —I rec'd your good letter last Tuesday Dear

Nash—give them both my love—(I see just a line in the paper that Mr.

you the Graphic, with piece by me, about the Capitol, which I suppose you rec'd—also same paper with my

& criticism by "Matador" —I have rec'd a letter lately from Eldridge—nothing new at Washington, in my

—Love to both of you—I am writing this up in my room—it is growing dark—I am going out to tea, to an

Walter Whitman My Dear Friend: After the laps lapse of over 8 years, & to let you know that your memory

is yet fresh in my mind; I am mooved moved to write you this letter—I Came to this state after being

My health is not good & has not been since I was in the army—My family is well, & children going to school

volumes of Horace Traubel's With Walt Whitman in Camden (various publishers: 1906–1996) and Whitman's "My

—I send you some papers to-day— —There is nothing new with me, or my condition—My principal malady is

no worse)—but I have had for three or four days a wretched cold in the head, sore throat, most lost my

nice view for me to sit & look out—the letter carrier comes around in about an hour from now, & takes my

Dear Sir When my friend, Mr.

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

Often when I have been alone in the company of one or other of my dearest friends, in the very deliciousness

please—the editor consenting—take two impressions, (proofs) similar to this & send me in this envelope for my

So they are off my mind." The poems appeared in the March 1874 issue (524–25).

Dear boy Pete, Well, I am sitting here in the parlor again writing my weekly letter—as I write, the rain

feeling pretty bad, but it seems to be mostly from a severe cold in the head—anyhow I am having one of my

bad spells, of which I have gone through so many—had a bad night last night—but have eat my breakfast

week, & I have enjoyed sailing across the Delaware, & the splendid sunsets most every evening—it is my

you scratch down, as I sit here a great deal of the time, (& time is dull & lonesome, at the best)— My

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

Trübner & Company, Dear Sirs, Please make out acc't account of sales of my books, Leaves of Grass &c.

for the closing year, & remit me am't amount due, by mail here, by draft payable to my order.

My improvement is not much in the head troubles, & hardly any in my left leg, but very perceptible in

my strength & vim generally— & my confidence remains (still unaffected in the main, by all the tediousness

took, at my own price at once & sent me the money)—They are in type, and I have read the proofs.

So they are off my mind.

Nelly, my dear, I received your welcome letter last evening. I am waiting for the photos of my St.

way we talked of, (& I have no doubt we shall,) & satisfaction is felt on both sides, it is certainly my

Whitman observed to Horace Traubel in 1889: "What a sweat I used to be in all the time . . . over getting my

hun.00021xxx.00596HM 6713'Come said my soul. . .'

[Come, said my Soul]about 1875poetry1 leafhandwritten; A signed draft, heavily revised, of the untitled

'Come said my soul. . .'

Well Pete, my dear loving boy, I have just come in from a 15 minutes walk outside, with my little dog—it

Philadelphia you think I would like to see, give 'em my address—I am glad to see most any one for a change

Whitman My Dear Sir I received your letter on the 8 , & was very glad to hear from you.

You asked about my Grand-Mother, she is alive, but, I cannot say well.

I attended an Academy last winter, but, my teacher went away, so I stopped going there We are having

I would send you my picture but I want you to come & see me myself. & very much Oblidge Oblige Your loving

—Still I go out some, though very stiff—& lately some spells in my head rather bad & queer.

What I have said in former letters about my general strength still holds good—otherwise I am in a bad

paper—I have thought much of it, through the interesting account you gave—Indeed death has been much in my

Graphic first number just out—ask Charley to get it for you—In my next—anent of Bull Run—I mention Mrs

Singing Thrush" (March 15, 1873; later called "Wandering at Morn"), "Spain" (March 24, 1873), "Sea Captains

Pete I thought I would send you a little change enclosed—all I have by me to-day—(but I have plenty at my

with the frogs & lilacs in the spring—I keep a bully good heart, take it altogether—& you must too my

My books, Leaves of Grass , Passage to India Democratic Vistas &c. will be duly dispatched to-night or

previously published in Leaves of Grass, "Passage to India" was Whitman's attempt to "celebrate in my

Monthly just out (February)—shall have another in the March number —Can't seem to do, without occupying my

day—nights are worst for me—I cant can't rest well—has been so now for a month—But I must not fill my

letter with my complaints—To-day is just a Year, since I was paralyzed, (23 d Jan.

January '73)—What a year it has been to me—Good bye my loving boy—write me all the news & gossip.

From the first I found it necessary to systematize my doings, and, among other things, always kept little

note-books for impromptu jottings in pencil to refresh my memory of names and circumstances and what

But before entering on my personal memoranda of the war, I have one or two thoughts to ventilate before

ABRAHAM LINCOLN—MY FIRST SIGHT AND IMPRESSION OF HIM.

It reads: 'I cannot survive the loss of the liberties of my country.'") THE EVE OF A LONG WAR.

Jan. 25, '74 My dear Rudolf Schmidt , Your letter of Jan. 2 has just reached me here.

I have been at death's door myself—& during the year have lost my dear mother & a dear sister by death

probably get well again—But I remain paralyzed yet—walk with difficulty & very little—have bad spells in my

If so, give him my address, & tell him to come & see me.

America (I have not given up my place in the Solicitor's office, Washington—but keep up communication

Jersey Friday afternoon Jan January 30, 2 o'clock Dear Pete, I am having another of my bad spells to-day—but

folks, every one I know—I am feeling as well as usual, as I finish this letter—Good bye for this time my

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.

edition you got of Shephard, four or five weeks ago—with the remaining copies (if any) of the 25 sent by my

I have somewhere between 300 & 350 of my little book of later poems, "As a Strong Bird on Pinions free

If you care to have the sole & exclusive command of all my books in existence, take this offer.

I am sick & paralyzed—a tedious prospect still before me—& should be glad to have the books off my hands

With Walt Whitman in Camden in 1889: "What a sweat I used to be in all the time . . . over getting my

previously published in Leaves of Grass, "Passage to India" was Whitman's attempt to "celebrate in my

Dear boy Pete, Both your letters came this week—also one from my friend Eldridge, he too speaks of meeting

with snow, as I look out—not the least thaw to-day, as it is cloudy—I rise pretty late mornings—had my

mutton-chop, coffee, nice brown bread & sweet butter, very nice—eat with very fair appetite—I enjoy my

the same as before described—no worse, no better, (nothing to brag of anyhow) I have mentioned about my

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

womanly beauty & development—I always thought it in her to do so—Nelly, when you next see her give her my

love—I return Willie's picture—dear child—it has pleased me much—I held it a long time in my hand &

I have overlooked—or forgotten—any request to that effect in the letter sending it)— I send my love to

Brownell—also to Garry Howard when you see her—(what you say of her in your letter I fully endorse as my

Dear Pete, Here I am yet, in my big chair in the parlor—I am up & around, but not very well—I am having

O'Connor— I have no doubt I shall feel better—my sickness comes & goes—& my relief spells the same—I

me a long time, & which I had quite given up—which puts me in better spirits—good bye for present, my

My father & mother is still living in Bridgeville But myself & my little Family live near the capital

Jersey, Feb 20–1874 Friday afternoon—2½ Dear boy Pete, Well Pete, dear son, I have just had my dinner

(stewed chicken & onions—good,) & here I sit again in the same old chair, in the parlor, writing my

time comes— Have not written any for publication the past fortnight—have not felt at all like writing—My

—I have a poem in the March Harper —as I believe I mentioned in my last.

Take care of yourself my darling boy— Your old Walt, as always.

MY VISITS AND DISTRIBUTIONS.

Looking from any eminence and studying the topography in my rambles, I use them as landmarks.

I have already distributed quite a large amount of money, put in my hands for that purpose by benevolent

I regularly carry a haversack with me, and my coat has two of the biggest kind of pockets. [ To be Continued

I suffer much with my head, & locomotion is more clumsy & paralyzed even than usual—But my inward feeling

We are having it warm & bright & spring like here at present—very attractive out, but my head prevents

My nieces are well—the one with the hair a la Chinois is California, (Jessie,) the younger—the other

Louis, full of work—both my brothers have plenty of noble, manly work, & very remunerative.

London 26 Feb 1874 My dearest Friend Glad am I when the time comes round for writing to you again—though

I can't please myself with my letters, poor little echoes that they are of the loving, hoping, far journeying

Today (Feb. 25th) is my birthday dearest Friend—a day my children always make very bright & happy to

I can bide my time,—a long long growing & unfolding time.

That is because it is the under current of my whole life.

Singing Thrush" (March 15, 1873; later called "Wandering at Morn"), "Spain" (March 24, 1873), "Sea Captains

sunny to-day here, though middling cool—I am sitting here in the parlor alone—it is about 10—I have had my

off—they go by constantly—often one right after another—I have got used to them & like them— —Did you see my

Nash—& to Parker & Wash Milburn—& in short to all my friends— Your old Walt Walt Whitman to Peter Doyle

I am not sure you will remember me, or my occasional salute to you, in Washington.

My first task is to write to you.

sent you myself one copy in loose sheets ( to two of those small parcels) and the editor has during my

My own opinion I wrote you in a letter the last summer. I hope, that you have received it.

With poor Clausen I sent you my picture. If you have not got, then ask it from his widow.

Clausen, who Rudolf Schmidt called "my old friend and countryman," corresponded with Schmidt after he

(I suppose you rec'd received my postal card acknowledging your previous one, briefly, & saying I should

I shall quite certainly come on—cannot now [pla]n the time, but will write before—& take up my quarters

mention I should pay thankfully—Though badly disabled, I am perfectly able to take care of myself, & my

Rein —I am alone, in the house to-day, (except Eddy)—as my sister has gone out to spend the day, & my

My brother Jeff, at St. Louis, is well—his girls are growing finely.

Dear Rudolf Schmidt The Danish edition Demokratiske Fremblik , of my Democratic Vistas , has reached

I suppose you rec'd received my letter from here of Jan. 25—about my illness, paralysis—(& the papers

Tribune , with a poem, (my latest,) Prayer of Columbus So you will see I cannot desist from writing,

Don't fail, my dear friend, to write me at least as soon as you return.

Graphic ) with acc't account of my illness —also February Harper's , and the , by this mail—I like to

feeling quite an improvement, or let up, the last two days & nights on the bad spell I spoke of in my

think if I was fixed so that I had you with me every day, I should get well—good bye for this week, my

Here is another characteristic scene of the dark and bloody year 1863, from notes of my visit to Armory

(I think I see my friends smiling at this confession, but I was never more in earnest in my life.)

A GLIMPSE FROM MY NOTES.

I can say that in my ministerings I comprehended all and slighted none.

It has given me my plainest and most fervent views of the true ensemble and extent of the States.

[am] feeling decidedly better than usual this morning—I have spent an hour in the bath room, (quite my

For I suppose you know that my condition is very tantalizing in its fluctuations—Like today as I write

G. of 7th March is my last no. —did you get it?

I am alone at home, with my brothers—Papa & Mother are gone visiting to Uncle John's Father's-in-law.

The let up & somewhat favorable condition mentioned in my letter of Sunday still continues.