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Dear Friend and Master You see I am now back in my own country.

I am staying, with my wife (I have been married about 18 months) at my father's house.

You did not say anything about my translation of Epictetus which I sent you.

I want it as a present for a friend, so don't write my name in the beginning.

Indeed the friend is my wife—so on second thoughts I would be glad, & so would she, if you would write

Woodbury Thursday July 30 My friend I feel but little in the humour for writing any thing that will have

live here ten hours he would fret himself to death: I have heard the words "thank you," but once since my

—It was fun no doubt, but it cost me two mortal pounds of flesh, besides numerous remnants of my apparrel

a miserable kind of a dog: I am sick of wearing away by inches, and spending the fairest portion of my

—I pray the fates he may rid me of my spleen ere long W. W. Abrahan P. Leech | Jamaica L.I.

It will be my duty to so blend these diverse views that a true picture may result from them.

Should you comply with my request, and give me what information you can, I am satisfied that you will

and if you would like to have it I shall preserve your name and address and shall send you a copy of my

I may say that it is not my intention to incorporate literally in my book any reply that I may receive

It is not my present intention to mention the names of any persons who supply me with information; if

Philadelphia—it is hard work, especially as I have no one to go with me—but I put a bold face on, & my

easily do if I would I should like much to go on the trips so handy & cheap, right as you might say from my

is to have every thing wanting—(Pete, dear son, there was $89 coming to you, of the money you put in my

love—also my love to Mr & Mrs.

Nash the next time you go there—so good by for the present my darling son, & you must keep good heart

SPONTANEOUS me, Nature, The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with, The arm of my friend

hanging idly over my shoulder, The hill-side whiten'd with blossoms of the mountain ash, The same, late

en- circling encircling fingers—the young man all color'd, red, ashamed, angry; The souse upon me of my

chastity of paternity, to match the great chastity of maternity, The oath of procreation I have sworn—my

greed that eats me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I saturate what shall produce boys to fill my

ME SPONTANEOUS me, Nature, The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with, The arm of my

friend hanging idly over my shoulder, The hill-side whiten'd with blossoms of the mountain ash, The

press'd and glued together with love, Earth of chaste love—life that is only life after love, The body of my

and trembling encircling fingers—the young man all color'd, red, ashamed, angry; The souse upon me of my

greed that eats me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I saturate what shall produce boys to fill my

SPONTANEOUS me, Nature, The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with, The arm of my friend

hanging idly over my shoulder, The hillside whiten'd with blossoms of the mountain ash, The same late

and glued together with love, Earth of chaste love, life that is only life after love, The body of my

trembling encircling fingers, the young man all color'd, red, ashamed, angry; The souse upon me of my

greed that eats me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I saturate what shall produce boys to fill my

SPONTANEOUS me, Nature, The loving day, the friend I am happy with, The arm of my friend hanging idly

over my shoulder, The hill-side whitened with blossoms of the mountain ash, The same, late in autumn—the

pressed and glued together with love, Earth of chaste love—life that is only life after love, The body of my

and trembling encircling fingers—the young man all colored, red, ashamed, angry; The souse upon me of my

greed that eats me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I saturate what shall produce boys to fill my

SPONTANEOUS me, Nature, The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with, The arm of my friend

hanging idly over my shoulder, The hillside whiten'd with blossoms of the mountain ash, The same late

and glued together with love, Earth of chaste love, life that is only life after love, The body of my

trembling encircling fingers, the young man all color'd, red, ashamed, angry; The souse upon me of my

greed that eats me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I saturate what shall produce boys to fill my

s on my way to Germantown, as he expected.

Then I remembered that he was my mother's son, my brother—not my counsellor.

Now my voice is stronger. I ask—why will you not speak to me?

For the first time I act as my nature prompts me.

Farewell, my dear friend.

I should have a number of copies—for my friends, for my family.

Said W.: "I have sent my usual postal—told him you had forwarded the paper."

My God! will my friends never know me for what I am? Of course if I chose—then I would choose!

you have quite taken the wind out of my sails: I feel helpless."

Edward lectures: that should have been my business, too: if I'd gone direct to the people, read my poems

reading an account of it: and of Mars and Jupiter and Venus: I never used to miss them: often spend my

I would sometimes try my eyes on the most distant visible stars—the familiar stars."

outdoors: that's the worst aspect of my confinement."

W. asked him to "give my love" to Mrs.

then I've a good man on my side, haven't I?" Picked up the Bucke portrait again.

Yet had to have the papers: "They are as necessary as my food."

I know these people are my friends—respect the work I have tried to do.

I will amend my prayer: God help us not to want to get rich!"

poems, Leaves of Grass, in England under my sanction.

Yes," I said to W., "that's rather on my side.

He motioned me to a seat—questioned me about my day's work, etc.

W. said: "I am confident of it: but I always plant myself on my own plans in the end."

But my book has aroused his suspicions.

I said something in my note to Bucke to-daytoday about the possibility of W.'

Lanier was once my friend—once thought himself on my side: he shied off later—could n'tcouldn't stand

. * shall uncage in my breast a thousand armed great winged broad‑ wide‑winged strengths and unknown

I want that untied tenor, clean and fresh as the Creation, whose vast pure volume floods my soul.

paces and powers, uncage in my heart a thousand new strengths, and unknown ardors and terrible —making

furious than hail hail and lightning. that leap lulling me drowsily with honeyed uncaging waking in my

likely relates to the following lines, from the poem that would be titled "Song of Myself": "I open my

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.

"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."

To my incredulous looks—"but he has not published much: he is atheistic" &c.

And further: "My fear is of a deluge of soft soap—that I may go down in the flood. No—no.

I said my plan was to have a gathering of W.'

W.: "That is an idea—a good one—it commends itself to my mind at once. The birthday at Harned's!

car, 50 cts extra—plenty of room & a very easy riding car—thought while I was sitting up here now in my

yesterday afternoon & evening—took a ride up & down Broadway—am now laying off & taking it easy in my

just as natural into habits of doing nothing—lie on the sofa & read the papers—come up punctually to my

it for Sunday—I am feeling well & enjoying myself doing nothing, spending a great deal of time with 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

Saturday Press, New York, Mch March 27 18 60 My dear Walt: I am so busy that I hardly have time to breathe

This must explain my not answering yr your letter promptly.

I could if necessary give my note at three mos for the amount and it is a good note since we have never

to whom I am an entire stranger will do anything of the kind: but in suggesting it, I have done only my

.— My Dear Walt Whitman: If Tuesday, November 10th.

—It will be private, informal,— under the rose , my desire to show two eminent & worthy men, who have

—You have been much in my thoughts, ever in reverent admiration of your genius.

You will I am sure allow me to deliver it, when you honor me as my guest on November 10— Yours always

And so,—though I have nothing else to write about,—I want to send you a line or two again to express my

loving sympathy with you and my best wishes.

room which D J's description & photographs have made so familiar—solitary and ill—It reminds me of my

mother's condition in her last years—lame, suffering & much alone—and my heart goes out to you like

It is dry as a bone here, no rain for many weeks, my potato crop is cut short 50 per cent, & all my young

I try to keep absorbed in my farm operations.

My regards to Horace Traubel. Tell me something about him when you write again.

My dear Sir.

has hitherto hindered me from sending a frank message of love and thanks to you, in the thought that my

That overwhelming outburst of spirit was the first thing to stamp my nature.

My first coherent memory is of the Brooklyn 14 th Regiment recruiting on Fort Green in 1861.

docks From among all out of all Connected with all and yet distinct from all arises thee Dear Walt—Walt my

I am not a drunkard nor a teetotaler —I am neither honest or nor dishonest I have my family in Brooklyn

cheated nor defrauded, any person out of anything, and yet I feel that I have not been honest to myself— my

family nor my friends One Oclock , the Barque is laden with coal and the carts have come The old old

Oct 8th 1868 My Dear Friend Walt Whitman Your kind note and paper came duly at hand. Col.

often do in our reading circle there) and to feel that I may claim the honor of his friendship This is my

My studies are History, Grammer Grammar , Theory of Teaching, Algebra, and Latin This school is an institution

with us I love all seasons of the year, but particularly do I fall in love with golden leaved autumn My

important cases and good fees on prospect I was unable to realize the cash proceeds; so I applied and got my

—I hope to resume practice in this state, some time in the future, when I have paid my debts and saved

My mother is still living in Boston at the age of 75, well and hearty.

I hope you are fairly comfortable—God bless you my old and long tried friend— "With fond affection and

It is [my] sincere wish that Johny Makey will survive the operation and ultimately recover.

Yes my dear Brother, You have my friendship as fully as you can desire, and I hope we will meet again

Having nothing more of importance to communicate, I will conclude with my best wishes for your health

locomotion power & in more liability to head & stomach troubles & easiness of "catching cold" (from my

just past noon & I am told I am to have a good rice pudding made in a big earthenware baking dish for my

S. & Alice are going to London to live— a big bunch of white lilies scents the room & my little canary

you have a chance you may show this to Mary Costelloe & Wm William Rossetti —to both of whom I send my

Whitman occasionally referred to Stafford as "My (adopted) son" (as in a December 13, 1876, letter to

Whitman referred to Rossetti's edition as a "horrible dismemberment of my book" in his August 12, 1871

NarayanaChandran"Earth, My Likeness" (1860)"Earth, My Likeness" (1860)Published as "Calamus" number 36

in the third (1860) edition of Leaves of Grass, "Earth, My Likeness" acquired its present title in 1867

"Earth, My Likeness" (1860)

JackField"Not Heaving from my Ribb'd Breast Only" (1860)"Not Heaving from my Ribb'd Breast Only" (1860

Adhesiveness," which the poet addresses in "Not Heaving" as the "pulse of my life," is a term from phrenology

"Not Heaving from my Ribb'd Breast Only" (1860)

If you preferred you could have your bed here in my shanty—a large comfortable room on the brink of the

hill, fifty yards from the house, where my books and papers are, and where I spend most of my time.

My Carlyle article goes into the August Century. I am adding a page about Mrs.

Nothing very new in my affairs, sell a couple of books occasionally.

I suppose you saw my Riddle Song in the first number of Sunnyside Press —if not, I can send you the "

I delivered my Lincoln lecture last April 15 in Philadelphia—the same as the N.Y. version.

(Scratched off my Emerson screed down there, as it was there I rec'd received Abbott's letter.)

round—over the ferry & up Market street, Phila Philadelphia , & stop occasionally at 23 south 9th st. where my

Now that my two books, prose and the poems, are out, I hardly know what to strike for—what to look forward

republished in Scotland & L. of G. is being translated in Germany — Tuesday night 10½— I am finishing my

letter—Never mind, Harry, dear—we'll make it all right when we meet—I have just written to your mother—Well my

Was quite well—"comfortable, in my sense."

New Year's wish—he holding my hand and exclaiming—"Good boy!

Mind you, I don't tell this to you as a thing I know—it is only my guess."

I quoted against this my own edition (1876)—which W. had not seen—in which W. appeared.

—"Do you think it would be worth my while to hunt it up?"

The preacher is a friend of Sloane Kennedy's: he excites my interest."

But the happiest "find" was another envelope, under my feet on the floor.

Traubel,I send only a line to give you my new address, having just moved from the house where I lived

"As I told you yesterday, I changed my order: made it 100 instead of 150 copies."

I am determined, however, to protect myself, to make my position clear.

s on my way home. Quite near sundown; the room in shadow.

"A bit better—but by no means well—my head, belly, bladder—seem all astray—gone from their moorings."

"That's just the trouble—I attribute a good deal of my cold, chilliness, discomfort, to the variable

W. objected, "But the best thermometer is my feeling."

I get the paper regularly & my friend Mr.

I do not know what I carry in my arms pressed close to my side and bosom!

I turn my steps to "Zion's Mill" a cemetery.

My womb is clean and pure. It is ready for thy child my love.

how lovingly will I cherish and guard it, our child my love. Thine the pleasure my love.

My motives are pure and holy. Our boy my love! Do you not already love him?

Stopped in on my way to town. W. reading the Record. He spoke of feeling better.

My father was a great admirer of Lafayette—and Lafayette was indeed a grand man.

As to Lee, he said: "I am very loth to talk of Lee—my tongue, (I do not know but my pen, too) is slow

s raised my ire. W. realized at once that I was mad,—asked, "What is it about?"

Of course it appealed to me, awoke my response.

down & see you—sister & bro: at Burlington N J are well— own sister Burlington Vermont sick & poorly—my

Whitman occasionally referred to Stafford as "My (adopted) son" (as in a December 13, 1876, letter to

Whitman: "Because you have, as it were, given me a ground for the love of men I thank you continually in my

"Walt Whitman's Last," an "explanation" of his book Good-Bye My Fancy (1891), was published in the August

tuesday Tuesday evenin evening My dear Walt i received your letter to day with the nice envelopes all

to any place where they live a long time) i am pretty well now i have been trouble d with a pain in my

Walt Whitman had written, "I have not been satisfied with my boarding place—so several weeks ago, I tried

another place & room for a couple of days & nights on trial, without giving up my old room—Well, I was

glad enough to go back to my old place & stay there" (see his August 24, 1868 letter to Louisa Van Velsor

He recognized my skepticism.

W. said: "He was my friend—and yours, too, eh? No?

Desired my libretto.

"It's one of my regrets that the Wagner operas have never come my way—that I for my own part have not

—only serves to make my conviction more vehement."

Remember me to all my old friends in New York."

My theory has been to equip, equip, equip, from every quarter, my own power, possibility—through science

But my mind is animated by other ideas.

My parents' folks mostly farmers and sailors—on my father's side of English—on my mother (Van Velsor's

—This year lost, by death, my dear, dear mother—and, just before, my sister Martha—(the two best and

Wished to know if Bucke had seen my father's W. picture.

And then he asked my father's opinion of Eakins' picture. "He thought it a fine work?"

And then to my father's one criticism—that the complexion did not do W. justice, his being the finest

And to my "no"—"Well, I guess there's nothing in it.

I gave him my list—suggested several new names.

My Dear Old Friend, Thank you for your kind post card of March 19 th wh: came duly to hand on Mar: 30

But alas I must be content with saying this & repeating the expression of my personal affection & solicitude

spending Sunday last (Easter Sunday) at Grange—a beautiful little villa-town on Morecambe Bay, where my

My heart's best love & gratitude to you! Yours, affectionately, J.Johnston. To Walt Whitman.

P.S I reopen my letter, at the last moment, to acknowledge the rec t . of your kind p.c of Mar 24 —only

John's Wood London, N.W. 4 June 1890 My dear Walt Whitman, I have received from you lately "The Conservator

" with Bucke's little article, a newspaper with a review of my Keats, your letter of 22 May, and the

you wish to keep a check on the agents—it was 7s/6d (not very dear, I think)—but this is of course my

Now they have made this reissue without my knowledge, & the conclusion of the article on you has been

You might put my name in it & just send a line on a postcard to let me know the cost.

119 Lower Baggot Street Dublin 14 February 1876 My dear Mr. Whitman, 'Bram Stoker Feb, '76.

My friend Edward Dowden has told me often that you like new acquaintances or I should rather say friends

I wrote the enclosed draft of a letter which I intended to copy out and send to you —it has lain in my

much consolation—and I do believe that your open earnest speech has not been thrown away on me or that my

a hot debate on your genius at the Fortnightly Club in which I had the privilege of putting forward my

eachother each other yet our Children are anxious to see you the picture you sent Bethuel looks some like my

grandfather Deen that is my fathers father's father if Harvy Allen and Sally should go to philadelphia

about two miles from glensfalls Glens Falls iwent I went to meeting one Sunday evening and enjoyed my

fashioned hymns and old tunes it seemed like old times when young idont I dont now know as you can read my

riting writing but we feel anxious to hear from you and how you get along god bless you with my best