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the way things work on the road—It wont won't be very long, now before I shall be back with you—Give my

Nash—tell Wash Milburne I wish him success in the "graduate of Pharmacy" line, & every thing else— give him my

skeleton, faculties good, but voice only a low whisper—I returned last night, after midnight —Well bub, my

time here is short—I have had a good quiet visit—the best in some respects yet—& I feel satisfied —My

My cold hangs on, though not so bad as at first.

The state of the weather, & my cold, &c. have rather blocked me from having my usual enjoyment here,

trouble)—I go out a couple of hours middle of the day, but keep in nights— —I have got the new edition of my

enclosed, as you may need it—Should you want more, you write, as I have plenty—I am writing this up in my

butter—every thing tip-top—get along well enough—you must try to do the same—so good bye, for this time, my

the pipes through the house, & burst them yesterday, causing great trouble—I too have got a bad cold, my

three hours during the day)— I will only write this very short letter to you this time, but send you my

love, my darling son—I think about you every day dear son—will write more, soon—here is a kiss for you

letter to you this time—I feel pretty well, but don't seem to feel like writing—Good bye for to-day, my

first rate— I spent yesterday down on the sea-shore—was all by myself—had a splendid good day—took my

first part of next week if nothing happens— Well, Pete, I believe that is all this morning—Good bye, my

I have been home—six weeks— —I am middling well, go out some every day, but not much—Best thing is my

Good bye, my darling son—So the new shirts turn out a success do they?

I have a great mind to be jealous—Give my love to Wash Milburn, Adrian Jones, & all the RR boys.

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 &

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

My health keeps good, & work easy.

I often think of you, my loving boy, and think whether you are all right & in good health, & working

As I told you in my previous letter, this city is quite small potatoes after living in New York.

I write this early in the forenoon, sitting in my room in 55th street, after breakfast.

As to getting my leave extended so that I might stay to vote, I have settled (as I spoke of in a former

I am now going out down town, & across to Brooklyn, to spend a few hours with my mother.

I don't know whether I told you that my sister with her two young children from St.

I delivered my poem here before the College yesterday. All went off very well.

I will send you the little book with my poem, (& others) when I get back to Brooklyn.

Pete did my poem appear in the Washington papers—I suppose Thurs-day or Friday— Chronicle or Patriot

evening March 8 Dear son, I thought I would write you just a short letter, if no more, as you are in my

I sometimes come to the office nights, to read, it is so quiet—and now I am sitting here at my desk,

So I thought of my dear boy, and will send a few words, though nothing particular to say.

Johnny, I send you my love, & good night for this time—the mail closes at 8, & it is some after 7 now

Johnny, you say you should like to see me—Well, no more than I should to see you, my darling boy.

Walt Whitman at this point deleted "Jack" and "my darling."

The first reading was "my loving boy."

Walt Whitman excised "Johnny" and "my dear son."

Pete, I am sitting in my room home, finishing this—have just had a bath, & dressed myself to go over

Foul Play" —if not, I have one here I will send you— Dear son, I believe that is all this time—I send my

love, dear son, & a good loving kiss—I think of you every day—Give my best regards to all enquiring

friends, & inform them I expect to be back in about three weeks— Good bye, my darling boy—from your comrade

Dear Pete, According to announcement in my last, I have made a movement & change of base, from tumultuous

I suppose you got my last letter, 14th, from N. Y. I expect to return to N. Y. about the 22d.

Last night, when I went up at 11 o'clock to my room, I took up three great bunches, each as big as my

It is quite a change here from my associations & surroundings either in Washington or New York.

I send you my love, dear Pete. So long . Will write from N. Y. soon as I return there. W W P.S.

I shall doubtless return about the 26th—as my leave expires that day.

I am writing this in my room at Mr. & Mrs. Davis's.

As I left my overcoat in Washington, I have been compelled to get something here—so I have bought me

Then away late—lost my way—wandered over the city, & got home after one o'clock.

& heft, to say nothing of my reputation, is doing pretty well.

Then I thought I would come up & sit a while in my room.

So long, dear Pete—& my love to you as always, always.

Mother is well, & my brothers the same. I am going to-morrow to Providence, R.

My friend O'Connor is quite unwell, and is absent from Washington away down on the New England coast.

I believe I told you I was finishing up about 230 copies of my book, expecting to sell them.

Dear boy, I send you my love. I will write you a line from Providence. So long, Pete.

Walt I have been debating whether to get my leave extended, & stay till election day to vote—or whether

.: "My purpose was to kill two birds with one stone—get well and fix up the 'Carpenter,' but I fear neither

It seems but a day or two since I left Wash, yet I am now on the fourth week of my furlough.

As I was on my way home in a 2d av. car between 12 & 1 o'clock we got blocked in by a great part of the

—Pete there is nothing new in my case, & no prospect more than usual of anything sudden —but it seems

may-be there is something more favorable ahead—I busy myself a little every day writing—I want to fix my

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.

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

most are blanks —I was at Pike's Peak—I liked Denver City very much—But the most interesting part of my

bridge over the Mississippi river —I often go down to the river, or across this bridge—it is one of my

I often think of you & no doubt you often do of me—God bless you, my darling friend, & however it goes

—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

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

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

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

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.

—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

April 10, 12 M Dear Pete, 74 Nothing very new or different in my condition, or any thing else—have hardly

Not much of a letter this time, my loving boy—as I dont don't seem to be able to write much—though, as

July 10 1875 Dear, dear son, I am still here—still suffering pretty badly—have great distress in my head

, & an almost steady pain in left side—but my worst troubles let up on me part of the time—the evenings

Eldridge to see to the sending on here of my boxes at Dr. Whites.

Pete didn't you get my last Saturday's postal card? I wrote you one.

I got yours last Monday—Did you get the Camden paper with my College piece in? I sent one.

Dear son, I send you my letter a day ahead this week —Nothing new with me—rec'd the letter of last Sunday—also

March 26 1874 Thursday afternoon 2½ —I have just had my dinner—roast beef, lima beans, graham-bread &

Pete your short letter came to-day, written on the cars—dear son, come whenever you can—As I said on my

My little dog is stretched out on the rug at full length, snoozing.

He hardly lets me go a step without being close at my heels—follows me in my slow walks, & stops or turns

Pleasant & bright weather—have been out on the side walk in front, once or twice, with my shawl around

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

to write to me,—he is a young man I always loved. ½ past 2 —I have just had a nice oyster stew for my

I will try to stop in Philadelphia & find that little dictionary I promised you— So long, my loving son

Dear Pete, I want some things taken out of my trunk, & put in a bundle & sent here by express.

you this afternoon, to-morrow , or next will do just as well, as I am in no hurry— —You both go up in my

room & get them—I want My old gray suit , coat vest &, (I think there are two pair of pants) My old

Aug. 29–1874 Dear Pete, I still remain about the same, & with nothing to write about in the way of my

I am still the same—am all alone in the house to-day, as my brother has gone to New York & my sister

feel well enough to come on to Washington & make out several weeks—& we'll have a good time together, my

chicken for his dinner—then went to a nice reading room & library we have here, very handy—then home to my

own dinner chicken & nice roast potatoes—& now (2½) up stairs in my room writing this, & feeling very

what you wrote about your mother—Every thing about fellows' old mothers is interesting to me— —Give my

Jersey , Dec. 3—noon Dear Pete, Dear son, I am getting over my late bad spell—I have been very sick indeed

, the feeling of death & dizziness, my head swimming a great deal of the time—turning like a wheel—with

expected—& shall go out, or try to, to-day, as it is very pleasant—You must not be needlessly alarmed, my

partially well & strong enough—The doctor is quite encouraging—comes every day—& I feel a good heart yet—My

paper—I have some spurts of visits, & company—but very little that goes to the right spot, with me—my

hold out,—walking or like, than for nearly now four years—bad enough yet, but still decidedly better —(My

accident (I mean the victory in battles) than it is generalship— —Pete I am sitting up here alone in my

snap of the last three days very well—to-day has been moderate & nice here—Nothing new or special in my

affairs—I am selling a few of my books (the new 2 Vol. 10 dollar edition) from time to time—mostly to

English & Irish purchasers—it is quite funny how many of my books are sent for from Ireland — Love to

Dearest Son, I saw the RR. smash the first thing in the paper in the morning, & run my eyes over the

others , of such accidents, is because they run such a route, over a single track —you may remember my

still I have a sort of feeling not to give it up yet—keep real good spirits—don't get blue, even at my

weather is bright & pleasant here to-day, but cool for the season, & the most backward I have ever known—My

—love to my darling son— Walt Walt Whitman to Peter Doyle, 30 April [1875]

Captain "Tim" Buchanan, a conductor on one of the trains, was hospitalized.

I still keep a little at work—there is a printing office here, where I am doing my work—they are young

considerate & respectful to me—fix every thing in type, proof, &c. just to suit me—I am leisurely preparing my

Come when you can, my darling boy.

August 29 . 75 My dear son, Your letter came all right last Monday, & the papers.

needn't mind the other Sunday papers—I send you Harper's magazine for September—I am still holding my

Dear boy Pete, Nothing particular or new in my condition—I have been to the Doctor's to-day—had quite

Good bye my loving son. I will try to do better next week.

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

I am very much the same—My being disabled & want of Exercise for 16 months, (and many other wants too

what the doctor calls gastric catarrh, very obstinate, causing me really more suffering & pain than my

I have bad spells enough, thank God I also have middling good ones—& as I write this have just had my

Washington to New York, & so was some in hopes of seeing you in Philadelphia)— No change in my condition

or prospects—the young man, Walter Godey, still works as my substitute in the Solicitor's office—I havn't

—My sister has just called me to my dinner—so I will close for this time.