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week and I was glad to hear from you This leaves me all well hopeing hoping it may find you the same My

with a paper that I received from there some time ago you want me to write all the particulars about my

This X is taken from my rent money, and makes us much short on rent.

with eight failures of those owing us, and many of the books that were supposed to be sold for cost by my

must have more letters than you can sometimes find time to read, but I feel that I must tell you of my

love of your beautiful poetry, and of my great esteem for the grand and free poet who has conceived

I can, at least, get my old place back again and may get something better.

My most pleasing recollections of Camden are associated with that old House in Arch St., the quiet Sunday

It was very amusing—my part was to dance a ballet, which I did, in full ballet costume.

In a week now I go back to Oxford—to Balliol College, for my last year. It is a dear place.

This is my last term at Oxford—that dear place—after that I shall be free, and may turn up in America

I am anxious to try my hand in a modest way at it.

D and Ed Wilkins (my nurse) are good & so far I get along fairly with appetite, grub & sleep wh' of course

hear from him often—I had a letter from Ruth enclosed, (tho' I suppose she has written to you)—I send my

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

I intended to come to see you on my way here I had only time to make the train so could not see so will

call on my way Home are you better or do you still keep the same I hoped when the weather got cooler

Home July 24/88 My Dear Old Friend I received your letter written the 21 st day after the one of yesterday

many good friend friends you have & how pretty they write I have often wished that I could express my

London Ont Ontario Canada Dec December 17th 83 1883 My Dear Old Friend: Your postals came "OK" and found

Haven't heard from home directly but once since my arrival.

interesting collection—a concentering of praise & eulogy rather too single & unanimous & honeyed for my

esthetic sense—(for tho' it has not got around, that same esthetic is one of my main governments, I

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

My annual report is on again, shall make it short this year (between you & me—I am not saying any thing

about this but thinking of it a good deal—I rather hope this may be my last—if we are not entirely deceived

new little "November Boughs" is slowly but steadily moving—Horace Traubel is invaluable to me in it—My

head in preparing my copies or reading proof is poorly, dull, raw, no weak grip, no consecutive, no

Horace Traubel —& by the best printers I have ever yet had—The Century people have just sent me again my

October number—bowel movements continue every day or other day—I take no drugs at all—have not moved from my

Gurd but I expect each mail to get a letter which will fix the time of my departure for the East (always

wish I could run down to Washington to see him while I am East but I fear that will be impossible, my

rare egg, fried, Graham b'd and coffee for breakfast—am to have three or four rare stew'd oysters for my

April 28 Well it just looks out like clearing & sunshine—so mote it be—Nothing very different with me—my

were off some where— Nothing special with me—After I returned from N Y middle of June, went down to my

trifle ruggeder yet— All here well—I enclose you two letters from Mrs Gilchrist in England, & one from my

My friends, I have now ready the prose article—(will make, I should think, about 14 printed pages)—which

The name of my piece is Personalism Don't be alarmed at the (perhaps at first sight) oddity of the word

Ontario June 29 th 1880 My dearest Friend, Perhaps you thought I had forgotten you, but I have not much

Please give my love to all and as I have told you all I know I will close here.

Buds" (1891)"Unseen Buds" first appeared in 1891 in the second annex of Leaves of Grass, "Good-Bye my

later editions.However, when read along with "The Unexpress'd," "Grand is the Seen," and "Good-Bye my

My dear walt i have just got your two letters this monday Monday morning one was written last thursday

impose on good nature but walt if you could send me the order the first of next week i would be glad as my

Mott avenue & 149th Street Station L New York City Aug: August 8 '81 1881 My dear Baxter Yours rec'd

Osgood & Co: are going to publish a complete & new volume of my poems, & I am coming on to see to & oversee

Sept. 15 '85 328 Mickle Street Camden New Jersey U S America My dear friend Yours of Sept: 5 just rec'd

noble-hearted young man — As far as I can perceive & understand your scheme is managed admirably & to my

never mind, I appreciate them gratefully —I am well as usual this summer—nothing very new ab't about my

books or literary fortunes— I shall make a permanent move from Camden before many months—as my brother's

My dear friend, I shall return to Washington next Saturday, 15th—William, it would be a favor if you

I write this in my room home, early afternoon—Mother & I having had tete-a-tete dinner—so good & quiet

August 5 Dear Nelly, Your good letter came all right—it is pretty much "the same subject continued"—with my

square frame, with thin strip of gilt inside, & good plate glass)—I shall look for Charles Eldridge— My

thing to say — I have been staying alone here in the house, as the folks have gone off on summer trip—My

sister is at the White Mountains—I take my meals at Mrs Wroth's 319 Stevens—I like it—An old lady I

I believe I sent you a month ago a little paper with my late piece "Riddle Song."

enjoying it, even heat and all—I live on the banks of the Delaware river like—I wish you could know my

Camden N J—U S America Monday evn'g: Nov: 9 '91 Have just had my supper—mutton chop, potato, & some stew'd

if only to get a knowledge of that —Y'r kind letter yest'd'y— Nov: 10 —Sitting here again—just eaten my

him and the other good County Borough of Bolton (England) Public Libraries fellows before I finish my

Drinkard—he rubs the handles over my leg & thigh, for perhaps twenty minutes—the shock is very perceptible—it

not sure) it is Jule Mason —it is quite interesting—I am going to work for a couple of hours now at my

My Dear Friend: I get a few good letters on my little essay on the poets.

One of those children was five-year-old Walt Whitman, who, as he recorded in "My First Reading—Lafayette

"My First Reading—Lafayette." Specimen Days. Vol. 1 of Prose Works 1892. Ed. Floyd Stovall.

I have done gone and published my essay The Poet as a Craftsman.

W. added: "That's my question, too: where is the Christian?"

W.: "Fit in a grave, Tom: yes: after I'm dead: that'll be my last and only fit!"

Harned said: "I had no idea, Walt, that you'd give such a ghastly turn to my innocent remark."

W. then: "There you are once more, Mister Skeptic, taking my wisdom to pieces!"

me about the fire last night: it was a lumber yard along the wharves; he was very much interested in my

But then," he said doubtingly, after a slight pause: "since that draft business I don't trust my memory

I blurted out at once so he should remain in no uncertainty: 'I 'mI'm afraid my friend that I hope it

, but when a sample like this comes along with his numerous arogances I am up in arms again full of my

I read it to him.>333 Liverpool Road, Apr. 11, '76 Dear Dixon: I forgot to acknowledge in my last the

You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!

Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood?

Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?

It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be not detain'd!

Camerado, I give you my hand!

You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!

Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood?

Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?

It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be not detain'd!

Camerado, I give you my hand!

You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!

Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sun-light expands my blood?

Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?

It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well. Allons! be not detained!

I give you my hand!

more foolish than the rest of the volume:— "I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable, I sound my

The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness, after the rest, and true as any, on the

I depart as air—I shake my white locks at the run-away sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it

"He shan't squeeze my girl.'"

Asks from my sister a letter of introduction to the Strykers.

I quoted a review of Florian's Montaigne: " 'Myselfe am the groundworke of my booke': such were the Whitmanesque

"I always object," he explained, "to putting my name in a book about myself.

"But," he added, "after all, the big book is the book, in my estimation: has a quality not imparted by

My effort has always been to pack, condense, solidify—to get my material into the smallest space compatible

When the big publishers—Harpers, the Century folks—issue a book, they use as many as my whole edition

s on my way home (5.10) to leave one set of proofs of my piece for the book.

should not spread things out—I should keep both letters and speeches well together"—which was precisely my

I referred to McKay—my reference to him in the introduction—that some thought Dave's act in espousal

I went straight in and W. knew me and called out my name—I then going direct to the bed and shaking hands

I excused my interruption.

My specification of Bucke's constant letters caused him to exclaim ardently, "Dear, dear—ever dear—Doctor

You will tell him all needful things, facts, about my condition.

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."

enjoying the prospect, I think, and all that comes in its train.Spoke about questioners: "They are my

W. in trying to remember something to tell me, suddenly exclaimed, "My memory is very bad and becoming

He admitted, "Yes, they may be true, but my memory is bad, always has been bad.

Adding, "My memory is more a memory of impressions than of facts.

My dear Traubel:To begin where I left off yesterday: the excitement you have raised is phenomenal.

—that the whole testimonial is for his sole benefit—etc. etc.Now give my best regards to your own good

I hope to see you both some time next week—when the pot begins to boil—as I may be able to put in my

I can never do that: I am always held back till the fact is right in my fist—till a slip is no longer

I still said "yes"—adding—"The day I get it I will leave it on my way home and call later for it again

And, "I want a proof of my little piece, too—should have it. Can you tell Stoddart?"

Wallace writes me June 5th [requesting copies of "Good-Bye My Fancy"].

was curious—I jumped all bounds—probably the more for feeling that the fellows had come, in a way, to my

it, are very serious about it—Mother, it is serious times—I do not feel to fret or whimper, but in my

—& how the dear little girls—Jeff, I believe the devil is in it about my writing you, I have laid out

Mother, I have just had my breakfast, I had it in my room, some hard biscuits warmed on stove, & a first

He did not even ask about your health, or any other human thing, & made me feel that my call upon him

I had resolved, for reasons of my own, not to call upon any of those fellows, & I feel like throttling

Herbert for making me depart from my resolution.

If you have a copy of my "Notes" to spare, send it to O'Connor. I have but one.

My dear Walt you think strange of my not writing befor e and it is strange i have not but i have wrote

laid out in A black frock coat of Georges and vest and shirt looked as if he was asleep i never in all my

have him buried in greenwood i paid little attention to her fault finding but done what i thought was my

Leaves of Grass, Whitman confidently anticipated that in a "few years . . . the average annual call for my

necessitated a level of pride equal to the enormous task of an American poetry: "I know perfectly well my

own egotism," he admits, "[k]now my omnivorous lines and must not write any less."

avowedly chant 'the great pride of man in himself,' and permit it to be more or less a motif of nearly all my