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  Mr. Walt Whitman, Dear Sir:

It is very mortifying to me not to be in a position to send you even a small portion of the balance your​ you're​ due. We are in a much better locality for retail trade, and we hope to stir up a better mail trade by a new list which we shall send out soon. But we cannot hope for anything very satisfactory, considering the unprecedented stagnation in all business circles, for several weeks. Assuming A.K.B. & Co.'s liabilities at such a time as this has made it very awkward for me. I never was in debt before. The business would be unmixed pleasure to me were my capital larger, as I think I can serve humanity better by distributing good books than in any other way. The first opportunity   that can be made, something will be sent you. I regret the inability to promptly settle more as I have understood you have never been paid by others who kept your books on sale. There seems no reason to doubt a good business being done here in a few weeks—in the early fall. I hope your health is improving. Many persons ask us about you, and take a keen interest in your welfare. I regret that I am not so situated as to be able to extend you an invitation to visit New York, and offer you comfortable quarters here while you remain; but I do not "keep house"; have no family; and I vibrate between New York and Brooklyn as to sleeping quarters, not having any fixed habitation. Some one is compiling a book for the use of "Liberals" at funerals, etc. I have called his attention to your poem on Death ("Dark mother," etc.), which I consider the finest ever written.

Yours sincerely Chas. P. Somerby   Sept. 26 '75. C. P. Somerby