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  My dear Walt Whitman,

I have to thank you for your kind postcard of July 14th received this mg. I note that you were "much the same considering, but badly depressed today." My heart goes out to you with yearning tenderness as I think of you sitting by the window, alone, weak & ill. May God strengthen & bless you & fill your heart with cheer & hope.

I do wish to hear of your being able to get out   again into the fresh open air, the breezes & sunshine, & the currents of life. But I, too, "hope for better things bye & bye."

The same mail brought me two letters from Traubel & his wife, deeply touching in their wonderful kindness & cordiality. It stirs my heart to its depths to feel—as I have had reason to feel lately—how warm & vital is the comradeship of your friends & lovers, aroused & inspired by your example & words. Supreme & increasing love & honour to you always.

 

Dr Bucke has come & gone. Last Wednesday & Thursday. Johnston & I were "on pins" all the time, expecting a telegram from Queenstown. This, however, Dr B. had no opportunity of sending. On Friday mg. Johnston recd a telegram from him saying he had arrived in Liverpool (11.45 Thursday night) & would be in Bolton at 11 oclock on Friday mg. Johnston & I met him, recognising him immediately. We drove at once to Johnston's, discussing arrangements for the afternoon as we proceeded. It was settled that Dr. B. should drive with Johnston on one of   his professional rounds, & meet me in town for dinner. In the meantime I was to arrange for a drive in the afternoon & beat up as many friends as I could to accompany us. Seven of us met in all—Fred Wild, Dixon, Shorrock, Hutton, Johnston, Dr. B & self. It was a glorious afternoon, bright, hot & slightly misty. We took what we consider the best & most interesting drive in the district—in the hilly moorland country north of the town, (all flat country south of Bolton) stopping eventually at the parsonage in Rivington, where Revd S. Thompson gave us our tea. Dr B had had no sleep during the two   previous nights, & was almost overpowered by his want of sleep & by the heat. But he seemed to enjoy the drive. Thompson's quaint old fashioned garden interested him too, & his quiet, simple, genuine hospitality. (Grown up son & daughter at home, Mrs Thompson away on a visit). Johnston had brought his camera, so took the opportunity, while we were in the garden to photograph the group, and Dr Bucke alone. Then the drive to Bolton, Thompson accompanying us. Some of the friends (engaged in business during the day) were awaiting us at Johnston's & we had a pretty full "College   Meeting"— 3 being absent. We had no set programme, & didn't attempt any elaborate speechifying, but had an ordinary social evening—plus two songs for the occasion by Dixon & Johnston & short speeches by Dr Bucke, Hutton & self. Dr B., I believe, has given you an account of it all & sent you a copy of W.D.'s song.

Law & I stayed all night at Johnston's—Law leaving early next morning for business. It was agreed to come out here in the afternoon. Unfortunately it proved to be the worst week end one could have chosen,—more than half the friends having engagements wh. could not be postpon'd.   So there were only 5 of us in all. We went to the bank near Rivington Lake (where we had our talk May 31st, & of the view from which you have a picture) and there in the open air, Dr B (seated on a camp-stool, with his back against a low stone wall, the rest of us reclining on the grass round him) read us a paper on you wh. he intends to publish in a forthcoming book by himself & Traubel, & which he proposes to call "Physiological Guarantees." It was an admirable paper, & it was a great treat to us to hear it, though it contained little   that was new. But it was a memorable & never-to-be-forgotten pleasure to hear Dr B, your accepted "explicator," & old personal friend give his matured conclusions about you &your work. A little stammering talk about it after, & then here to tea. Dr J. had to hurry off to catch the 6.23 train, the rest staying till 9.30. We spent the interval in this room talking mainly about you, Dr. B. reading passages from L. of G. & I reading the "Song of the Universal" & the "Prayer of Columbus."—

Sunday afternoon Dr. B. Johnston & Dixon came out here again, & we spent a quiet afternoon.   We had a short walk in the immediate neighbourhood, my father accompanying us. Johnston & Dixon went on to Rivington for Thompson who came here for tea. We had a quiet chat about different things including Mark Twain's "Huckleberry Finn"— from which I read one or two of Dr B's favourite passages.

On Monday morning I called at Johnston's & drove with Dr. B & J. to the Town Hall, Market, Library, &c—& then to the Station, Dr B. going to London by the 11.21 train.

The foregoing is a mere skeleton record of our proceedings without flesh & blood, faint colors.   But I write off hand & hastily.

No very special celebration, & nothing of much importance said or done. But a memorable & deeply significant time to us all.

It was a great thing to us to meet Dr. Bucke, face to face, to hear him talk & to observe his living presence & manner.

It was an especial treat to hear him talk of you, & to observe how naturally he regards you as his exemplar in all things.

He said a fine thing to me on Sunday—as we sat alone together in one of the country lanes here (waiting for Dr. J. & Dixon who had gone for Thompson).

 

I don't remember his exact words, but they were something like these.

"I put my Whitman work before everything else,—before my wife & family even, & no one needs to wish a finer family than mine."

(I) "But, of course, the two interests can't come into collision, but rather support each other."

(Dr B) "Well, of course. But if they should clash, I should put Walt's interest before theirs, extravagant as it may seem to say so."

Said quietly, simply, & without special emphasis, & quite incidentally, as of an old & ever present principle of his life.

 

But far more significant & interesting than anything Dr B. said or did—specially—was the continual charm & influence of his manner—the living object lesson he afforded us of some of the results of your influence & teaching.

His manner of perfect & easy equality with each & all of us—no suspicion of superiority, or criticism, or ennui, but frank cheerful acceptance on equal terms of every one, of every thing said & of every incident, his hearty comradeship, his instant enjoyment, frank boyish laughter, & occasional glimpses of the depths of affection, loyalty, & reverence in him won all our hearts.   Certainly I never met a man with whom I interchanged so soon & so fully & deeply. At our spree on Friday night I shook hands with him at the close of my little speech in token of his admission to our "College." I did it partly in jest, but it expressed a serious feeling (deepened since) that we regarded him as one of us, one, that is, of the circle of our dearest friends, a brother beloved.

When he comes to see us again, it will seem quite natural that he should do so, as natural   & as welcome as sunshine & fresh air. Sitting in this house he seemed as fitly in his place as a near relative might have done—& as intimate & close to our hearts.

His very limitations (or what seem so) only endear him to us. For our own limitations are far greater—or narrower—& it is good to feel that we have so great a brother to encourage us on the upward road where you stand supreme.

But deeper than the pleasure, instruction, & stimulus of his immediate presence, are the hopes & aims his visit suggests for the future. It seems to me to admit us into the wide   expanding brotherhood, whose glory & privilege it will be, in different spheres & in varying degrees, to carry on your work. May God help us to indeed consecrate ourselves to the work.

Dr. B. said on Friday night that he "only wished the old man were here." But we felt that he was your representative, & that, at least by proxy, you were with us. And I thank God, with all my heart, that even such a connection existed between us.

Dr. B. read portion of a letter from you aloud. I used to consider it a sufficient compensation for all the obstructions & troubles of my life, that I had written one letter that I knew had pleased you. Now, I thank God, with a full heart, for all my privileges.

 

Dr. B. brought the canary safely. Johnston magnanimously brought over here for me, & after Dr Bucke's arbitration I agreed to keep it. It is a very affecting & precious souvenir of you to me. Thanks & God bless you.

I expect two or three of the friends here tomorrow—Dr. J. Fred Wild & Greenhalgh. G. is bringing some lads to a farm here for an afternoon in a field.

Showery weather all week usually clearing up in the afternoon or towards evening. Beautiful afternoon & evening today—fine cloud & atmospheric effects—& the air deliciously fresh, sweet, & bracing (wind right off the sea).

A good night to you this night. And loving thoughts & wishes for all morrows. J. W. Wallace