
For so you seem to me just like a grandfather whom I once knew years ago, but who
lives in my memory as a childish recollection. No, I have never seen you with my
physical eyes, but I feel as though I had, and it is my love for your work, and
through that for yourself that prompts me to write you and declare it. I long thought
of stretching out my hands across the water in greeting to you, but that diffidence
I had lest I might be intruding unwarrantably upon your quiet has hitherto prevented
me. This has now passed away through the kindness of a new-found friend—Dr
Johnston of Bolton—who tells me he has sent you a
copy of "Great Thoughts" containing my small addition to the literature appreciative of your
prophetic messages and high-souled songs. May this be my excuse for thrusting my small
personality into the path of your Kingly one.
It is now about five years ago, (when I was 21, and looked something like the photograph I enclose) since I first remember reading any of your poems, and that was in a small anthology. From that time I wished to read more of them, and, making discoveries for myself, I at last found "Leaves of Grass"—one of the late editions—and rejoiced as over a discovery of hid treasure. Needless to tell you, I read it through, and lost no time in buying "Specimen Days."
It does not need an Indian to find my trail through the "Leaves of Grass." It is broad and thick. Thumb marks, ink scratches, pencil notes, and dear old stains—each one has its history, and is looked upon as an old friend. Even my Bible is not so bemarked.

Your volume holds a princely place in my ranks of 600; for to it I owe so much of what is now mine, and a never-ceasing interest in all that appertains to life. My eyes have been opened to a truer view of the Bible, of Shakespeare—yea, of all the great minds that have enriched mankind. And for all this—this that makes life so truly happy I thank you.
I need hardly say how gratified I should be if it pleased you to write to me, if only a line.
We may never meet on this earth, and I would like to be as near to you as possible in the next way—by a personal letter—In the after-days we shall surely meet—somehow, somewhere; and then we shall see, and know, and understand.
To you—of all of the best that ever God has divined here and
hereafter—love, honour, glory and power.
Good bye my master and my friend!
Think that I grasp your hand as long as all may or even so little longer.
Goodbye, and again my thanks—as yours, "a soldier's traveller's thanks."
Au revoir! et à Dieu! Ever sincerely Edmund Mercer.Walt Whitman Esq.

