
As I sit here rather late at night alone quite unwell & sleepless & thinking of you all I tho't I w'd write & commune with you & Eve & Jim Hardigan Hartigan & Mr & Mrs Fryer & Ada & Fred Woods & Ted & Louise with any others I cannot name (yet wish to)—
The first thing is whether the express parcel of books—the four big books—have they come to you safely? Since I sent them I have written to you twice—& in my mind have had Australia & life in the bush & the gum trees, & shearing, & many a mate & shadow more than once—I welcome what you have hinted ab't those things more than you know—
One of L of G's best running criticisms & comments is by a Frenchman named Sarrazin—its tone & points w'd deeply interest (perhaps please) you & I will send it if ever translated & printed here. I enclose a touch of it (Have you a foreign bookstore in Melbourne? It is named La Renaissance de la Poesie Anglaise, by Gabriel Sarrazin, Paris. (is in one moderate sized Vol: ) various poets treated)
I will send Ingersoll's lecture as soon as I get the little printed book—Did you get the full report I sent in the N Y "Truth-Seeker" paper?
If you like the last photo, in the express parcel (if you got it) I can send you some more—it is the last—& perhaps the best likeness—I want to be as much among you all as possible—(or you mention any of the other pictures any of you want & I will send it)
Jan: 14 noon—Bad hours with me—bad night—feel like giving you all good word & loving message possibly for the last—But I may be better & as clear as usual to-morrow or next day—a bevy of visitors (young women & others) send me notice of calling ab't noon 15th—I mustn't forget the dear baby God bless the child, & God bless you all—It seems to be growing milder weather & the sun is out—
Walt Whitman

