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  Dear Walt Whitman,

This letter is to give you love and greeting from an English Socialist and his wife. We heard a little while ago that you were seriously ill, but hope you are now much better.

Forgive all that is amiss in the enclosed papers, and look on them as the first efforts of a child to speak words he can already understand. What we want to tell you is, that here in old England, in the midst of infidelity and sentimental pessimism, your strong and beautiful thought has found its way   into the hearts and lives of two lovers, making them wiser and happier in every way. We are no longer ashamed of ourselves, but accept life as we find it. Acknowledging ourselves your disciples, we take you at your word as you have given it to us in your books, and believe that you will welcome us into your personal confidence and love. We should like to know that you feel this and accept it, and should infinitely treasure even a single line from your hand in return; but if you are ill, or feel it anyhow a burden, do not trouble about it, for we shall not fear you have forgotten us.

It would be futile to try and thank you for what you have taught us; we   know that our thanks would best please you if shown in trying to help others in the same way. This we do, and promise still to do; so wherever you are you will know that here your spirit is at work. We have a brother in the States, and long to visit them ourselves: can it be that we shall ever have the joy of meeting you face to face?

With our truest love and thanks, and prayers for your joy and health

We are, dear Walt Whitman,

Your devoted pupils and friends Reginald A. Beckett Katie E. Beckett