Default Metadata, or override by section

  The Camelot Series. Edited by Ernest Rhys. My dear Walt Whitman,

During the past day or two I have been arranging your portraits for the 'Scottish Art Review' (where they will probably appear in the May number), and at the same time I have been reading November Boughs with great delight—Mrs. Costelloe's copy of the book! There is a double stimulus in your poems & prose writings, now that I am able to read between the lines, feeling all the time as if I can still see you in your great arm-chair—as during my visits a year ago,—a never failing friendly presence behind the black-&-white of the printed page. It is this impression that I must try to convey as far as may be in my article in the S. A. Review accompanying the portraits. —I wonder by the way whether Gilchrist would allow me to reproduce the photo. from his painting at the same time. Perhaps you will say a word to him about this?

Since coming back to London from my pleasant jaunt in South Wales—when I had a capital time of it in exploring Worm's Head & the Gower coast,—  I have been grinding away pretty hard at mere literary work—more than I like indeed, for I want to be less & less literary in the narrow sense henceforth, & go in for expressing life direct rather than dealing with other people's books. This is a lesson of course that L. of Grass teach me. So my instinct for life & the open road grows stronger every day. "Right Jack Health!" as Keats said,—Health before everything!

Living in London need not mean any excess of mere literariness, however. There's no such place for Life after all. Even New York has not such tumult—such human interplay & variety. Everyday something new & inspiring discovers itself in the familiar ways. This struck me in walking along the Embankment from Westminster to Waterloo Bridges this afternoon with the tide—higher than usual—just at the full; the river alive with various craft. The sight would have pleased you well.

I believe I told you that my sister Edith was with me here. She is going in for music, & at this moment is thundering away at Wagner's 'Flying Dutchman' on the piano. We called on Mrs. Costelloe the other day, & found her very well. Edith quite fell in love with her.

Getting dusk as I finish this just in time for post. Hope you are feeling better every way. Edith sends her love. Mine goes without saying. Remember me to all good friends.

always affectionately Ernest Rhys