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The Morgue, Sept. 4, '79 Dear Taylor: I'm just "dreened" out clean to the dregs. There's been a two-weeks' kink in my usually prolific fancy, and I can't get past it. Been working on my lecture - trying to - but am scarcely over the threshhold; and my time is almost up. Wish I could see you, and get lulled again. That's what you do for me, if you want to know - you lull me, and I wish I could be near you always. Your letter was full of pure good, and I can never thank you enough for the love of that warm old heart of you that throbs in every line. I think you must be very happy always, and I hope, you are. I don't pray often, but when I do you always come to me hand in hand with those I love. - "And O! The children with us - Tender lambs!" My lecture is on poetry & character, and I think you will like it. It is in layers, you know, fruit-
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-caked together with original poems; dialect and otherwise. My idea is to have it less profound than entertaining, but I think I'll have quite a tang of the former element. I do indeed. Tell you what I need: genial companionship; but I've clean out of gun-shot of it here. Its getting awful. People all stop talking as I pass along the street, and stare at me like a "sum" in compound interest. Can't get me "fixed" - nor I them, and its just naturally bearing down, and shuttin' me up like a chinese lantern - or a concertina - that's better - and squeezin' all the music out o' me. I've been trying to rest, but I don't believe I'm going it, but I don't want to tangle you up in my troubles, and yet I'd give a hatful of my ripest worlds to talk with you an hour. You're busy, too. That's good, for you are doing good all the time you are at work - only everybody don't appreciate you as I do. They don't know how, though, and you mustn't blame them. But it's a glorious thought
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To me, that sometime we'll all be made equal, and en rapport each with every other of Gods children. Then how we will hug the dear "Joe [ ?"] and "Steven Blackpools," and even the dull idiots that cannot taste [any, own ?] kisses here. Ah! Taylor mine, this shall be our H E A V E N! When will you send another poem to the Tribune? You have no idea how many friends that made for you among our literary people! You've a reputation to sustain here now, and I want to see you at it. Tickled me - your description of how you humped yourself up in the corner, and twittered the "Treat Ode" for the "Gudewife." Your conception of how it should be rendered is my very own, and I know you'd get it right; if you hadn't said a word about it. Just finished a poem to-day that has some worth I think - though its not wholesome. It is called "Delilah," with an approach toward the sensuous that I only indulge, believe me, for the
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exercise of method etc - not for any pleasure found in the contemplation of the theme. And I will have in next Tribune a Walkerpoem called "Marthy Ellen" though in that you will find more character, perhaps, than poetry - for, - "There're nothin' in the name to strike A feller more'n common - like! 'Taint liable to git no praise, Nor nothin' like it nowadays; - And yit that name o' her'n is jest As purty as the purtiest - And more'n that, I'm here to say I'll live a-thinkin' thataway. And die for Marthy Ellen!" The Cincinnati Gazette letter has never appeared, though I still look for it a little - having been "interviewed" by two different reporters. Of course you have seen the Chicago Tribune letter copied in the Herald. I would have sent it to you a week earlier, but didn't get a paper myself till it was a week old. You will find it verbatim in many respects, only the "purling brooks" the "warbling birds" - the "gleam of tiny stars" and all that you will recognize, I trust, as far beyond my capabilities.
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You must wait yet a little for the picture. I will have some taken soon. I must - 'cause I'm going to sacrifice the moustache before I read this winter, beside its in my way for other reasons - and its too big for the little man, and keeps me tilted like a pair of steilyards, or somepin - and its red anyhow, and don't match my hair - which is blue, you know. And now, Good bye! and, if you can, write me sooner than you do generally. It seems ages between your letters. As I close I've a bewildering conciousness of having left out the very things I wanted most to say, and [enumerated ?] in their stead the unimportant. You will forgive me, though I know. Write soon, and let me know all that you are doing and dreaming for the future, and God bless us every one! As ever, with all love, Your friend, J.W.R.
