LETTER LXXI

ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN

_Wolverhampton Oct. 26, '84._

DEAR WALT:

I don't suppose the enclosed will give you nearly so much pleasure as it gives me. But Villiers Stanford is, I think, the best composer England has produced since the days of Purcell & Blow, and your words will be sent home to hundreds & thousands who had not before seen them. How lovely the words read as themes for great music!

I have been staying with old friends who have a house you would enjoy--it stands all alone on the top of a heath-clad hill, with miles of coppice (young woods) below it, and spread out beyond is a rich valley with more wooded hills jutting out into it--and you see the storms a long way off travelling up from the sea, and you can wander for miles & miles through the woods or over the breezy hill--or, as you sit at your window, feel yourself in the very heart of a great, beautiful solitude. Very kind, warm friends, too, they are, who leave you as free as a bird to do what you like. I have had all the papers, dear friend, & have enjoyed them.

Now I am in the heart of the "Black Country," as we call it--black with the smoke of thousands of foundries & works of all kinds--staying with Percy & his wife. Percy is having a very arduous time here starting some Steel Works--& what with his men being inexperienced & times bad & the machinery not yet perfectly adjusted, he seems harassed night & day--for these things have to be kept going all night too--but I hope he will get into smoother waters soon. The little son is rosy & bright & healthy--goes to school now, which, being an only child, he enjoys mightily for the sake of the companionship of other boys.

Love from us all, dear friend.

A. GILCHRIST.

Grace & Herby well & busy when I left.