Text: John C. Miller, ed., “Entry 185: Rose Peckham to John H. Ingram, Aug. 14, 1877,” Poe's Helen Remembers (1979), pp. 503-505 (This material is protected by copyright)

[page 503, continued:]

185. Rose Peckham to John H. Ingram. Item 338

My dear Mr. Ingram,

Your last letter and the copy of the number of the Athenaeum containing the obituary notice of Mrs. Whitman reached me in our country home in Connecticut. I sent you a Journal with a notice of Father's accomplishment of his one great longing, to get to his beloved Heights once more. He bore the journey wonderfully, and instead of suffering any reaction has seemed to be gaining slowly but steadily ever since. He takes a little promenade about the house daily, sits on the porch, and insists that the daily paper shall be read to him. Accordingly, I felt quite resigned to quit the breezy Heights for a few days in order to complete some work left unfinished in the haste. and anxiety of our hegira. It is very warm in the city, and I shall not be sorry to return to the bosom of the family.

Before replying to your letter, I wished to be able to give you definite information concerning your correspondence with Mrs. Whitman. Yesterday I met Dr. Channing, who is one of her literary executors; Caleb Harris is the other. I made known your wishes to him, [page 504:] and he informed me that all Mrs. Whitman's correspondence in reference to Poe would be carefully guarded for future use, and as your came under that head, it would probably be useful in the memoir of the Poe affair, the mystery of which I believe it is a part of the executors’ duty to clear up from notes left by Mrs. Whitman and from the letters that passed between her and Poe. The letters of which you have copies — I learned from both Dr. Channing and the gentleman who transcribed them for your use — form a part of the manuscript from which the executors will get their facts. They have never been given in their entirety to any person yet, the copies you have being only extracts. Mrs. Whitman was very cautious and prudent, with all her amiability and generosity, and as this memoir has long been one of her cherished plans, I dare to say any information she gave other writers was duly noted, and will probably be supplemented by unsuspected reserves.

I saw a copy of Mrs. Whitman's will. She gave about $2500 in legacies to charitable institutions, $2000 for the publishing of her work and literary remains in a suitable form, the balance of her money to be equally divided between Lottie and Maud Dailey, daughters of the friend with whom she died — about $2500 apiece. They did everything to make her last days comfortable.

There has been much complaint of the manner in which her funeral was ordered. Even her kinsman received no word. I am not entirely surprised, when I reflect how apart my friendship was for her, from any sect or society, that word did not reach me as it passed around among the spiritualists and radicals. I saw her alone almost always, and no one but ourselves knew how intimate we were.

You ask for my aims and plans. I hardly know myself. We have no plans. When Father is better we draw a long breath once more. Now we feel, after passing through such a long period of suspense and anxiety — most harrowing — that we may take a little courage, and hope that he may continue indefinitely in this state of gentle invalidism. We never know, however, what a day may bring forth, and this uncertainty is always the sombre background of all our hopes. When I can, I shall continue to paint at whatever comes first — it seems to be mostly portraits now. I have finished one order, commenced another, and have two others ahead, and this without making any pretense of working very assiduously. In the autumn when I get back to my studio I daresay there will be no lack of work.

I wish I knew someone who would bring me over my “little Bess.” I received an invitation to contribute to the next Dudley Gallery, but it is too far away and implies too much exertion. Could I but try my hand at remodelling little Bess’ countenance, I should not fear to send it. As it is, I must beg you to keep it a while longer. [page 505:]

I heard from Mr. Warner some time ago. He had been travelling on the Continent — had missed seeing our friend the late Miss Alcott in Paris.

I trust I have made plain the executors’ intentions in regard to Mrs. Whitman's correspondence. Should there remain, or arise, any point on which you wish to satisfy yourself, I am sure a note addressed to Dr. Wm. F. Channing, Providence, R.I., would receive attention.

You say nothing in reference to your health. I hope you are quite well, better by far than when I saw you last, for then I was impressed with the evidence of your indisposition. So you gave up the trip to Paris. I learn that our friends there, the Reins, are to spend the winter in Norway. Everybody wants them to come home.

If “kind sister Kate” were here, I know she would enjoin me to express to you her pleasantest remembrances.

Hoping to hear from you when you have leisure, I remain as ever, very truly your friend,