Mr. Whitman stood this exertion well, but the reaction came later; the borrowed strength gave out, and the winter found him much the worse for wear. He came downstairs a number of times in October and November, and had occasional outings, but he passed the time chiefly in his own room, and the big chair which Warren and his mother had carried up and down stairs, to the place where it was needed for the time being, was never again taken below. He sat up much less, however, and would lie upon his back for hours, with his eyes partially closed and his hands crossed upon his breast. Letters came with kind wishes and friendly words; these he appreciated, though he could seldom answer them. Yet he still read and wrote a little, still looked over his newspapers and periodicals, and the accumulating litter therefore received its weekly contributions; but at his mother's earnest request Warren did not interfere. When little things were carried upstairs, the old man would often ask that they might be left. If any article were taken up he would usually say, "Leave it a while longer; I may want it by and by." This accounts for the soiled dishes frequently seen in his room. Old friends and new ones were constant, and seemed to devise ways in which they could shower attentions upon the sick man. The oysterman in the next street sent word that he was at all times welcome to a free share of his stock in trade, and there was no time when oysters were not kept unopened in the cellar; but Mr. Whitman beyond doubt overstepped the bounds of the donor's generous intentions when he treated his company so lavishly to stews and half-shells, also when he ordered supplies for his young men friends in return for services they rendered him. Mrs. Davis and Warren did not approve of this, and each was ashamed to visit the little place so many times; they without money, and the oysters without price. Did Mr. Whitman, in truth, have an accurate or an undeveloped knowledge of the cost of living? Eddie Wilkins writes: "Oh, he knows the value of money, and is very careful with his own." His benevolence to the sick and wounded soldiers during a great part of the civil war is an old and often repeated story, but in this he was to a great extent the almoner of others. His self-sacrificing labors as a volunteer visiting nurse were his own free-will offering, and from them came his long years of suffering, for his early paralysis was the result of these exhaustive and unremitted efforts. "His devotion surpassed the devotion of woman." (_John Swinton, in a letter to the New York Herald_, April 1, 1876.)