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diff --git a/42281-8.txt b/42281-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fe52ef2..0000000 --- a/42281-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5229 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Walt Whitman in Mickle Street, by -Elizabeth Leavitt Keller - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Walt Whitman in Mickle Street - -Author: Elizabeth Leavitt Keller - -Release Date: March 9, 2013 [EBook #42281] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WALT WHITMAN IN MICKLE STREET *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, David E. Brown and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - WALT WHITMAN - IN MICKLE STREET - - "_There's this little street and this little house_" - EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY - - - [Illustration: 328 MICKLE STREET - FROM A PAINTING [1908] BY MARSDEN HARTLEY] - - - - - WALT WHITMAN - IN MICKLE STREET - - ELIZABETH LEAVITT KELLER - - - NEW YORK - MITCHELL KENNERLEY - MCMXXI - - - COPYRIGHT 1921 BY - MITCHELL KENNERLEY - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES - J. J. LITTLE AND IVES COMPANY, NEW YORK - - - - -EDITOR'S NOTE - - -Elizabeth Leavitt Keller was born at Buffalo, N. Y., on November 3, -1839. Both her parents were descended from the first settlers of this -country, and each in turn came to Buffalo in its early days, her mother, -Sarah Ellis, by private conveyance in 1825, and her father, James S. -Leavitt, by way of the newly opened Erie Canal in 1834. - -Elizabeth was the second daughter. In the spring of 1841 she was taken -to Niagara Falls, and all her childhood recollections are clustered -around that place. Returning to Buffalo in 1846, her father opened a -book-bindery, and later added a printing office and stationery store. - -At nineteen years of age Elizabeth Leavitt was married to William -Wallace Keller, of Little Falls, N. Y. Seven years later she became a -widow. - -Her natural instinct for nursing was developed during the Civil War and -the years that followed, but the time and opportunity for professional -training did not come until 1876, when, her two children being provided -for, she was free to apply for admission to the school for nurses -connected with the Women's Hospital in Philadelphia--one of the three -small training schools then existing in the United States. - -Before her course was finished her younger sister died. Mrs. Keller left -the hospital to take care of the five motherless children, and it was -not until ten years later that she was free to resume her training. When -she graduated she was a grandmother--the only one, it need scarcely be -said, in the class. - -While nursing her patient, Walt Whitman, during his last illness, she -learnt much about his personality and home life, and much also about his -unselfish friend and housekeeper, Mrs. Davis. The desire to tell the -truth about the whole case--so often misunderstood or distorted--grew -stronger with the passing years, and finally Mrs. Keller entered an old -ladies' home in her own city, where she would have leisure to carry out -her design. Here the book was commenced and completed. "After numerous -struggles and disappointments," she writes, "my second great desire--to -set Mrs. Davis in her true light--has been fulfilled--this time by a -great-grandmother!" - -It is not often that a great-grandmother, after a long life of service -to others, sees her first book published on her eighty-second birthday. - -Mrs. Keller uses her pen as if she were twenty or thirty years younger. -Her letters are simple but cheery, her outlook on life contented but in -no way obscured. Not deliberately, but through a natural gift, she -conveys vivid impressions of the world as it now appears to her, just as -she conveys so unpretentiously but unforgettably in her book the whole -atmosphere of Walt Whitman's world, when it had been narrowed to the -little frame house in Mickle Street, and finally to a bed of suffering -in one room of that little house. - -Whatever else her book may be, it is an extraordinary instance of -revelation through simplicity; the picture stands out with all its -details, not as a work of conscious art, but assuredly as a work that -the artist, the student of life and of human nature, will be glad to -have. - - CHARLES VALE - - - - -PREFACE - - -Had it ever occurred to me that the time might come when I should feel -impelled to write something in regard to my late patient, Walt Whitman, -I should have taken care to be better prepared in anticipation; would -have kept a personal account, jotted down notes for my own use, observed -his visitors more closely, preserved all my correspondence with Dr. -Bucke, and recorded items of more or less interest that fade from memory -as the years go by. Still, I have my diary, fortunately, and can be true -to dates. - -After I had been interviewed a number of times, and had answered various -questions to the best of my knowledge and belief, I was surprised to see -several high-flown articles published, all based on the meagre -information I had furnished, and all imperfect and unsatisfactory. - -Interviewers seemed to look for something beyond me; to wait expectantly -in the hope that I could recall some unusual thing in Mr. Whitman's -eccentricities that I alone had observed; words that I alone had heard -him speak; opinions and beliefs I alone had heard him express; anything -remarkable, not before given to the public. They wanted the sensational -and exclusive, if possible. I suppose that was natural. - -But it set me thinking that if my knowledge was of any value or interest -to others, why not write a truthful story myself, instead of having my -words enlarged upon, changed and perverted? Simple facts are surely -better than hasty exaggerations. - -I have done what I could. One gentleman (_Mr. James M. Johnston, of -Buffalo_), who has read the manuscript, and for whose opinion I have the -greatest regard, remarked as he returned it: "It appears to me that your -main view in writing this was to exonerate Mrs. Davis." - -He had discovered a fact I then recognized to be the truth. - -My greatest fear is that I may have handled the whole truth too -freely--without gloves. - - E. L. K. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I MARY OAKES DAVIS 1 - - II WALT WHITMAN'S HOME 8 - - III THE MICKLE STREET HOUSE 18 - - IV THE NEW RÉGIME 27 - - V CURIOUS NEIGHBORS 37 - - VI MR. WHITMAN DRIVES 47 - - VII BROOMS, BILLS AND MENTAL CHLOROFORM 55 - - VIII VISITING AND VISITORS 67 - - IX A BUST AND A PAINTING 73 - - X REST--AND ROUTINE 87 - - XI A SHOCK, AND SOME CHANGES 100 - - XII ANCHORED 113 - - XIII WARREN FRITZINGER 119 - - XIV FRIENDS, MONEY, AND A MAUSOLEUM 133 - - XV THE LAST BIRTHDAY PARTY 142 - - XVI THE NEW NURSE 150 - - XVII "SHIFT, WARRY" 167 - -XVIII WINDING UP 176 - - XIX THE TRIAL 182 - - XX CONCLUSION 187 - - WALT WHITMAN'S MONUMENTS, BY GUIDO BRUNO 195 - - WALT WHITMAN SPEAKS 207 - - INDEX 225 - - - - -WALT WHITMAN - -IN MICKLE STREET - - - - - _I write this book - in loving memory of - three of the most kind-hearted, - unselfish and capable people I ever knew - I Dedicate It - to - ALEX. McALISTER, M.D._ - - - - -HALCYON DAYS - - - Not from successful love alone, - Nor wealth, nor honored middle-age, - Nor victories of politics or war; - But as life wanes, and all the turbulent passions calm, - As gorgeous, vapory, silent hues cover the evening sky, - As softness, fulness, rest, suffuse the frame like fresher, balmier - air, - As the days take on a mellower light, - And the apple at last hangs really finish'd and indolent-ripe on the - tree, - Then for the teeming quietest, happiest days of all, - The brooding and blissful halcyon days! - - WALT WHITMAN - - - - -WALT WHITMAN IN MICKLE STREET - - - - -I - -MARY OAKES DAVIS - - "_She hath wrought a good work on me.... This also that she hath done - shall be spoken of for a memorial of her._"--ST. MARK XIV: 6, 9. - - "_Whitman with the pen was one man--Whitman in private life was another - man._"--THOMAS DONALDSON. - - -Someone has said: "A veil of silence, even mystery, seems to have shut -out from view the later home life of Walt Whitman." - -There is no reason for this, but if it be really so, the veil cannot be -lifted without revealing in a true light the good woman--Mary Oakes -Davis--so closely connected with the poet's later years, and of whom he -often spoke as "my housekeeper, nurse and friend." - -Mrs. Davis's life from the cradle to the grave was one of self-sacrifice -and devotion to others. Her first clear recollection was of a blind old -woman to whom her parents had given a home. In speaking of this she -said: "I never had a childhood, nor did I realize that I had the right -to play like other children, for at six years of age 'Blind Auntie' was -my especial charge. On waking in the morning my first thought was of -her, and then I felt I must not lie in bed another minute. I arose -quickly, made my own toilet and hastened to her." She continued with a -detailed account of the attention daily given to "Auntie," how she put -on her stockings and shoes, and handed her each article of clothing as -it was needed; how she brought fresh water for her ablutions, combed her -hair and made her presentable for the table; how at all meals she sat by -her side to wait upon her, and how, after helping her mother with the -dishes, she walked up and down the sidewalk until schooltime to give -"Auntie" her exercise, the walks being repeated when school was over. - -It seems strange that parents could permit such sacrifice for an -outsider, however helpless, unmindful of their injustice toward the -little daughter who so willingly and unconsciously yielded up her young -life. No wonder this lesson of utter devotion to another, so early -implanted in the tender heart of the child, should in after years become -part and parcel of the woman. - -When Mary was twelve years of age "Blind Auntie" died. Then came two -more years of schooling, after which the girl voluntarily assumed -another burden--the care of a melancholy, selfish invalid, a distant -relative living in the country, of whom she had heard much from time to -time. With her she stayed for six years, being in turn nurse, companion, -housekeeper or general servant, as need required. - -Poor child, she failed in brightening the invalid's life--which was her -only hope in going there. All her efforts were unappreciated and -misunderstood, and it was a hard task to follow out what she conceived -to be her duty. During the first four years her sole remuneration was a -small sum of money on rare occasions, or a few articles of clothing; -during the last two, a modest monthly salary. The entire period was one -of unremitting care and self-abnegation, and at the age of twenty, -utterly disheartened, she summoned up resolution to leave. - -She had long contemplated paying a visit to an old schoolmate and dear -friend, Mrs. Fritzinger, the wife of a sea-captain, whose home was in -Camden, New Jersey, and to this city she now went. Arriving, to her -great sorrow she found her friend in a serious physical condition, and -remained to nurse her through a protracted illness, which ended fatally. -On her deathbed Mrs. Fritzinger confided her two young sons to Mary's -care, and from this time on they called her mother. - -Captain Fritzinger soon became blind and had to give up the sea. He -still however retained marine interests in Philadelphia, to and from -which city Mary led him daily. Then came a long illness. The Captain -appointed Mary co-guardian to his two sons, and at his death divided his -property equally between the three. - -Captain Davis, a friend of the Fritzingers, had met Mary during Mrs. -Fritzinger's lifetime. He was much attracted to her, proposed marriage -and was accepted on condition that the wedding should not take place as -long as her friends had need of her. But time slipped by; it may be -Captain Davis thought their need of her would never end; so, meeting her -in Philadelphia one morning, he insisted upon their going to a -minister's and becoming man and wife. Mary, thus forcefully pressed, -consented, but exacted the promise that he would not tell the -Fritzingers until his return from the trip he was on the eve of taking. - -In a few days he left Camden. His vessel was wrecked off the coast of -Maine, and he was buried where he washed ashore. - -His hasty marriage and unlooked-for death prevented him from making the -intended provision for his wife, and as she shrank from any contest with -his family, all that was left to her was his name and the cherished -memory of her one brief love. - -During Captain Fritzinger's nine years of blindness, and through all his -long sickness, Mary's ingrained habit of devotion to one person made her -somewhat forgetful of others; and dearly as she loved the boys who -called her mother, their happiness was too often sacrificed to their -father's infirmities. Strange--and yet not strange, perhaps--that one -whose childhood had been an unbroken martyrdom, should now be not always -conscious of the needs of a new generation. - -The house in which they lived, in a little street running at right -angles to Stevens Street, was closed at dusk. Then, when she had read -the daily papers, Mary would extinguish the lights, feeling that to read -to herself, or for the boys to play games, would be selfish, as the sick -man was deprived of such enjoyments. It didn't occur to her that these -wide-awake youngsters had nothing of her own childhood spirit of -resignation, or that the noise and laughter of other boys frolicking in -the streets could have any attraction for them. They were sent early to -bed, but time and again made their escape through the window, creeping -along the shed, and so to the fence and the street. - -Both boys had an innate love for the sea, and at the age of fourteen and -sixteen respectively had become so restless and urgent for a change, -that their father yielded to their wishes and procured berths for them -aboard the same ship. In two years they returned to find him dead, and -in a short time they embarked again in separate vessels and for longer -voyages. - -During their first absence, Captain Fritzinger had invited another -ex-captain--an old shipmate and intimate friend--to come to his house to -board, and for mutual companionship. The new guest was in poor health -and extremely crotchety, and immediately upon his host's demise he took -possession of the bed left empty. Then ensued for Mrs. Davis two more -years of fidelity and constant care, until the one old shipmate went the -way of the other. - -But even now the long-tried woman was not left without someone to -minister to, for shortly before a young orphan girl had been entrusted -to her. It was certainly her destiny to find full scope for the spirit -of self-sacrifice so early implanted, and so persistently called upon. -But it was almost inevitable for such a nature to be unconscious of the -vein of irony in human affairs, of the element of the grotesque in the -sublime. She went quietly on her accustomed way. It was her vocation to -be victimized, and her daily business to be a blessing to others. - -Such was the woman who entered so closely into Walt Whitman's life -during the seven years spent in Mickle Street. She meant more to him -than he was perhaps aware of; more, certainly, than he ever cared to -admit. If she was incapable of realizing the fulness of his genius, he -seemed unable to measure the fulness of hers. But he was glad to profit -by it. - - - - -II - -WALT WHITMAN'S HOME - - "_And whether I come into my own to-day or in ten thousand or in ten - million years, - I can cheerfully take it now or with equal cheerfulness I - can wait._"--WALT WHITMAN. - - "_I only thought if I didn't go, who would?_"--MARY O. DAVIS. - - -After physical disability had incapacitated him for duty, Walt Whitman -went to Camden, the New Jersey suburb of Philadelphia, and there the -remaining years of his life were spent, at first in his brother's house -in Stevens Street and later in a little frame cottage, No. 328 Mickle -Street, "where he lived alone with a single attendant," as a magazine -writer phrased it. This attendant was Mary Oakes Davis. - -With but one exception (_Thomas Donaldson, in "Walt Whitman the Man"_), -all writers who have touched upon Whitman's domestic life seem to have -failed to mention the interval between his two Camden homes. Fortunately -it was of short duration, but in it came the great turning point in his -career. - -Of his early habits something may be learned from his brother George, -who says: "Wait was always a trying person to live with." ("_In Re Walt -Whitman._") Then he goes on to relate some of the poet's peculiarities, -irregularities and eccentricities. "He had an idea that money was of no -consequence.... He would lie abed late, would write a few hours if he -took the notion, perhaps would go off for the rest of the day. If we had -dinner at one, like as not he would come at three; always late. Just as -we were fixing things on the table he would get up and go around the -block. He was always so. - -"He would come to breakfast when he got ready. If he wished to go out, -he would go, go where he was a mind to, and come back in his own time." - -It cannot be denied that a person with these traits of character would -be an uncomfortable inmate to have in any home, and with Mr. Whitman -this disregard for the convenience of others grew more marked as he -advanced in years and deteriorated in body. Notwithstanding this, when -his good brother and his most excellent sister-in-law retired to their -farm in Burlington, New Jersey, they urged him to accompany them. - -Their kind offer of a home Mr. Whitman thought best to decline, for -although at this time he had but a restricted popularity as an author, -he had some staunch friends in his own city, in New York, Philadelphia -and abroad, and after twelve years' residence in one locality he thought -it unwise to change. - -No doubt he did not take into consideration the difficulties he would -have to encounter alone, nor realize how unfitted he was to cope with -them; but as usual he overruled all opposition and followed his own -inclination. - -Or he may have had a premonition of the popularity just at hand. - -First he rented a room, taking his meals at odd times and in odd places. -This he soon found to be a miserable mode of existence, for he was -crippled financially as well as physically, and even to this late day, -"his medium of circulating his views to the world was through very -limited editions, which he himself usually paid for, or which failed to -circulate at all." (_Thomas Donaldson._) - -The old man with his basket of literature upon his arm, plodding his way -through the streets of Camden and Philadelphia, had long been a familiar -sight, and now with slow sales and lack of former comforts it was doubly -hard on him. But at this time his life had settled down to one great -desire, that of rewriting his book, _Leaves of Grass_, and living to see -it put before the world in a full, improved and complete form. - -He believed it was to be, and this was his principal object in remaining -in a city where he had already suffered the delays and disappointments -that make the heart sick and wear out the body. Yet dark as was the -outlook, this hope buoyed him up, and after the struggles of half a -century his courage had not forsaken him. - -"In the period named, he was hungry, cold and neglected," says -Donaldson; and again: "Whitman was extremely poor in Camden after his -brother moved away, and up to about 1884. His change of luck began about -then. He had previously, to use a sailor's phrase, 'been scudding under -bare poles.' He had several runs of luck after 1884." - -Walt Whitman and Mrs. Davis were not personally acquainted. To be sure, -he had seen her innumerable times leading Captain Fritzinger past his -brother's house, but he had never spoken to her. As for her, the poor -old man had long been a secret pensioner upon her tender heart, drawing -a full bounty of pity therefrom. - -Their first interview took place on one cold frosty morning, when in -deepest dejection he came a suppliant to her door. Surprised as she was -to find him there, she warmly invited him in, and a good breakfast soon -followed the kind reception. - -With his writings she was totally unacquainted, and she naturally shared -the universal opinion of her neighbors, that he was "a little off." -Nevertheless, when from the grateful warmth and good cheer he grew -loquacious, and dilated upon his work and aired his lofty hopes, she -listened attentively, that he might not suspect that to her all this -seemed but an empty dream and delusion. - -She talked encouragingly, and on his rising to go cordially invited him -to repeat his visit. He did so, and thenceforward this compassionate -woman's homely kitchen became his one haven of rest. He knew that a hot -meal and many thoughtful attentions always awaited him there; attentions -such as lacing his shoes, washing and mending his clothing, and not -infrequently superintending a refreshing foot-bath. "Being an invalid he -felt his helplessness, so attentions were doubly dear to him." (_Thomas -Donaldson._) - -As the fall advanced and the weather grew severe, his bachelor quarters -became more and more unsuitable, and he was indeed fortunate in the -friendship he had so auspiciously formed. He developed into a daily -visitor, and each morning might have been seen scuffing along in his -unclasped antiquated arctics, cane in hand, and his long white hair and -beard blowing in the wind. - -Mrs. Davis said that the very sight of those ungainly old arctics always -brought tears to her eyes. - -During this winter (1884-5), through the generosity of a Philadelphian -(Mr. George W. Childs), and from the sale of his book, Mr. Whitman was -in a way to arrange for a payment upon a small house. He was not the man -to ask advice, and the selection he made was not a wise one. "It was a -coop at best," as Thomas Donaldson says, and a much more comfortable -home in a far more suitable location could have been secured for less -than the price he had agreed to pay. However, it promised him a regular -abiding place. - -The house being occupied when he became the owner, he made an -arrangement with the tenants: they were to remain, and he would come -there to live with them, his board to offset the rent. But the scheme -did not work, and at the expiration of the first month he was left -solitary and alone with his personal household goods, consisting of a -scantily furnished bedstead, a home-made table, a rickety chair and a -large packing box. The table served as writing desk and the packing box -as kitchen and dining table. "Upon it was a small coal oil stove, where -he would cook a bite at the risk of his life." (_Thomas Donaldson._) - -His daily visits to Mrs. Davis were resumed. Her back door would slowly -open and he would appear saying in a pathetic voice: "Pity the sorrows -of a poor old man, whose trembling limbs have brought him to your door." -He was always welcomed and former relations were renewed. - -This continued for awhile, but light housekeeping being so great a tax -upon him, and his house being so "forlorn, dirty and untenantable," -(_Thomas Donaldson_), Mrs. Davis went there with him in his perplexity. - -How could the place be anything but cold when it was heated only by the -occasional flame of an oil lamp? Worse still, the back door was held -partly open by an accumulation of ice resulting from a ruptured water -pipe. - -Seeing how matters stood, Mrs. Davis, at that time a "strong, -rosy-cheeked Jersey woman" (_Thomas Donaldson_), went to work with a -will, and the ice was rapidly dispersed by her vigorously wielded axe. -With the door closed things soon assumed a more cheerful aspect, and at -her suggestion Mr. Whitman purchased a small second-hand cooking stove, -which, unassisted, she set up and got into running order. She carpeted -his sleeping room, gave him a mattress and bedding, and in many other -ways helped to make "the coop," as Whitman himself called it, more -habitable and homelike. Then, unmindful of the distance--several -blocks--she came each evening to attend to the fire, cook the food, run -the invalid's errands and wait upon him generally. - -In speaking of this time she said: "When the poor old man was not in -sight, he was so much upon my mind I could not pass one peaceful hour." -Suffice it to say, Walt Whitman had become the next object of her -solicitude. - -He has been called a prophet. Was it prophetical when, some years -before, he wrote: "Though poor now even to penury, I have not been -deprived of any physical thing I need or wish for whatever, and I feel -confident I shall not in the future"? - -Some have considered him a cunning man; all agree that he was a -remarkable judge of character. Understanding this woman as he did,--as -he must have done,--had he resolved to have her devote herself to him? -This question can never be truthfully answered, but whether with -premeditation or not, he certainly had gained a great influence over -her. - -Although comparatively comfortable in his new home now, he did not -discontinue his accustomed morning visits, and as he persisted in his -old delinquencies he completely upset the routine of Mrs. Davis's daily -life and work. - -Things ran on in this way until one morning late in February, while he -was sipping his coffee, he told her he had a proposition to make. He -said: "I have a house while you pay rent; you have furniture while my -rooms are bare; I propose that you come and live with me, bringing your -furniture for the use of both." A suggestion of this kind was so -unlooked for that she refused to give it a moment's consideration. He -said no more at the time, but a few days later again broached the -subject. And this he continued to do daily until Mrs. Davis, who -remained firm for awhile, at last began to waver. - -The young orphan girl strongly opposed such a step, but Mr. Whitman's -persistence prevailed, for Mrs. Davis at last gave a reluctant consent. -The advantage was all on the poet's side, as he must have seen, but -recent events had raised his hopes and he made promises of adequate and -more than adequate returns for all that had been done or might be done -for him. - -As his money was "only in sight," to use his own words, the expenses of -moving were paid by Mrs. Davis; as he was disabled, the work and worry -were hers as well; but finally all was accomplished, her goods were -transferred to his house and put in their new places, and the seven -years of their domestic life together commenced. In this way did the -"good gray poet" retire with his "single attendant" to the little frame -cottage, No. 328 Mickle Street, Camden, New Jersey. - - - - -III - -THE MICKLE STREET HOUSE - - "_The tide turned when he entered the Mickle Street house._"--THOMAS - DONALDSON. - - "_Whitman had great satisfaction in the managing skill of his - housekeeper._"--SIDNEY MORSE. - - -Added to "managing skill," Mrs. Davis had patience, perseverance, -determination, courage and health; furthermore--having accompanied the -Fritzinger family upon a number of ocean trips, undertaken in the hope -of benefiting Mrs. Fritzinger--she had shipboard experience which -enabled her to make available every inch of space in a house smaller -than the one she had left. It was an unpretentious brown frame -structure, sadly out of repair, and decidedly the poorest tenement in -the block. On the right was a brick house whose strong walls seemed to -be holding it up, while on the left was an alley--scarcely more than a -gutter--closed from the street by a wooden door. - -This narrow passage, filled with ice and snow in the winter, often damp -and slippery even in warm weather, was unfit for general use; and as the -house was not properly drained, the cellar through its one little window -was often flooded from dripping eaves. - -Three wooden steps without a banister led from the sidewalk to the front -door, which had to be closed to allow those who entered to ascend the -stairs. This narrow staircase, an equally narrow hall and two connecting -rooms called "the parlors" comprised the first floor of the main -building. Between the parlors were folding doors, and each room had an -exit into the hall. There were two windows in the front parlor and a -single one in the back. Between and under the front windows was an -entrance to the cellar, with old-fashioned slanting doors. - -The rear and smaller portion of the house was divided into but two -apartments, the kitchen below and a sleeping room above. At the back of -the kitchen was a small shed, and quite a large yard. Some people -believed that this yard, with its pear tree and grape vine, had been the -main attraction of the place for Mr. Whitman. - -On ascending the staircase, a small landing and the back sleeping room -were reached; then, turning about, came more stairs, with a larger -landing, part of which had been made into a clothespress. Apart from -this landing and a little den, sometimes known as "the anteroom," the -upper portion of the main building had only one room. But the two doors -in it, and a deep rugged scar across the low ceiling, testified to its -having formerly been divided by a partition. As one of the doors was -permanently fastened, the only access was through the den, anteroom, or -"adjoining apartment," as it was also occasionally called. - -In the larger room was a fireplace with a mantel shelf above. There were -two windows corresponding with the windows below, while the smaller room -or den, reduced to one-half its proper width by some pine shelves and an -outjutting chimney, had like the room below but one. The outlook from -this window, into which the sun made but a few annual peeps, was the -brick wall on one side, the back roof on the other, and a glimpse of the -sky. - -The situation of the house was anything but inviting, and the locality -was one that few would choose to live in. It was near both depot and -ferry, and as the tracks were but a block away, or scarcely that, being -laid in what would have been the centre of the next street, there was -an uninterrupted racket day and night. The noise of the passenger and -excursion trains--for the excursions to the coast went by way of -Camden--was only a minor circumstance compared with that of the freight -trains as they thundered by, or passed and re-passed in making up. - -Close at hand was a church with a sharp-toned bell, and a "choir of most -nerve-unsettling singers" (_Thomas Donaldson_); and as if this were not -enough, there was at times a most disagreeable odor from a guano factory -on the Philadelphia side of the Delaware. - -Such was the house to which Mary Davis had now come, and where through -the strange, busy days of the next seven years she was destined to be -Walt Whitman's indispensable "housekeeper, nurse and friend"--or, from -the outsider's point of view, his "single attendant." - -The spring of 1885 was far advanced before things were fairly in running -order, for from the first there had been no intermission in the poet's -erratic mode of living, and Mrs. Davis had been obliged to devote much -time to his personal wants. Somehow he had a way of demanding attention -which she found it impossible to resist. - -Truly she had been hampered on all sides, this faithful Martha-Mary; so -many things to be seen to, so many things to handle and rehandle and -change about before an established place for them could be found; the -strenuous cleaning, for the former tenants had left the place extremely -dirty; and the pondering over repairs, and deciding which were -absolutely essential and unpostponable, and which could be put off for a -little while longer. - -She first carpeted, furnished and settled the parlors, intending the -back one as the sleeping room for her young charge, until her marriage -in the fall, when it could be used as a spare room. But Mr. Whitman had -different intentions, for he at once appropriated both rooms, and would -not allow the doors separating them to be closed. - -One of the front windows became his favorite sitting place, and here he -wrote, read his papers and sat while entertaining his friends. He was -delighted with these rooms, and in them he enjoyed himself to his -heart's content: first in getting things into disorder at once, and then -in keeping them so. - -The back room, which became kitchen, dining room and sitting room -combined, was so compactly filled that many people remarked its close -resemblance to the cabin of a ship, in the way of convenience as -compared with space. It was lighted by one window, and over the ingrain -carpet a strip of stair carpeting made a pathway from the hall to the -outer door. - -On the sitting room side were a lounge, sewing machine, two rocking -chairs, a stand and some small pieces of furniture; on the other was a -dining table against the wall, one leaf extended and always set, with -the dining chairs pushed under it when not in use; the range--a -veritable giant--standing in place of the dwarf it had ousted; a sink -with cubby-hole below, crowded to overflowing with pots and kettles, and -shelves above loaded with dishes while their enclosing doors were -closely hung with kitchen utensils. As the lower shelf only could be -reached by hand, a stool (a chair that had lost its back) was kept under -a projection of the range. - -The shed, where Mr. Whitman's stove was set up, was packed with -household goods and chattels, classified and stored ready for momentary -use, and around the walls were suspended the extra chairs. - -A shelf in the inside cellarway off the hall was the only pantry, and -the sides of the cellarway the only tin-cupboard; then for want of a -place for the flour barrel, it was left standing opposite the cellar -door in the hall. In this part of the house people went by feeling, not -by sight, and strangers as a rule always collided with the barrel before -entering the kitchen. - -The little passage between the back part of the house and the wall of -the one adjoining it--simply a pathway to the back entrance of the -cellar--Mrs. Davis canopied with old sails and utilized as a laundry. -Here she kept her washing bench, tubs and pails, and here she washed and -ironed when the weather permitted. This furnished the view from the back -parlor window. - -The cellar and its hanging shelf had their share of plunder, and here -the firewood was sawed and split. - -As for pictures, there were more than enough for all the rooms, and -between them wall pockets, paper racks and brackets abounded. - -Her family of birds--a robin she had rescued from a cat, a pair of -turtle doves and a canary--she attached to the kitchen ceiling. She made -a little place in the shed for her cat's bed, and found a shelter for a -few hens in the small outhouse. Her dog, more aristocratic, slept on the -lounge. - -On a shelf over the dining table were a clock, some china vases, and a -stuffed parrakeet. No wonder that upon entering the house the first -thing observed was the over-filled appearance of each small room. - -Upon a bracket in the front parlor she placed a model of a ship that had -been given to Captain Fritzinger by the maker. This pleased Mr. Whitman -exceedingly, for he had often noticed and admired it. He said that the -first time he had desired to write anything was when he saw a ship in -full sail. He tried to describe it exactly and failed; had often since -studied ships in the vain hope of getting the whole beautiful story into -words, but had never been able to do so. - -The mantels of both parlors Mrs. Davis heaped with shells and -curiosities from distant parts of the world. Some of them were rare and -valuable. - -Such was the inside of the house after it had passed through Mary's -transforming hands. There were many things in it that might have been -better elsewhere, perhaps. But where? It was only a little house, and -Mary had come to it from a larger one, with all her possessions. She -had nowhere else to put them now, without losing them. If Mr. Whitman -had any sense of being over-crowded, it was his own fault. She had come -at his urging--and he had taken the two large parlors on the first -floor, and the large front chamber with the anteroom above, entirely for -his own use, thus leaving for the two women the kitchen (which he shared -with them in its aspect of dining room) and the only remaining room in -the house--the little back chamber on the second floor. Into this, they -condensed and squeezed their more personal belongings. - - - - -IV - -THE NEW RÉGIME - - "_I know an old story. It goes back to 1826, when a monument to - Bellman, the Swedish poet, was unveiled in Stockholm. The King and - Queen were there, and Bellman's old wife. And the King spoke of the - dead poet, and praised him in a flight of purple phrases; but the old - wife said, 'Oh yes, but if your Majesty only knew what a nuisance he - was about the house....' But frankly, wouldn't you like to know what - kind of a nuisance the poet was at home?_"--VANCE THOMPSON. - - -Discovering so quickly that her new charge was decidedly a self-centered -person, and seeing that waiting upon him promised to be her chief -occupation, Mrs. Davis planned her work accordingly, and being an early -riser was able to devote the untrammelled morning hours to preparations -for the day. - -Mr. Whitman usually arose at nine o'clock, but in this, as in all -things, he consulted his own wishes alone. His breakfast hour was any -time during the forenoon; and no doubt he did not understand how or why -this could discommode his new housekeeper. - -When the signal came--one that Mrs. Davis soon learned, three or four -loud peremptory raps upon the floor above--she dropped whatever she -might be doing and hastened upstairs. - -Since Mr. Whitman's first stroke of paralysis, nearly twenty years -before, he had become so disabled that he required much assistance while -dressing, and for this he was not at all diffident in asking. Besides, -he was "very curiously deliberate." - -There being no water on the second floor, Mrs. Davis carried up and down -all that he needed for his baths,--and he used water freely. Then when -fully dressed he consulted his own feelings in regard to coming -downstairs. - -In his mother's house in Long Island, and in his brother's in Camden, -Walt had seldom taken his meals with the family. While living in -Brooklyn, New Orleans and Washington, his meal times were of no -importance to anyone except himself, and he could not see why this rule -should not apply to his own house, or any house where he might be -staying. To him regular meals were a bondage he could not endure. - -Going up and down stairs was a difficult task, and after coming to the -Mickle Street house he seldom did so unaided, so the old signal was -repeated when he was ready to descend, and again Mrs. Davis hastened to -him. - -As he never would tell what he wanted until he was seated at the table, -she always kept a supply of special things on hand; nothing -elaborate,--maybe steak, chops, oysters or eggs. He never found fault -with his food, and although he did not often commend it he must have -been fully appreciative, for all through his letters and conversations, -as given in the various books about him, are allusions to Mary's good -cooking. - -Occasionally, to suit her own convenience, she would have his breakfast -prepared; but if she mentioned this fact while helping him to dress he -would invariably say, "Ah! I will not eat anything for awhile." When the -dishes had been set aside to be kept warm, and Mary was again busily -engaged,--the wash perhaps partly hung on the line, or her deft hands in -the dough,--the peremptory signal would come, and on being helped down -and seated at the table he would coolly demand something entirely -different from what she had provided. - -He commenced housekeeping by inviting company--lord or beggar--to dine -with him, and would keep these guests at the table for hours; even -"when he was eating off a dry goods box for a table, and drinking milk -warmed over a coal oil lamp, and a few crackers with it, he would ask -you to dine, with the dignity of a prince, and never apologize or -mention the food." (_Thomas Donaldson._) - -A biographer (_Horace Traubel_) says, "He was very simple in his tastes, -taking only two meals in a day." True; but the day was nearly consumed -in getting and serving these two meals, with the after work that -followed. To Mrs. Davis's surprise he did not hesitate to entertain -visitors in his sleeping room if they arrived while he was there, and -many of them would remain until "the wee sma' hours." There was a charm -in fellowship with him, and ill and lethargic as he had grown, it was -said: "Walt Whitman's friends rarely visited him without having a good -laugh over something or other"; and "gifted with a clear resonant voice, -the poet often gratifies his friends as he sits by a blazing wood -fire--which is his delight--singing old-fashioned songs." - -It was this irregularity that had worn upon his sister-in-law, for -during the years in which she had endured Walt's thoughtlessness, she -had had the care of Edward, the irresponsible, feeble-minded brother; -and when, by the doctor's advice, she left Camden for the country, the -home was tendered to Walt with this option: he was to conform to their -way of living and cease turning night into day. - -He did indeed have "runs of luck" after 1884, and who can deny that the -greatest of these was in securing the undivided attention of a -warm-hearted, unselfish woman, and in her making it possible for him to -live untrammelled, in his own home? Surely the tide turned when this -good woman ceased to be an independent being and became the strong prop -on which he leaned; a shield between him and all annoyances. - -While perplexed with settling the house, and having no time to go over -the same ground twice, although the condition of the parlors troubled -her, Mrs. Davis had let them go, awaiting a favorable time to clean and -regulate them thoroughly. This opportunity came in the summer, during -the first of Mr. Whitman's temporary absences. - -Since he had been in his own house, old friends had occasionally called -to take him to spend the day with them. This time he was asked to remain -a week. He gladly availed himself of the change, and his housekeeper -was no less pleased to have a week to herself. In it she did her best to -restore order, and when she had finished was really proud of the -improvement she had effected. - -Mr. Whitman returned. He at once discovered what had taken place during -his absence, and his consternation knew no bounds! He said that he had -left _everything exactly_ as he wished it to remain; where he could find -it; now the very things he needed most were gone; in fact he could find -nothing he wanted, and in the future he forbade _anyone_ to meddle with -his private property; he desired and expected to find--at all times and -upon all occasions--his personal matters unmolested, undisturbed, left -entirely alone. - -Mrs. Davis mildly replied that she had only taken from the room some -useless papers, scraps of letters, old envelopes, bits of twine and -wrapping paper. - -He declared that these were the very things he needed most; the ones he -specially missed. - -She remonstrated, but to no purpose; he silenced her; just how, she -could not comprehend. - -To Walt Whitman's credit be it said, he never spoke an unkind word to -Mrs. Davis; never was arrogant or overbearing to her; never belittled -her or put her down before others; always treated her as an equal; -relied upon her judgment and often sought her advice;--but he would have -his own way, and she with her yielding nature soon gave in; the struggle -was only a short one; before winter commenced, confusion once more -reigned. - -In due time piles of periodicals were stacked on the table and on -chairs; newspapers, letters, envelopes and bundles of manuscript were in -the corners; and as he had immediately set about the work he had so -greatly at heart, cuttings, rejected scraps of paper and general litter -soon covered the floor, the confusion gradually making its way into the -next room and threatening to invade the hall. - -The front parlor became a veritable editor's sanctum; nothing but the -smell of printer's ink and the sound of the press were wanting. - -Some of his poems he altered and revised again and again, and in a short -time the large waste basket Mary had placed in the room was filled to -overflowing. As he would not allow her to remove or empty the basket, -it became the foundation of a hillock of débris. Sometimes when he -seemed off-guard she would surreptitiously remove a few dust pans full, -but he was not deceived, and even this she had to discontinue. - -The first summer and fall in his own house were decidedly pleasant and -beneficial to Mr. Whitman. He worked as he felt able or inclined; was -encouraged with the progress he was making, and gratified with the -prospect before him. He believed, and must have seen, that situated so -advantageously the one desire of his life was to be consummated, and -that even though it were to be accomplished in a slow way, he would live -to see his book completed and in a form to meet his most sanguine -wishes. - -Visitors retarded his work, but this was no real detriment, nor did he -feel the time lost that he spent in returning visits. Making over the -old material and adding to it the poems he had composed since the issue -of the last edition, was something he could lay down and take up at any -time. And he certainly did enjoy agreeable company, delighting -whole-heartedly in their companionship as he dispensed the hospitality -of his own board. - -By degrees Mrs. Davis accustomed herself to her new surroundings and -was no longer astonished at any of Walt's remarkable ways or -unreasonable requests; besides, she remembered that the step she had -taken was after all self-imposed, that all her friends had protested, -and that it was now irrevocable; so with good sense and in good time she -became, if not fully reconciled, at least resigned. She didn't exactly -regret coming to Mickle Street, but she could judge from the few months -she had passed there what the years to come might bring; yet even with -this outlook she resolved not to shrink from but bravely to face the -future, whatever might betide; and so unconsciously she transferred to -Walt Whitman the devotion she had given to others. - -She seldom left the house when he was there alone, for with that -enigmatical instinct chronic patients develop he knew, and always wanted -something, whenever she was busiest or on a momentary absence. Therefore -after awhile she put all other considerations aside, and gave her full -energies to the work she had undertaken; individual wishes were -surrendered as she strove to adjust her ways to the erratic ones of the -old man; familiar customs were discarded and former friends neglected. -She seemed almost to lose her personality and to become a part of the -house and the peculiar life lived there. - -She was never obtrusive, and did all things in a quiet manner. If -company lingered until midnight she remained up to assist her charge to -bed; she humored his vagaries, and always had a smile and a pleasant -word for him. When he was inclined to be despondent, she cheered him; -when he was in pain, she had some simple remedy at hand; when he was in -danger of overtaxing his strength, she gently cautioned him; and if the -disorder of his rooms troubled her, she did not let him guess how much. - -At first she supposed he was not in a position to purchase new clothing, -and did her best to make him presentable in what he had, while she -patiently awaited the time when the expected money should come in; and -through her efficiency in washing, darning, patching and mending he soon -presented a much improved appearance, often commented on. - -His brother, his good sister-in-law, his other relatives and all his -friends rested in peace. They knew the hands he was in, the shoulders -upon which the burden had fallen. - - - - -V - -CURIOUS NEIGHBORS - - "_Mr. Whitman and his housekeeper were closely watched by some curious - people who had never lived near a poet before. In addition they minded - their own business. That Camden should contain two such people in one - street was enough to create wonder._"--THOMAS DONALDSON. - - -The inhabitants not only of Mickle Street, but of contiguous ones, were -deeply interested in the strange couple who had come to live among them, -and kept a close watch upon every movement. Their vigilance troubled -Mrs. Davis, for she could see no reason why anyone should be curious -about them. It was different with Mr. Whitman, who never saw anything he -did not choose to. "I don't think a man ever existed so entirely -indifferent to criticism and slander." (_Sidney Morse._) - -If Mrs. Davis chanced to go to her front door, half a dozen women would -appear at theirs; if she swept her sidewalk, her broom seemed to set in -motion half a dozen others. If she left her house for five minutes or -remained away for hours, she would find sentinels awaiting her return. -Sometimes as she was approaching home she would hear a shrill childish -voice call out: "Mama! Mama! here she comes!" Or she would see a young -urchin--presumably on guard--scamper into the house to give the alarm. - -"They seemed always upon the alert, and saw to it that whatever went -into Mr. Whitman's house should have an eye escort in and an eye escort -out." (_Thomas Donaldson._) - -From behind curtains, shutters and blinds Mrs. Davis could see and -instinctively feel eyes fastened upon her, and what appeared especially -remarkable was that this intrusive neighborly interest failed to die out -or lessen with time. It was a matter of genuine personal curiosity, keen -and continuing, and not of the transient attention any newcomer might -awaken. - -Unquestionably there was an atmosphere of perplexity and perhaps -suspicion in the locality. For one thing, extravagant and impossible as -it may seem, it had been rumored about that some people who entered "The -Poet's" house never came out again. A frequent caller during Mr. -Whitman's first years of housekeeping says: - -"Opposite, as I slid into the house one day, sat a bundle of dirt with -bread and sugar upon it, on watch. As I hurried in I heard it yell, -'Hurry, Mama! A fat man at Whitman's door!' and presently a female -watcher of two hundred and fifty pounds pattered to the door, wiping her -fat arms on a checked apron. I heard her say as she retreated, 'Jimmie, -watch if he comes out!' This confirmed the suspicion I had long had, -that someone in the vicinity held that persons entered but didn't leave -the Whitman house, and that they mysteriously disappeared." (_Thomas -Donaldson._) - -This is no doubt curiously exaggerated; the woman probably only wished -to get another glimpse of the "fat man" as he came out; but it is -interesting as showing the feeling of a visitor. The effect of such -conditions upon a woman like Mrs. Davis, living in the house itself and -constantly exposed to the oppressive surveillance, might well have been -serious. But she had a placid disposition and took things quietly. She -was not at all disturbed because none of the older watchers made -overtures towards an acquaintance. - -It was different with the young people, however, for after their awe had -somewhat subsided they began to be venturesome--to show their hardihood -perhaps--and soon became quite familiar, making the cellar doors -(old-fashioned slanting ones) their regular rendezvous. Here they would -come to "mind babies," to hold mimic school and singing classes, to play -games, keep house, take lunch and eat taffy purchased at a little corner -store. Undoubtedly one inducement for their constant visits was the -chance of getting one of the pennies that rolled occasionally out of the -window above. Before summer had ended they had grown decidedly sociable, -and in one of their favorite pastimes--running up and sliding down the -cellar doors--each would pause for a moment at the top and peek in at -the "good gray poet" as he sat anchored in his great chair, and ask, -"How do you do to-day, Mr. Whitman?" - -The poet's original style of dressing was probably one reason why he -attracted so much notice. He wore gray clothes, large of make and -uncertain of fit, with an open vest, over which was turned the broad -collar of his shirt. The latter, during his entire sojourn in Camden, -was invariably made of a good quality of unbleached cotton. He preferred -this to any other material, and he could not tolerate a separate collar, -starched bosom or necktie. He despised an ordinary pocket-handkerchief, -and carried instead a generous piece of soft cotton or cheesecloth. His -wide-brimmed hat, always looking the worse for wear, was usually turned -up in front. - -All this, with his size and long white hair and beard, made him a -picturesque individual, and it was only natural that he should be -recognized at once as a decidedly uncommon person. - -Walt was an invalid and infirm, nevertheless when he was equipped and -started he could go unaccompanied to Philadelphia and other nearby -places. This enabled him to call upon friends, transact matters of -business and keep in touch with the world generally. Sometimes he would -take an extended ride on a street car, but the greatest source of -enjoyment to him was a trip back and forth on the Delaware River. From -the ferry boat he could feast his eyes upon ships--"those floating -poems" (_his own words_)--either in the distance or passing close at -hand. And here he was sure to meet some old acquaintance or to make a -new one, and so feel himself still a factor in the busy bustling life -around him. - -Pleasant as were these rides to him, each one brought more or less -tribulation to Mrs. Davis, for governed as he apparently was by the -impulse of the moment, she was never given warning of his intentions or -allowed time for preparations. His excursions therefore were a trial she -had not counted upon. He would not mention the ferry, or hint of going -there, until he was seated at the table, or more likely had finished his -breakfast. This made much extra running up and down for Mary, who could -have simplified matters by having him dressed to begin with for the -weather and the occasion. - -This did not seem to occur to him. Crippled, slow, and requiring so much -assistance, and feeling that neither his own time nor that of anyone -else was of much account, it was often past noon before he was ready for -the start. Then Mrs. Davis, who always saw him safely on the street car, -would hurriedly don her outer garments, for Mr. Whitman had little -patience with delay in other people. The housekeeper helping the poet -down the front steps was a sight none of the neighbors would willingly -lose, therefore the couple always sallied forth under the musketry of -glances shot out at them from every direction. - -When walking in the street Mr. Whitman carried his cane in one hand, -and with the other he clung tightly to the arm of his companion. His -size and weight (even now, in spite of his invalidism, he weighed two -hundred pounds) would have made a fall a serious matter. - -The street cars--horse cars, running at fifteen minute intervals--on -their way to the ferry crossed Mickle Street at the first corner above. -If unfortunately one was missed, it seemed a long and tedious wait for -the next. To Mrs. Davis this was both tiresome and embarrassing; -embarrassing because of the lookers-on, and tiresome because during the -delay Mr. Whitman depended mainly upon her arm for support. - -All the conductors knew the picturesque old man, and were obliging and -attentive to him. When he was entrusted to their care Mrs. Davis had -nothing to fear; she was also confident that he would find a helping -hand wherever he might go, so quickly doing her buying and errands she -would hasten home, where a myriad of duties awaited her. - -Mr. Whitman never gave a clue to his calculations--if he happened to -have any--and consequently there could be no certainty as to the length -of time he might be away. However, in the case of a ferry ride a few -hours might be counted upon. Of these Mary would make full use; then as -the afternoon lengthened and dinner time approached, she would grow -restless and commence going to meet the cars. The return route was two -blocks away, but the distance could be shortened by way of the back -gate. - -If Mr. Whitman was not in the first car met, she would hurry back, -accomplish what she could in the next quarter of an hour, and then go -again. Frequently when the car was not on time, some domestic calamity -would occur; the fire would go out, or something burn, or a pot boil or -stew over. In this case she would make what reparation she could in the -limited time allotted her, then go again. This order of things would be -kept up until Mr. Whitman's arrival; then would come the slow walk home, -and the equally slow removing of wrappings, over-shoes and so on. - -He always returned hilarious, braced up by the good time he had enjoyed, -and totally unconscious that his housekeeper had had any extra work -whatever, or a minute of anxiety on his account. The rides were indeed -trying to her, and in pleasant weather he would go no less than three -or four times a week. - -Following the ferry ordeals, there came another unlooked-for tax, that -of getting him ready for winter engagements and taking him wherever he -had to go. There would have been less trouble in this if he had -possessed a suitable outfit, but as he had made but few additions to his -scanty wardrobe, the threadbare garments needed constant renovation. He -had sufficient shirts, however, now; for soon after getting into his own -house he had given her money for material, and she had made him six new -ones. He himself superintended the cutting out and putting together, as -they were to be fashioned with exactitude after the old pattern. With -one of them he was particularly pleased, for around the collar and cuffs -Mrs. Davis had sewed some lace edging of her own. This shirt he kept for -special occasions, and never put it on without making some pleasant -remark in regard to the trimming. - -But of the two, Mrs. Davis had much the more pride in his appearance, -for she had learned that he was often invited to meet distinguished -people. She accompanied him on his way to all social gatherings, and -unless other escort was assured, called for him. This, however, was of -rare occurrence, as guests began to vie with each other in seeing him -home. She also went with him to places of business in Camden and -Philadelphia, at which times he depended upon her alone, both going and -coming back. The task of walking with him was doubly burdensome when the -roads were rough and uneven, or slippery with snow and ice, which caused -him to cling to her arm with a grip of iron. He had lost strength in his -lower limbs, but gained it in the upper, as Mary often realized, though -Mr. Whitman was unaware of the severity of the pressure. - -As he could not carry his cane in his left hand, the entire strain came -upon her right arm, and as he became more and more dependent upon her, -these walks grew almost unendurable; especially so when, for some -purpose or other, or upon meeting a friend, he would thoughtlessly stand -to talk, never releasing his grip. - - - - -VI - -MR. WHITMAN DRIVES - - "_I swear I will never again mention love or death inside a house, and - I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or her who - privately stays with me in the open air._"--WALT WHITMAN. - - "_For such a lover of nature not to be able to get out of doors, was a - calamity than which no greater was known._"--THOMAS DONALDSON. - - -The first winter over, spring came and was passed in about the same -daily routine; but before the summer was far advanced Mrs. Davis was -convinced that the old man's walking days were rapidly drawing to a -complete close. This troubled her greatly, and during one of Mr. Thomas -Donaldson's frequent evening visits she talked earnestly with him about -it. - -Mr. Donaldson, the poet's intimate and constant friend, was a practical -man; one ready to listen to the suggestions of others, and to assist in -forwarding their plans. Between him and Mrs. Davis there was a mutual -understanding; each knew the other's worth. He had always shown -consideration for her; had sought her out in her own house, and stood -manfully by her side in her ministrations to the invalid. - -She told him she was certain, from the number of letters Mr. Whitman -received, his many visitors from other cities and abroad, his increasing -list of invitations and requests for personal interviews, that he must -be a man in whom others were deeply interested. - -She said that for some time she had had a plan in her mind. It was this: -that he should write to Mr. Whitman's friends--as he knew just who they -were--and solicit a subscription of ten dollars from each of them, the -fund to be appropriated to the purchase of a horse and carriage for the -poet's use. - -Mr. Donaldson fell in with the scheme, and thirty-one of the thirty-five -letters written by him received prompt replies, and in each was the sum -asked for. As the gift was to be a surprise, only a few friends were let -into the secret. A comfortable buggy was ordered and a gentle pony -selected, as it was supposed the drives would be quiet ones, in suburban -places. - -On the fifteenth of September all was completed, and Mr. Donaldson came -over in the afternoon, ostensibly to make a call. He found his friend -on a lounge in the front room, and seating himself commenced to chat -with him upon the topics of the times. This he continued to do until he -heard the gift carriage drive up to the door. His young son Blaine sat -by the driver's side. - -Mr. Donaldson went to the window, and Mr. Whitman hobbled after him to -see who had arrived. "Bless me," he said, "what a fine turnout! And -there is Blaine! Well, well, how the lad does seem to fit it; how -comfortable it does look! What does it all mean?" - -"It certainly does look comfortable," Mr. Donaldson replied, "and Walt, -it's yours." This statement he repeated twice before his astonished -friend could believe he had heard aright, and even then he did not -appear to take in or comprehend the full meaning of such an -announcement. While still dazed and hardly himself--impassive as was his -natural demeanor--his friend handed him a letter containing the names of -the contributors, in an envelope with $135.40 enclosed. Mr. Whitman read -the letter and was completely overcome; tears trickled down his cheeks, -and he was unable to articulate a word. - -When he was somewhat composed, Mrs. Davis, who had been slyly watching -the scene, came in with his coat and hat, and proposed that he should at -once--and for the first time--take a drive in a turnout of his own. It -proved to be a long drive, as it was late in the afternoon when he -returned. - -Mrs. Davis was delighted; the gift surpassed her highest expectations, -was much nicer and more expensive than she had thought it was to be; and -she rejoiced to see the poor old man, who not two years before had -shuffled to her door, now riding in a carriage of his own!--and one -provided, too, by those friends he had told her of, friends she had -believed to be but myths conjured up in his own lonesome mind. - -Mr. Whitman deeply appreciated the compliment paid him. He said: "I have -before now been made to feel in many touching ways how kind and -thoughtful my loving friends are, but this present is so handsome and -valuable, and comes so opportunely, and is so thoroughly a surprise, -that I can hardly realize it. My paralysis has made me so lame lately -that I have had to give up my walks. Oh! I shall have a famous time this -fall!" - -Previous to the presentation an arrangement had been made at a nearby -stable for the care of the horse, the running expense of which was to be -met by a number of friends; a young man was also engaged to harness the -horse and drive the rig to the door. But who was to summon it? That part -being unprovided for, it fell to Mrs. Davis, and Mr. Whitman became as -erratic with his horse as he was with all other things. Some mornings it -would be: "I must give up my ride to-day, the weather is so uncertain"; -soon after: "It looks like clearing up, I will go"; then on Mrs. Davis's -return from the stable: "I have made up my mind to defer my ride." Again -would come the determination to go, followed with the afterthought of -remaining at home, until ordering the carriage and countermanding the -order would keep the obliging messenger running to and from the stable -until dark. - -Riding was so great an enjoyment to Mr. Whitman that when once in his -carriage he was loth to leave it. "Only one thing seemed to have the -power of forcing from him an occasional lament, and that was prolonged -stormy weather when bad health kept him indoors for days and weeks." - -Poor Frank, the pony, had not been selected for speed or endurance, and -in an amazingly short time he succumbed to over-driving. At the -expiration of only two months, Mr. Donaldson says, "the pony showed the -effects of Mr. Whitman's fast driving, and had a shake in the -forelegs--or rather tremble--that gave the impression that he was -getting ready to lie down.... Some weeks after this I was again in -Camden, and while on the main street I saw a cloud of dust rising from a -fast-approaching vehicle. In a moment a splendid bay horse attached to a -buggy came into view. He was coming in a mile in three minutes' gait, -and to my amazement, in the buggy was Walt Whitman holding on to the -lines with one hand for dear life. When he observed me, he drew up with -great difficulty and called out, 'Hello, Tom, ain't he splendid?' My -breath was about gone. I managed to speak. 'Mr. Whitman, in the name of -common sense what has come over you? Where is Frank?' 'Sold; I sold him. -He was groggy in the knees and too slow. This horse is a goer, and -delights me with his motion.'" - -The ready sale of Frank was a great mortification to Mrs. Davis, and she -felt it keenly; the more so as the pony had been, in a measure, the -outcome of her suggestion. - -Although the horse and carriage were "a source of infinite joy and -satisfaction to Mr. Whitman, and aided him to pass three years of his -invalid life in comparative ease, giving him touches of life and air and -scenery otherwise impossible," they were a constant expense and vexation -to others. - -He seldom went for a drive alone, and as a rule chose as his companion -one of the many young men of his acquaintance. He always wished to hold -the lines himself. Although Mrs. Davis was the usual messenger to and -from the stable, although she got her charge ready for his drives, -assisted him to the carriage and almost lifted him in and out of it, -neither he nor anyone else ever proposed that she should have the -pleasure of a drive, or suggested that an occasional airing might do her -good. - -While owning the horse Mr. Whitman did not wholly discontinue his ferry -rides, but he no longer "haunted the Delaware River front" as formerly. - -What a change two years had made in his surroundings!--and what a change -in those of Mary Davis! He had come more prominently before the great -world; she had nearly passed out of her own limited sphere. The tide -which turned when they entered the Mickle Street house was now in full -flood for him. But what for her? - -His book had had a good sale; private contributions were sent to him, -amounting to many hundreds of dollars; and from this time on he did -little with his pen, though he got occasional lifts from periodicals for -both old and new work, and the New York _Herald_ paid him a regular -salary as one of its editorial staff. But he resigned this position the -following year. - - - - -VII - -BROOMS, BILLS AND MENTAL CHLOROFORM - - "_He detested a broom. He considered it almost a sin to sweep, and - always made a great fuss when it was done._"--EDDIE WILKINS. - - "_The tremendous firmness of Walt Whitman's nature grew more - inflexible with advancing years._"--HORACE TRAUBEL. - - -The second winter in Mickle Street passed much like the previous one. To -Mr. Whitman it brought heavier mail, an increase of complimentary notes -and invitations, more numerous requests for autographs, steady progress -with revision-work, a little new and profitable composition, the -delightful companionship of old friends, the pleasure of making new -ones, and the comfortable assurance that come what might, there was a -capable captain at the helm, who would on all occasions guide the ship -of affairs smoothly along. To Mrs. Davis it brought the same old round -of work. - -The next spring and part of the summer were charming seasons to the -poet. In them he revelled in his turnout; was sought after, eulogized -and lauded. His day-star was truly in the ascendant. - -This acknowledged popularity was a revelation to Mrs. Davis, who often -asked herself, "Where were these friends--the ones in particular who -have always lived in Camden--when a short time ago poor old Mr. Whitman, -homeless and uncared for, so much needed their help?" - -But as his popularity increased and grew more marked, as letters and -invitations came pouring in, and as at certain gatherings she knew him -to be the honored guest, it began to dawn upon her that his poetry--the -poetry she had so often heard derided--might mean something after all, -and she set herself assiduously to studying it. Finding so much that was -beyond her comprehension, she sometimes sought elucidation from the -author. This he never vouchsafed, and gave but one reply to all her -questions: "Come, you tell me what it means." Unable to comply, she soon -laid the book aside and gave her time and attention to other matters. -Thus, failing to understand anything of his "soul flights," she no doubt -was the better prepared to minister to his mundane needs. A domestic -angel in the house she certainly could be. An intellectual angel might -have worried Mr. Whitman. - -Yes, his day-star was truly shining. It was no will-o'-the-wisp he was -chasing the day he came hungry and cold, weary and desolate to a good -woman's door. Evidently he might have done better with his "little -money" at that time, even if it was "only in sight," as "driblets were -occasionally coming in." With these driblets he might have kept himself -more presentable, seemed less of a derelict. But he had one preëminent -need: he needed Mary Davis, and he got her. - -She had not peered into the future with his prophetic insight, and in -helping to open the way for the good times to come--times he had told -her so much about--she had been governed by her kind heart alone. Her -associates had never spoken of her protégé in any too flattering terms, -and weighing all poets by his local standard, had congratulated -themselves that not one of them was in danger of ever degenerating into -such genius. - -By midsummer Mr. Whitman had visited in and near Camden, and had made -two or three trips to Atlantic City and New York. Everyone was kind and -considerate to him, wherever he might be, and as a reliable person -always accompanied him on these expeditions, Mrs. Davis was never uneasy -on his account, and his absences were her opportunities for resting up -and putting the house to rights. Nor did she altogether skip the -parlors, for she had somewhat lost her confidence in Mr. Whitman's gift -of missing the very thing that was gone. Another Mary--an unfortunate -woman; but who ever attached themselves to Mrs. Davis who were not in -some trouble or other?--used to come in to assist when extra help was -required. Her field of action ended at the kitchen door when the master -was at home, for she stood in great awe of him and knew better than to -appear in his presence with any order-restoring implement in her hands, -especially a broom. But how she exulted when he was at a distance; when -she could pass the old boundary unchallenged, and could rub and polish -to her heart's desire, and according to her own ideas of cleanliness. -She was often heard to remark that Mr. Whitman was the most "unthrifty" -man she had ever met. - -Mr. Whitman might be able to control the use of brooms about his own -premises, but his authority did not extend beyond. How the women of the -locality learned of his antipathy to sweeping, either in or out of -doors, is not known. Probably in some unguarded moment he had condemned -it in their hearing. "He was extremely annoyed by the habit the women of -his neighborhood had of coming out two or three times a day with their -brooms, and stirring up the water in the gutter. He thought it caused -malaria. If they would only let it alone!" (_Thomas Donaldson._) - -It may be that the women made their brooms an excuse for tantalizing -"The Poet." He was no less opposed to their sweeping in dry weather, and -one morning when six or seven appeared simultaneously and set to -sweeping with a will, he knew that it was nothing less than a concerted -plan, and this he would not endure. Irritated beyond self-control, he -let his indignation fly out of the window in passionate and pointed -sentences, which the sweepers totally ignored. - -In 1867, about four years after his general breakdown, he had commenced -to give occasional lectures. This spring (1886) he delivered two, the -first on March 1, in Morton Hall, Camden, the second on the afternoon of -April 15, in the Chestnut Street Opera House, Philadelphia. Both -lectures were upon the same subject, his favorite theme: Abraham -Lincoln. - -He was not an orator, and his audiences were at all times made up of -people more curious perhaps to see than to hear him. This second -lecture--his last appearance but one as a speaker in the "Quaker -City"--was a greater strain than he had calculated upon, although the -arrangements had been made for him by his friends, and he was conveyed -from his own house direct to the back door of the theatre. - -He always remained in his carriage while crossing the river. - -Few people attended this lecture, and out of the $692 it netted him, -only $78.25 was received at the door. The rest was made up by -appreciative admirers. Two gentlemen gave each $100, four gave $50 each, -eight gave $10, two $5, and a society--The Acharon--gave $45. The money -was handed to Mr. Whitman in a large white envelope as he left the -stage. It was not removed from the envelope until the next forenoon, -when it was deposited unbroken in the bank. - -During the summer Mr. Whitman sustained a sunstroke, fortunately not a -serious one, but while suffering from the effects of it he was obliged -to give up his jaunts and remain indoors. However, on pleasant evenings -he could sit in a chair on the sidewalk, under his one cherished shade -tree, into the bark of which he soon wore a hole with the restless -movement of his right foot. Of the passers-by there were few who did not -know him; many would pause for a moment's speech, others would -occasionally get a chair and remain for an hour's chat. He soon -recovered, but if the similar stroke he had suffered a few years before -had served "to lower his fund of strength, weaken the springs of his -constitution and almost wholly destroy his walking powers," (_Thomas -Donaldson_), there was certainly little encouragement in store for him. - -His housekeeper, too, had her physical troubles. She had visibly -changed; how could it be otherwise? The back part of the house was -gloomy, at times damp and unwholesome, and she had grappled with so many -difficulties that she had lost strength and flesh, felt run down and -nervous, while the "rosy cheeks" had faded forever. - -This sickness not only made Mr. Whitman even more dependent upon her -than usual, but it caused her great anxiety in another way. She -realized the great risk she had taken and was taking, for on coming into -the house she had relied upon verbal promises alone; no written contract -or agreement had been entered into. - -Now month had followed month and she had waited in vain for the old man -to allude to living expenses or inquire as to her ability to meet them -longer. Strange as it may seem, since being settled in his own house -Walt had never mentioned money, or in any way broached the subject of -his financial standing. - -During the first year she had not been at all disturbed in mind; she had -confidence in his integrity, and believed he had no means of meeting -present embarrassments. The next summer she saw that money was coming in -from a number of sources, but had no way of learning the amounts -received or in what way they were disbursed. This sunstroke and the -consequences that might have resulted from it were enough to arouse her -thoroughly. Not that she had lost confidence in Mr. Whitman, but it came -home to her that should he die she would be in no way secured. Before -long the bequest left her by Captain Fritzinger would be following her -own savings, which were rapidly dwindling away. - -After thinking the matter over seriously, she resolved that as soon as -the sick man had somewhat recuperated she would make an effort to have -things put on a new and safer basis. She knew that from private -donations, sale of books, government pension, receipts from lectures and -so on, he had opened a bank account. She also knew he was paying -one-half the expenses of Edward at a sanitarium and was sending a weekly -remittance to his sister in Vermont,--and knowing all this, she felt -that she was being treated with injustice. She had already spoken to -Mrs. Whitman and to one or two others, and they had assured her that -Walt was abundantly able to meet all household expenses, and would -without doubt do so in his own good time. - -She had never solicited his confidence, and yet while they were -strangers, or comparative strangers,--long before she had entertained -the slightest thought that she should one day exchange her home for -his,--he had talked freely, even confidentially, to her; had voluntarily -spoken of his money matters, his past disappointments and future -expectations. But since she had come into the Mickle Street house he -had never renewed these subjects, and his way of passing them over was -inexplicable to her. - -When the first repairs had been made in the house, she had taken the -bill to him for approval and payment. He had simply glanced at it, and -returned it with the words: "I think it must be all right." She had -remained standing in the doorway until, silent, seemingly absorbed in -his reading and oblivious of her presence, he had made her feel so -uncomfortable that she had quietly glided away to pay the carpenter out -of her own purse. This happened so early in their housekeeping together -that she, so charitable by nature, had excused him on the ground that, -having no money, he had disliked to talk further about the bill. But a -year had passed, she understood his position better, and she could not -excuse him again on this plea. She had mentioned the urgent need of -further repairs (and when were they not needed in this little rookery?) -and he had promptly replied: "Have it done; certainly, certainly; have -everything done that is required." The result was still the same; -although ordering the work, he was just as indifferent as before in -regard to settling for it. - -And so it had gone on in all cases where money had been needed, until -Mrs. Davis, who was neither dull nor obtuse, saw that it was merely a -matter of choice with him whether he paid for things promptly or not. -The receipted bills she had carefully filed away, but what proof had she -that they had been met with her own money? - -At the expiration of the second year, Mr. Whitman at his own expense had -the water carried upstairs and a bathtub put in. This was a blessing to -both of them, and Mrs. Davis ungrudgingly saw a portion of her own -room--the one little back chamber--sacrificed that it might be made -possible. - -Up to the time of the sunstroke she had made a number of futile attempts -to introduce the subject of finances, but he had simply uttered "Ah!" -(what a world of meaning he could put into that monosyllable!) and had -silenced her with a look. - -An observer says: "I found Whitman sitting on the front stoop talking -with a negative pugnacious reformer. The poet entertained his ideas -without a trace of impatience or severity of judgment, and yet he was -capable of quietly chloroforming him if he became too disagreeable." -Another writes: "This leading trait of his character lasted until life -glimmered faintly." It was this "leading trait" that prevented Mrs. -Davis from introducing any subject not pleasing to him. Again: "He has -his stern as well as sad moods; in the former there is a look of power -in his face that almost makes one tremble." Mrs. Davis had no fear of -Mr. Whitman; he never gave her cause to tremble, but he quietly -chloroformed her times without number. - -The expenses of the house were not light; amongst other things, two coal -fires in winter, and a wood fire much of the time. Wood was a luxury to -him, but it was an expensive item to his housekeeper, and the little -stove in his sleeping room devoured it like an insatiate monster. "He -enjoyed a wood fire." Then she supplied his table and entertained his -guests--his many guests. She never bothered him; was always on hand and -ready to help him to mature his plans, however inexpedient or -impracticable they might appear to her. - - - - -VIII - -VISITING AND VISITORS - - "_His haunt on 'Timber Creek' is one of the loveliest spots - imaginable; no element lacking to make it an ideal ground for a poet, - or study place for a lover of nature._"--WILLIAM SLOANE KENNEDY. - - "_April 11, 1887. I expect to go to New York to speak my 'Death of - Lincoln' piece Thursday afternoon next. Probably the shake up will do - me good...._ - - "_Stood it well in New York. It was a good break from my monotonous - days here, but if I had stayed longer, I should have been killed with - kindness and attentions._"--WALT WHITMAN. - - -It was decided that Mr. Whitman should make one of his delightful visits -to his friends, the Staffords, in their beautiful country home, "Timber -Creek," just as soon as he was sufficiently recovered to take the trip, -and Mrs. Davis thought best to defer talking with him or considering any -definite step regarding home matters until he returned. She took pains -to get him ready, and, as she had done before, persuaded him to purchase -some new clothing and look his best. This visit, like previous ones, was -charming to the poet, and he came home much benefited. While he was away -Mrs. Davis rested and paid a short visit to the aged parents of Mrs. -Fritzinger in Doylstown, Pennsylvania. In this breathing spell she had -thought home matters over and had planned her mode of procedure; but -alas! when the poet appeared upon the spot and she had welcomed him, the -courage she had summoned up when he was out of sight deserted her. She -threw out hints, then made attempts to speak, but to no avail; an -understanding was not brought about and things went on in the old -fashion. - -Much as Mr. Whitman enjoyed his visits and jaunts, coming back to his -own home was the one great joy of his life, and meeting his housekeeper -after even a brief absence was always a pleasure to him. - -It was quite late in the fall when he returned. He resumed his work at -once, and the winter was not an unpleasant one to him; only somewhat -tedious, because he was so closely confined to the house. In other ways -it was made cheerful with social events and agreeable company, and it -was brightened with anticipations of the delightful drives to be enjoyed -in the spring. (It was about this time that Horace Traubel commenced to -come to the house.) - -Each season had added to his popularity, until he had attained the -zenith of his most sanguine imaginations; his most potent daydreams had -truly materialized; he was fully on the crest of the wave! His -housekeeping had surpassed his fondest expectations, for to him his home -was ideal. Deprivation was a thing of the past; there was no lack of -means, as private contributions were sent to him amounting to many -hundreds of dollars. That he was poor and needy, and "was supported in -his final infirmities by the kind interest of his friends, who -subscribed each his mite that the little old frame house in Camden might -shelter the snowy head of the bard to the end," was the universal -belief, and a kindly feeling was manifested towards him in his own home -and in England. It is to be regretted that he was not better fitted -physically to enjoy all his later blessings. - -Out-of-doors life seemed essential to him, and after a number of outings -he was able, as early as April 6, 1887, to read his Lincoln lecture--the -last he gave in his own city. It was well attended, and listened to with -deep attention. On the 12th of the same month he went to New York for -the purpose of reading his lecture there. He was accompanied by William -Duckett, a young friend who acted as valet and nurse, and it was on his -arm the old man leaned as he came forward on the stage and stood a few -minutes to acknowledge the applause of the audience. When the tumult had -subsided, the poet sat down beside a stand, laid his cane on the floor, -put on his glasses and proceeded to read from a little book, upon whose -pages the manuscript and printed fragments were pasted. - -"The lecturer was dressed in a dark sack coat, with dark gray waistcoat -and trousers, low shoes, and gray woollen socks. The spotless linen of -his ample cuffs and rolling collar was trimmed with a narrow band of -edging, and the cuffs were turned up over the ends of his sleeves." Thus -says the New York _Tribune_ of the next day, and it cannot be denied -that his appearance did credit to his housekeeper's attention at this -time, as it did on all other public occasions. The "spotless linen," -however, was unbleached cotton, one of the six new shirts Mrs. Davis had -made for him. - -The lecture was very successful. At the close, a little girl, Laura -Stedman, the five year old granddaughter of the "banker poet," walked -out upon the stage and presented Mr. Whitman with a basket of lilac -blossoms. The New York _Times_ had this account of the event the next -morning: - - "Forth on the stage came a beautiful basket of lilac blossoms, and - behind it was a little bit of a maiden in a white Normandy cap and a - little suit of Quaker gray, her eyes beaming, and her face deeply - impressed with the gravity of the occasion. She walked to where he sat - and held out her gift without a word. He started, took it and then - took her. - - "It was December frost and May-time blossom at their prettiest - contrast, as the little pink cheek shone against the snow-white beard, - for the old man told his appreciation mutely by kissing her and - kissing her again, the audience meanwhile applauding sympathetically." - -Mr. Whitman then recited his poem "O Captain!" and the curtain -fell--fell to shut him from the sight of a New York audience forever. - -Mrs. Davis always dreaded Mr. Whitman's New York visits, and this -episode caused her extra anxiety. She knew that his many and influential -friends would give him a warm welcome and a great reception, and she -also knew how prone the poet was to go beyond the bounds of prudence. He -could stand only a little fatigue and excitement now. He returned in -good condition, however, and she flattered herself that a quiet summer -was before them. He had told her that this lecture (which increased his -bank account by six hundred dollars) was to be his last public function, -but she had no knowledge of something else he had in near view; -something he had already arranged for. - - - - -IX - -A BUST AND A PAINTING - - "_Sidney Morse has made a second big head (bust), an improvement, if I - dare to say so, on the first. The second is the Modern Spirit Awake - and Alert as well as Calm--contrasted with the antique and Egyptian - calmness of the first._"--WALT WHITMAN. - - "_Oh, that awful summer of 1887!_"--MARY DAVIS. - - -Early in the summer, when he had fully recovered from his exertions in -New York, Mr. Whitman received a letter from a sculptor, Mr. Sidney -Morse, requesting the privilege of coming to Camden at once, to make a -plaster bust of him. The promise had been given to Mr. Morse for the -summer, but the actual date had not been fixed upon. - -Eleven years before this artist had made a very unsatisfactory bust of -Walt, one he had always wished to improve upon. On the first occasion -Walt had not entertained the thought of such an undertaking in his -brother's house, but had gone to Philadelphia for the sittings. This -time, as before, the choice of location had been left to him; and it -seemed almost incredible that he, who had been initiated in this line of -art, should have imposed upon his housekeeper to the extent of giving -his own stuffy little house the preference over a more suitable place. - -He had answered Mr. Morse's letter, telling him he would cheerfully put -himself at his disposal; the summer was before them, and nothing else -impending. In short, he would engage himself to him for the summer, and -he was confident the result would be better this time. - -About two weeks elapsed, and nothing had been said to Mrs. Davis on the -subject when one morning to her surprise the artist arrived, prepared to -go to work without delay. Had she been consulted, she could have made -preliminary preparations; had she been better informed she would have -persuaded Mr. Whitman to select a different place, and had she been -fully enlightened she would have insisted upon it. - -Mr. Morse writes: "I found Mr. Whitman more crippled and quieter in -manner than when we met before. Eleven years had wrought their changes. -He was however in a less perturbed frame of mind." - -Naturally so; in his own home, contradicted in nothing, with his own -carriage, and a devoted woman to wait upon him,--one who never intimated -that there existed such exigencies as living expenses or household -entanglements. It was left to the artist to tell Mrs. Davis the purpose -for which he had come. He said that he was desirous of beginning his -work as soon as was compatible with Mr. Whitman's convenience, and the -poet seeing no obstacle in the way of an immediate commencement, it was -decided that the first sitting should take place the following -afternoon. Mrs. Davis was somewhat enlightened as to what the making of -a bust implied when a load of mysterious and cumbersome articles drove -up to the door in the morning. Puzzled both as to their use and where -they could be housed, she had them delivered at the back gate and piled -up in the yard. - -Mr. Morse kept his appointment with promptitude, and after a few -minutes' conversation with his subject, he summoned the housekeeper, and -then, "the litter of everything under heaven was poked aside" to make a -clearing by the window. Mrs. Davis assisted him in bringing some of the -articles from the yard, such as boards and boxes upon which to fashion -the clay; then when the necessity came for something in which to mix -it, her wash tubs were at once appropriated, and as smaller vessels were -from time to time required, many of her dishes and kitchen utensils were -one by one pressed into service. - -During the first afternoon the work was put well in progress, and what a -time was thus inaugurated! Before the week ended there was clay and -plaster on all sides. The two men, interested in the bust alone, were -oblivious to everything else, and passed the time chatting in a lively -strain. The artist was satisfied with his work and delighted with the -prospect of being undisturbed until its completion. He writes: "My deep -satisfaction overflowed to the housekeeper, who admonished me that there -was an element of uncertainty in Mr. Whitman's programme nowadays"--and -sooner than he had counted upon, her words were verified, for on the -morning following her mild warning a telegram came and "the damper -fell," as Mr. Morse says. This was the telegram: "Am in New York and may -arrive in Camden at any moment. Herbert Gilchrist." - -"He's coming to paint me," said Mr. Whitman on reading the message; "I -had forgotten about him. We will put him over there somewhere; I don't -see what I can do to stop it; he has come all the way from England--from -England, Sidney, to paint me. Make the best of it, share the crust with -him." "The damper fell" for Mrs. Davis as well, when Mr. Whitman in his -usual off-hand manner announced the news to her. Another artist coming! -a portrait painter! And Mr. Whitman who had known of this for an -indefinite time had given her no warning, had taken her unaware. She was -completely overcome, and not a little indignant. Had he really forgotten -it, or had he thought it a matter of too little importance to mention? -It was not often that Mrs. Davis shed tears in self-pity, but now they -were her only relief. It was not the extra work and expense that -troubled her most; it was Mr. Whitman's indifference towards her. - -Mr. Morse was also touched, and confesses that in his disappointment he -was half inclined to pack his traps and go. For a moment the -housekeeper's mind tended in the same direction. "But," continues Mr. -Morse, "when the young man appeared on the scene in person, I was calm -once more and ready to be pacified." Mrs. Davis also calmed herself -and, as was her disposition, concealed her feelings and roused herself -to meet the emergency. "The litter of everything under heaven" was poked -still further aside, the stove was taken down and put into the cellar, -things heaped and packed higher in the corners or carried out of the -room, and a place made for the newcomer. - -Mr. Gilchrist proved to be an agreeable, enthusiastic young man, and one -never to get into another's way. Mr. Morse could keep his place at the -window, and Mr. Gilchrist could place his easel a little way back, so -that the sitter didn't need to change his position to be in a good light -for both. But what of Mrs. Davis when paint and oil were added to -plaster and the other refuse pervading the parlors? Had the confusion -been confined to these rooms alone it could have been held in check, but -for lack of room the kitchen soon became an auxiliary to the improvised -studio. Again quoting Mr. Morse: "For a week we kept it up, working -some, talking more, Mr. Whitman's wistful eye on us both." - -This favorable state of affairs was, however, of short duration, for -after the first week the progress of the artists was unsatisfactory; -they were hindered by constant interruptions, and as company began to -pour in upon them, some days would pass and find little accomplished by -either. It seemed a fatality that so many people should have chosen this -very time to make their visits, especially people from abroad. Before -long the strain of it told visibly on Mr. Whitman. Mr. Morse observed -not only this, but the anxious look on Mrs. Davis's face as well, and on -consulting her found she was much alarmed, and feared that their subject -would give out unless some change could be made. The change was made -when early the next morning the sculptor betook himself with his effects -to the yard. This arrangement not merely gave additional space in the -parlors where two or three spectators could sit or stand, but it also -removed from them their chief attraction. - -Some of Mr. Whitman's friends called daily, several twice or even three -times in a single day. - -Mr. Morse was satisfied with the new order of things and says: "In the -cool shadow of the house, under a propitious sky (when it was -propitious), with high boarded fence, and a grape vine wreathing itself -into a pear tree for a background, my work proceeded. Occasional -excursions to the studio in front for memory sketches seemed to be -serving me all right." - -Up to this time Mrs. Davis had had undisputed possession of the yard, -and this constant running back and forth was almost unendurable to her. -For the excursions were not confined to the sculptor; all comers, casual -or constant visitors, old friends and strangers, even ordinary -passers-by--following the lead of others--deliberately took the right of -way through the hall and kitchen, until it might as well have been a -public passage from street to yard. Then in unfavorable weather, when -the work could not go on, came another complication, as the unwieldy -appurtenances had to be brought into the little canvas-covered alcove, -shed and kitchen, obstructing everything. It was worse still in case of -a sudden shower, when the things had to be hustled in anywhere and -anyhow. But the front of the house! It was vacation time, and the -"plaster man" and "painter man" at Whitman's were the great source of -entertainment in the neighborhood. Children thronged the cellar doors -from early morning until late at night; babies were held up to look in, -and there was a general scramble for the best point of view. -Pedestrians, market people and others passing the house were attracted -by this manifest excitement, and there was scarcely one of them who did -not pause to satisfy his or her inquisitiveness with a peep. From a -distance it was difficult to discern what could be taking place at the -poet's, and everybody, old and young, even the halt and the lame, seemed -to have time to walk an extra block or two to ascertain. However, as -there was no alternative, Mrs. Davis was willing to bear it all -patiently for a few weeks at most, as she supposed. - -Mr. Morse, pressed by his host, fell into the habit of remaining to -lunch; Mr. Gilchrist often joined them; and as in the course of -conversation interesting subjects would come up, the day's work for both -frequently ended at noon. Should incidental visitors arrive during meal -time, they were invited without ceremony or apology to the kitchen, and -Mr. Whitman always pressed them to eat something, regardless of the time -of day or what might be upon the table. His talk was animated and -arresting. He would usually begin with current events, then run into -discussions on various themes, often intricate, and the two artists -felt themselves extremely fortunate to be the privileged recipients of -some of his most striking thoughts and phrases. - -It was at this juncture that one day an English gentleman accompanied by -two ladies rang at the open door. Mr. Whitman had never met them, but -seeing them from his seat at the table he welcomed them with these -words: "Oh, darlings, come right this way, come right this way." On -their complying he continued: "Herbert, Sidney, move a little. Mary, lay -the plates and bring the chairs." (The extra ones hanging in the shed.) -Then came a hitching and shuffling of chairs, and a crowding together. -At first the party looked a little annoyed, but when they were fairly -seated they soon became so absorbed in the poet's talk and in his -associates that, unconsciously to everyone except the housekeeper, lunch -merged into dinner. But this was no unusual occurrence. Indeed there -were days when Mr. Whitman would remain at the table from lunch until a -very late hour, company coming and leaving in relays. This summer, and -for some time previous, he had dispensed with the regular breakfast, -taking an early cup of coffee and a piece of toast in his own room. But -the other meals certainly involved plenty of work and patience. Well -might he say: "Mrs. Davis has a knack of anticipating what I want, and -in case of emergency at the dinner table knows right well how to make -the best of it. She has rare intelligence and her tact is great." She -indeed had tact. "Jolly dinners you have here," quoth one distinguished -visitor, notwithstanding they were served in the little heated kitchen. - -Mrs. Davis always waited upon the guests in a pleasant genial manner, -and few knew to whom it was due that the "jolly dinners" ran so -agreeably along. Her watchful eye detected when any article of food was -getting low, either for present company or when their places were about -to be taken by newcomers. A thousand times she slipped out quietly to -the little side gutter and ran (she always ran) to procure a loaf of -bread, an extra supply of butter, crackers or cheese. The home-made -supplies rarely gave out, as she provided bountifully for all. Mr. -Whitman had good reason for going on to say, as he did: "I am well -pleased with my housekeeper. She does better for me than a whole retinue -of pompous bothering waiters. I detest the critters; bowing and -watching"--and probably expecting their just remuneration--for to -complete his appreciation of her virtues he could have added: "And she -furnishes the means." - -Yes; the lingering lunches and "jolly dinners" were paid for out of her -fast decreasing bank account, as was everything else. It was doubtful if -Mr. Whitman realized in how many ways he was indebted to her, or if the -idea ever occurred to him that he could ask too much of her. So -confident was he of her always making "the best of it" that nothing -agitated or worried him. Yet this entertaining anyone and everyone in -the kitchen often placed her in unpleasant and embarrassing -predicaments. Of these he seemed to have no knowledge, as he never made -an attempt to extricate her from one. Visitors were often more -observing, and no doubt most of them saw under what disadvantages she -was placed. Some of them kindly helped her over difficulties, and others -just as kindly passed awkward little occurrences by apparently -unnoticed. - -Although Mr. Whitman did not mind what people said or thought about him, -Mrs. Davis was sensitive and criticism hurt her feelings. She knew full -well that she was sometimes blamed, by visitors who did not understand -the conditions, for things for which she was not at all responsible. She -knew that to her charge was laid the air of negligence that pervaded the -house, and even Mr. Whitman's bluntness towards certain people. - -"There were grim and repellent traits in Walt Whitman. He was naked of -manners and suave apologies as the scarred crag of the Matterhorn of -verdure." - -That physical suffering was many times the key to the old man's -roughness Mrs. Davis understood, and she had a mild way of smoothing it -over and putting other people at ease. She always spoke highly of both -the artists, and in many ways they were more considerate of her than was -their host. With things going on as they did, both were retarded in -their work, and each in turn became discouraged. Mr. Whitman would -sometimes be out of humor for sitting, or so worn out and ill that he -could not come downstairs until late in the day; or again, when all -looked promising he would order his carriage, drive off and leave them -in the lurch. - -Consequently each work of art required more time for its completion than -had been calculated. Mrs. Davis did her best to encourage both the -sculptor and the painter, and in every way she could devise, endeavored -to forward their work. She removed obstacles; she influenced their -sitter, and persuaded him to be quieter, to avoid over-exertion and -excitement, to see less company and to lie down during the heat of the -day. - -At length both bust and picture were finished. Each proved to be highly -satisfactory, and by many they are thought to be the most lifelike -representations of the original. Of the bust Mr. Whitman himself said: -"I am quite clear _this_ is the typical one; modern, reaching out, -looking ahead, democratic, more touch of animation, unsettledness, etc., -etc. Not intended to be polished off, left purposely a little in the -rough." - - - - -X - -REST--AND ROUTINE - - "_Heat, heat, heat, day and night!... I am still getting along through - the hot season--have things pretty favorable here in my shanty, with - ventilation (night and day), frequent bathing, light meals, all of - which makes it better for me in my shattered helpless condition to tug - it out here in Mickle Street, than to transfer myself somewhere, to - seashore or mountains. It is not for a long time, anyway._"--WALT - WHITMAN. - - -Mr. Whitman had reached the limit of endurance when the artists bid him -and Camden adieu, while Mrs. Davis, with the constant demands upon her -time and strength, the condition of the house, unlimited entertaining -and lengthened working hours, had completely succumbed. Another thing -that had been to their disadvantage was the extreme heat, for it had -been and still was an extremely hot summer--a Jersey summer. Each was -prostrated, and for awhile rest and relaxation alone could be thought -of. A short lull that followed the recent turmoil, however, and -succeeding cool weather, did much towards their recuperation; but -unfortunately sick-headaches, which had been occasional with Mrs. -Davis, now became persistent; her vitality was gone, and her courage was -on the wane. In fact she never fully recovered, nor did she ever forget -"that awful summer of 1887." - -But while she was so miserable and ill she was not forgotten by her old -friends, who rallied at once to her assistance, and it was through their -thoughtfulness and kind attentions that a general and final collapse was -avoided. None of them had been willing to give her up altogether when -she moved into the Mickle Street house. She for her part had never -willingly neglected them; one or another, understanding this, had run in -the back way at odd times, and if by chance they had found the kitchen -in her undisputed possession, had gladly remained to lend her a helping -hand. - -Nor with her multiplicity of new duties and in her new surroundings had -she been unmindful of her habit of protectiveness, and this house -became, as her own had been, the temporary shelter for some orphan girl -or boy, some friendless woman or stranded young man. Crowded as it was, -the little Whitman home could make room for an emergency case. - -As the owner was just now confined for some weeks to his sleeping -apartment, Mrs. Davis could lie upon the kitchen lounge when the kind -ministrations of her friends relieved her of immediate household duties; -then in turn rouse herself, drag herself upstairs and attend to the -wants of the sick man there. Her helpers were glad to prove their -friendship for her, but it didn't reach the extent of waiting upon the -disabled poet; this rested with her alone. Not that they were afraid of -him, or that he had ever been rude or impolite to them, but not one of -them was exactly at ease in his presence. - -By good fortune, at this opportune time a gentleman and his wife invited -Mrs. Davis to accompany them upon an excursion to Southern California. -At first she declined the invitation; the distance seemed so great, and -Mr. Whitman was so poorly, there was no telling what might happen during -her absence. But she was still pressed to go, and unknown to her the -project was broached to Mr. Whitman, who highly approved of it. Finally -she accepted the proffered kindness; her friends assisted her in her -preparations, and she set off with pleasurable anticipations. This -journey was the one great delight of her life, and she returned much -benefited. But how about the good little woman who had strongly urged -her going, who had added her earnest persuasions to those of the others, -and who had offered her own and her daughter's services in place of -hers? Poor little woman, she did her best willingly and uncomplainingly; -but she did openly avow at the expiration of the three weeks that had -Mary stayed another day, she would have gone insane. - -During his housekeeper's brief absence, Mr. Whitman had found how truly -his home was not home without her. He frankly told her this, and -acknowledged to her that no one living could fill her place to him; that -others around him irritated him--unconsciously, he knew--while she -instinctively soothed and quieted him, overwrought and impatient as he -might sometimes feel. Furthermore, he presented her with a nice gold -ring. - -Soon after her return, Walt, who was quite himself once more, paid -another visit to the Staffords, and getting him ready for this trip was -her first work on reaching home. "Timber Creek" was his favorite resort, -a haunt he so thoroughly enjoyed that it flashed across the mind of a -friend while sauntering about with him there, that it would be a capital -idea to raise a "Walt Whitman Cottage Fund," and build him a little -summer home there. On cautiously sounding Walt upon the subject, he -eagerly responded: "Oh, how often I have thought of it!" - -So it was decided to build a cottage here, or by the seaside somewhere, -where he could spend part of the year with nature and away from the -noise and turmoil of the city. Eight hundred dollars were quickly raised -towards the fund; the site for building, tiles for the chimney and plan -by the architect were donated; but alas, it was seen that it was too -late in his life for the scheme to be feasible, and the money was -cheerfully given to him by the contributors to be used as he thought -best. - -On this particular occasion Mrs. Davis was more than glad to be alone. -The parlors were much as the artists had left them, and a general -housecleaning was instituted. And such a cleaning! Everything had to be -handled and looked over, discarded or packed away. It was a -disheartening task. Dried paint and plaster were on every side and -resisted all attempts at removal, as though they had learned the lesson -of persistency from the late sitter; besides, some repairs had to be -made against the coming winter, and the stove had rusted in the cellar. - -In good time all was accomplished and order again restored. Mr. Whitman -returned refreshed, and oh, so glad to get back to his own home once -more. But as a matter of course he acted as though beside himself for -awhile, and the old act of hunting for lost or missing articles was -repeated. Mrs. Davis, however, who had taken more than one lesson from -him, passed his perturbation by without apparent notice. She knew the -time was not far in the future when rapidly failing health would -altogether prevent his leaving home; he would probably be confined to -the upper part of the house, perhaps to his bed; and she thought it wise -to be in readiness for whatever was in store. - -Although he had been situated so auspiciously for his comfort, and in a -way to attain the great object he desired, Mr. Whitman's past four years -had not been all sunshine. He had had spells of deep depression, days -when he felt no inclination to come downstairs, or even to speak; and -during the winter of this year the dark cloud hovered more persistently -above him than ever before. For one thing, there were weeks when -extremely cold or stormy weather prevented his going out of doors. Mrs. -Davis had much sympathy for him while the dreary mood lasted, and in -many ways endeavored to dispel it. During the inclement weather she -found in her cheery canary bird a valued assistant, and knowing the old -man's fondness for the little fellow, she would at times stealthily -place the cage in his room, "and let the sun shine out for a moment, -this bird would flood the room with trills of melody." (The canary -outlived Mr. Whitman, and through his long sickness, lasting from the -summer of 1888 to the spring of 1892, it was always a welcome visitor in -his room.) This would act as an inspiration, and Mr. Whitman would often -take this time to write to some friend, always mentioning the singing of -the bird and the shining of the sun. - -"Pleasant weather as I write seated here by the window, my little canary -singing like mad." - -"Sunny and summery weather here, and my canary is singing like a house -on fire." - -"Dull weather, the ground covered with snow, but my little bird is -singing as I write." - -Good cheer may have been another comforting agent, for he writes: "We -have (Mrs. Davis has) just had a baking. Oh! how I do wish I could send -the dear frau one of our nice pumpkin pies, a very little ginger, no -other spice." - -"A cold freezing day. Have had my dinner of rare stewed oysters, some -toasted Graham bread, and a cup of tea." - -"Have had a bad spell of illness again, but am better to-day. Have just -eaten a bit of dinner for the first time in over a week--stewed rabbit -with a piece of splendid home-made bread, covered with stew-gravy." - -"Have just had my dinner--a great piece of toasted Graham bread, salted -and well buttered with fresh country butter, and then a lot of panned -oysters dumped over it, with hot broth; then a nice cup custard, and a -cup of coffee. So if you see in the paper that I am starving (as I saw -the other day), understand how." - -In speaking of Mrs. Davis in a letter of the previous summer, he writes: -"Very hot weather here continued. I am feeling badly, yet not so badly -as you might fancy. I am careful and Mrs. Davis is very good and cute." - -"Am idle and monotonous enough in my weeks and life here; but on the -whole am thankful it is no worse. My buying this shanty and settling -down here on half, or one-fourth pay, and getting Mrs. Davis to cook for -me, might have been bettered by my disposing some other way, but I am -satisfied it is all as well as it is." - -Through the winter Mr. Whitman plodded on with his literary work, and by -spring the parlors were once more transformed into a regular printing -and mailing establishment. To these over-filled rooms he had added an -oil portrait of an ancestor, a life-size bust of Elias Hicks, and a -seated statuette of himself. He was very careful of the two latter works -of art, and to protect them from dust kept them partially encased in -newspapers. When a caller once slyly lifted the paper from the -statuette, he found a colony of ants had made the lap of it their home. -The bust of Hicks was very conspicuous, and looked spectral in its paper -headgear. Mrs. Davis would occasionally remove the yellow and time-worn -papers, and replace them with clean ones. The owner no doubt noticed -this, but he had ceased to be too observant of some things, and had -become more lenient where "Mary" was the offender. And Mary had learned -just how far she could go with impunity. In a way their lives had merged -together. - -It was a custom with Mr. Whitman to have his manuscripts set up in type -before sending them away--even his "little bits" of newspaper -contributions. This was done in a "quaint little printing office" in -town, the proprietor of which was "an old fellow acquaintance" of -Walt's. In this matter, as in all others, he was very impatient, for the -moment anything was ready for the press he would summon Mrs. Davis, -regardless of time, weather or her own occupations, saying: "Take this -to the printer's, Mary, and tell him I want it _immediately_"; and -although most of this work was done gratuitously, the "old fellow -acquaintance" was decidedly accommodating to his honored patron, and -often laid other jobs aside for his "odd bits." He was as well always -courteous to Mrs. Davis. It may be that he could not withstand her -appeals for haste, and was willing to incommode himself to save her from -fruitless trips to the office; for he knew that in an unreasonably short -time the poet would demand his printed bit. In fact, so impatient would -the writer often become, that to pacify him his good housekeeper would -make half a dozen trips to the office. Frequently he would correct the -proof and return it for a second, perhaps a third or fourth printing, -and frequently he would say: "Don't come back without it, Mary; wait for -it." - -It would have been inconsistent with Mrs. Davis's natural activity for -her to remain sitting in a printing office for an unlimited time, -therefore she usually took advantage of these opportunities to do a -little shopping, make a friendly call, or even a hasty run to -Philadelphia. The corrected copies were never destroyed, but, like -everything else, were dropped on the floor. It was no wonder that "to -some Walt Whitman's house was a sort of conglomerated dime museum." -Strangers who called drew their own inferences and reported accordingly, -and in this way contradictory stories were told and sent out into the -world. Much that was false was believed, until the prevailing impression -was that "he was living in poverty and neglect." - -He was extremely non-committal, and his housekeeper never intruded her -knowledge upon anyone, so it was natural that errors as to his home life -should creep in. It was certainly difficult to credit that from sheer -preference any human being could live in and enjoy the state of -disorder that was found in the Whitman house, thanks to the poet's -peculiarities. But this manner of living suited him, and in it he found -true comfort. It must be confessed that things were outwardly so -indicative of neglect that mistakes were bound to be made, while little -of the actual life was known or understood, except by intimate friends. -"The junk shop jumble of those lonesome rooms," writes one; and again: -"I found the venerable poet in his garret, living in neglect and want, -cooking soup in a yellow bowl on a sheet-iron stove nearby." (_S. T. -Packard in a magazine article._) (The bowl merely contained clean water -for the purpose of moistening the overheated atmosphere of the room.) -Still further he writes: "Whenever his strength permitted he rose from -his armchair with the rough bear-robe thrown over the back." It was -really a white wolf-skin robe, a present to Mr. Whitman and of great -service to him. - -In truth the elucidation, explanation and straightening out of the -various stories concerning the life of Walt Whitman in Mickle Street -would require a volume in itself. No fancifulness, however, on the part -of more or less observant visitors could rival that of their subject, -for "His imagination could and did convert the narrow walls of the house -in Camden into boundaries of nations, seas, oceans, mountain-chains, -vistas of Eden, forests, cities, palaces, landscapes, hovels, homes of -the rich, and art galleries, so that Whitman was thus of the great world -while out of it." - -"A peculiar feature of Walt Whitman's rooms, those I mean which his -housekeeper is not allowed to put into order, is the chaos and confusion -in which his papers are coiled. The bump of order does not exist in his -cranium." (_William Sloane Kennedy._) - -But visitors were left to their own impressions, and these were too -often unjust to the woman who always did her best to prevent the -confusion from growing still worse confounded. - - - - -XI - -A SHOCK, AND SOME CHANGES - - "_You have a good housekeeper._"--E. L. KELLER. - - "_Yes, good, square--tip-top--devoted to me. Behind all she has spunk, - very sensitive, the least word sets her off. A good woman._"--WALT - WHITMAN. - - "_Sunsets and sunrises to his soul were almost equal to food for his - body._"--THOMAS DONALDSON. - - -At last the long tedious winter ended, and never was a spring more -welcome to Mr. Whitman, for his acme of enjoyment was still to be out of -doors. During the months when he was so closely confined to the house he -had become even more dependent upon his housekeeper, had more often -sought her companionship, had been more confidential towards her, and -had repeatedly expressed his thankfulness that he was in his own -domicile, and was so fortunate as to have her efficient services. He -would saunter more frequently into the kitchen for a social chat, and -preferred to take his meals there whenever he felt equal to it. -Altogether, he was much more domesticated. Still, he had been able to -go out sometimes, had taken part in a number of social gatherings, where -he had enjoyed the pleasure of congenial company, had even had "some -jolly dinners" in his own house; but nothing could compete with the -delight he experienced when he was under the blue sky. His drives were -absolutely joyful to him, and the first one set all his recuperative -forces in action. His rapid gain was distinctly perceptible, and -everything looked hopeful and promising. - -On May 31, 1888--his sixty-ninth birthday--a lawyer, one of his later -friends (_Mr. Thomas B. Harned, Horace Traubel's brother-in-law_), and -one at whose hospitable board he was often found, gave a reception and -supper in his honor. It was a most enjoyable affair. - -But four days later, after a lengthened drive Mr. Whitman was tempted to -visit the river bank to contemplate the setting sun. He imprudently -prolonged his stay until the evening dampness caused him to feel a -sensation of chilliness, which increased momentarily until upon his -reaching home it terminated in a real chill, followed by still more -serious consequences, for from it resulted a paralytic shock. It was not -a heavy shock, but was quite violent enough to cause alarm. At the -first symptom Mrs. Davis summoned a physician, and did everything in her -own power to alleviate his sufferings. He was seriously ill throughout -the night, and next day had two recurrences of the shock, one in the -morning and the other at noon. After the third it was believed, even by -his physicians, that the termination of all was near at hand. For hours -he was speechless, and to every appearance in a comatose condition. - -His friend Dr. R. M. Bucke of Canada--who had come to Camden to attend -the birthday celebration--had not yet returned home, and hurried at once -to the bedside, where he was unremitting in his care and attention. Dr. -Bucke was a skilful physician and a man of great executive ability, and -his timely presence was a great blessing to all. His appreciation of Mr. -Whitman as a writer, and his personal friendship for him, were of long -standing. - -To the surprise and relief of everybody, an unlooked-for reaction took -place, and the sick man's first words on recovering his speech were: "It -will soon pass over, and if it does not it will be all right." He was -carried to his sleeping apartment, and from this time to his death he -used the front parlor only as a sitting room. - -Dr. Bucke and Mr. Donaldson had talked much while their old friend was -lying in the comatose state, and both were troubled that things were so -complicated, and that no one in particular seemed to have the least -supervision over him or his personal belongings. Both were surprised -when they learned that he had never made a will, and had never offered a -suggestion or given any directions in regard to his literary affairs. -They were anxious as well, because they knew that in case of death, -which seemed so close at hand, his papers and manuscripts would be -scattered and lost. As to home matters, Dr. Bucke said that Mrs. Davis -was worn out and a permanent nurse must be provided. This point Mr. -Donaldson cordially endorsed. Of Mr. Whitman's pecuniary standing the -Doctor had no knowledge, but Mr. Donaldson was better informed in regard -to the sums he had received, and after consultation both fully agreed -that the time had come when someone must take charge of affairs and no -longer allow them to run on in the old haphazard way. - -They decided to talk with Mrs. Davis, and upon their doing this she -gave them a correct, full and truthful statement of the facts of the -case. She could well enlighten them on the subject of outgoings, and -both men were genuinely astonished to learn that Walt Whitman had never -contributed one farthing towards the maintenance of the house,--for -repairs, supplies, furniture or fuel. She told them that while so many -had been solicitous of Mr. Whitman's comfort and interests, she felt -aggrieved that no one had ever exhibited the least consideration for -her; that she had spoken to Mr. and Mrs. George Whitman a number of -times, and they had assured her that Walt was in a position to meet all -expenses of the house, and to the best of her belief they both supposed -that he was doing this, though neither had made any inquiries of her. -She said that in addition to her giving her time as general servant to -all, her funds were rapidly diminishing, her goods going to rack and -ruin, her health failing; and she felt that she could bear the burden no -longer. She mentioned the promises Walt had made, and added that she did -not doubt that in his way of thinking, and of doing things, he still -intended to deal honestly and honorably by her; that she had endeavored -to talk with him and come to a satisfactory understanding, until she -was convinced that he avoided the subject purposely. She felt that in no -way was she secured, and it was a positive fact that two years more -would bankrupt her. What she asked was a settlement on the spot, and -that someone might be found to take her place. - -_Take her place!_ Was there a woman upon earth who could or would do -this? It was a proposition that neither of her auditors would consider; -up to this time the thought of her leaving had never entered their -minds; indeed, no one had ever stopped to think that she might in time -wear out and be obliged to give up, or perhaps get discouraged and go of -her own free will. They urged her to abandon such an idea. What would -the Mickle Street house be without her? The mere suggestion was the -extreme of cruelty, for the sick man, although a little better at -present, was too low for any change, especially one that would touch him -so closely. Dr. Bucke gave her his word that he would be personally -responsible for all she had spent, and for proper payment for her -services as housekeeper both in the past and the future; he told her -that her work would be lightened immeasurably, as a regular nurse was -to be engaged; and that in case Mr. Whitman should die before matters -were settled, her interests should be carefully looked after. Relying on -this promise, she remained. - -In a few days Mr. Whitman's friends spoke to him and proposed that out -of his bank account, which had grown to some thousands of dollars, he -should hereafter purchase his own wood, pay for one-half the other fuel, -keep the house in repair, and settle his private expenditures, to all of -which he gave a ready and willing assent. Next day they advised his -making a will, which he did, and it is known that in this he made some -provision for Mrs. Davis, but its full contents were never disclosed, as -he wrote it himself. On learning that according to Jersey law a woman -could be the executor of an estate, he said it was his wish and desire -that his esteemed sister-in-law, Louise Whitman, should close his. (This -will was replaced by one made in December, 1891, during his last -sickness.) - -In regard to his literary matters, it was thought best that they should -be placed in the hands of three executors, Dr. Bucke being one. - -When it was made known that in future Mr. Whitman was to have a regular -nurse, some of his young admirers volunteered to solicit a monthly -contribution from his numerous friends to meet this expense. The patient -made some inquiries regarding the nurse fund, and on being told that it -was all right and attended to, never alluded to the subject again. The -task of keeping the fund up fell to Horace Traubel; for when it was -first started people subscribed under the impression that it was a -temporary matter, that Mr. Whitman's life hung on a thread, and that -they would only be called upon once or twice; so all ran smoothly for a -while. But as months merged into years some donors became tired of -giving, while others found themselves unable to continue. Mr. Traubel -was indefatigable in his endeavors to serve his friend. As one -subscriber after another fell out, he called upon people or wrote to -them in order to fill the vacant places. Besides this matter, in the -four years in which he was connected with the poet he did much writing -and corresponding for him, and was of great service to him. - -The sick man improved slowly, and when there were no longer any -indications of a relapse and everything had been satisfactorily -arranged, Dr. Bucke returned to his home; not however until he had again -talked with Mrs. Davis and had once more assured her that full justice -should be done, and that she need no longer feel uncertain as to her own -well-being. - -While Mr. Whitman was so very ill, there was no difficulty in securing a -professional nurse. The first, a gentlemanly middle-aged man named -Musgrove, left when the patient had in a measure regained his normal -condition. Other nurses were in turn engaged, but the place was so -undesirable, the duties so varied and uncongenial, accommodations so -lacking and the remuneration so small, that after a short trial each one -left, all of them testifying to the housekeeper's goodness to them, and -to her unselfish surrender of herself to their patient. - -After Mr. Musgrove's first few weeks there was not much regular nursing, -and at Mr. Whitman's request Mrs. Davis did most of this; but there -remained the heavy lifting and hard work. The wood was bought in cord -lengths and thrown through the slanting door into the cellar, where it -was sawed and split. The cellar was not only cold and damp, but the wood -was often wet and clumsy to handle. Besides sawing, splitting and -carrying the wood up two flights of stairs, the nurse was expected to do -sufficient carpentering to keep the house in repair, shovel snow in -winter, run errands for his patient, and later wheel him about the -streets in an invalid chair. This chair was purchased from the proceeds -of a birthday dinner given for the poet in his own city, May 31, 1889. -One hundred and twenty-five dollars were donated on the occasion, and as -Mr. Whitman had now become too decrepit to use his carriage, that and -the horse were disposed of, and the wheel-chair substituted. - -There was so much trouble in getting a nurse who cared to remain, that -late in the fall following the shock Dr. Bucke sent a young Canadian to -fill the place. This young man, who desired to study medicine, had -accepted the position with that object in view, and coming through -personal interests alone he was naturally much engrossed in his own -affairs, and never lost sight of his own advantages. He saw that by -embracing this opportunity he could attain the necessary knowledge, keep -a roof over his head (one that generally leaked, but this did not dampen -his ardor), earn his board and clothing, and have besides the great -benefit of attending lectures in Philadelphia. - -During the five months between the shock and the advent of the student -nurse, Mr. Whitman had resumed his writing, and his bedchamber became -his sanctum. Before his illness Mrs. Davis had managed to keep the upper -portion of the house in passable order. Now it was gradually assuming -the late appearance of the parlors, for here at least Mr. Whitman had -full control, and would brook no interference whatever. When the nurse -found that his best endeavors to bring about a change in this merely -meant wasted time, he quietly went his own way and left his patient to -do the same. He confessed that he thought him "the most singular mortal" -he had ever met, and said: "When I was first employed he would chat ten -minutes at a time with me; now we pass about twenty words a day. Keeps -his own business to himself, and talks but little even with his -intimates." - -The young man's application to his studies appeared so commendable to -Mrs. Davis that she at once set about trying to forward his efforts. The -only method she saw was to do his washing, ironing and mending, that the -small weekly sum thus saved might go towards purchasing books he needed -and could not afford to buy. He was delighted to own the volumes so -obtained, and would pore over them for hours at a time, totally -unmindful of the fact that the real donor was performing many duties -that should justly have fallen to him. Having no room of his own, the -kitchen was necessarily his study, and in a letter he writes: "Mr. -Whitman calls me by knocking on the floor, I usually being in the room -below." - -Mrs. Davis always prepared the invalid's meals, carried them to him, and -if possible sat with him when he partook of them. These were their times -for exchanging confidences and chatting on home topics. "More than -anyone else was she his confidant, and deserved to be." (_Thomas -Donaldson._) - -He was interested in simple things, and little home talks never wearied -him. He used few, plain and ordinary words in conversation, and his -manner was simplicity itself. Mrs. Davis never spoke of anything -unpleasant to him, and was always on guard lest others might do so; she -was a good listener, not a loquacious talker, and her voice, naturally -soft, had a soothing effect. - -His literary matters were well looked after, and he seldom called his -nurse except for some actual need. Such comments, however, as the -following are misleading: "He treats his household as by a holy law, -Mrs. Davis his housekeeper never finds him indifferent, condescending or -morose. His spirit ignores all petty household worries...." ("_In Re -Walt Whitman._") - -Mrs. Davis also sat with the sick man, or within call, whether his nurse -had gone on an errand for him, or to Philadelphia on his own account. -And yet the student-nurse made no sign of reciprocating her many -kindnesses to him; took everything she did for him as his just due; -accepted any and every service she might render him, but most -emphatically refused to give one in return. He left Camden the last of -October, 1889, and returned to Canada. He parted both with Mr. Whitman -and Mrs. Davis on the most friendly terms, saying that much as he -disliked to leave them, his own worldly future depended upon other work -than nursing. - -[Illustration: "_A time-worn look and scent of oak attach both to the -chair and the person occupying it_" (_Letter from Walt Whitman_)] - - - - -XII - -ANCHORED - - "_Am anchored helpless here all day, but get along fairly. Fortunately - have a placid, quiet, even, solitary thread quite strong in weft of my - disposition._"--WALT WHITMAN (Aug. 22, 1890). - - "_Whitman's stalwart form itself luxuriates in a curious great - cane-seat chair, with posts and rungs like a ship's spars; altogether - the most imposing heavy-timbered, broad-armed and broad-bottomed - edifice of the kind possible. It was the gift of the young son and - daughter of Thomas Donaldson of Philadelphia, and was made especially - for the poet._"--WILLIAM SLOANE KENNEDY. - - -The long confinement to his room covering more than half of '88, and -extending into the next year, had forced Mr. Whitman to relinquish his -summer and autumn drives. This was the one thing to which he could not -be reconciled; the one thing to which he had looked forward so wistfully -all the previous winter and spring. Alas! the fatal river drive was his -last. As already explained the horse and carriage, now useless to him, -were disposed of, and the wheel-chair took their place. This chair was -indeed a boon to him, and he appreciated the thoughtful kindness of his -friends in the appropriate gift. - -As soon as his strength would permit, which was some months after his -attack, he had resumed his writing. He had also read his papers and -periodicals, and thus managed to wear the long days through. The cheery -canary had done his part in helping to beguile the irksome hours, and -Watch, the coach dog, sure of a friendly greeting had made a daily call. -Towards spring the time had been less tedious, and in March the invalid -had become sufficiently strong to be assisted downstairs. At this he was -highly encouraged, for he realized the advancement he had made. - -While he had been so low in the past summer, Mrs. Davis had once more -instituted a regular cleaning and renovating of the parlors. This he -must have noticed, but he made no remarks in regard to it. He was led -now to his favorite window, where stood his armchair with the white -wolf-skin thrown over the back; in this he was placed, and day after day -sat contentedly anchored. It was a sad disappointment to him when -ailments occasionally prevented his coming downstairs; here he preferred -taking his evening meal and meeting his friends. Writing materials were -always at hand on a small shelf under the window sill, but these he used -only to jot down passing thoughts or to indite a friendly line. - -Soon he could come into the kitchen, where he often chose to dine. -Sometimes his friends would join him in a "jolly dinner" in the dear old -place; but things had changed--were but a semblance of what had -been--and his desire to remain undisturbed and with his housekeeper -alone during meal times grew upon him. - -During the summer and fall he had incidental outings with his nurse -(Eddie Wilkins, the student). The first few were necessarily of short -duration and slow of motion, then as his strength returned they were -lengthened, and he realized the pleasure in store for him should his -life be prolonged another year. - -After each ride Mrs. Davis met him with some light refreshment, after -which all he desired was rest--a long rest, sometimes of several days. - -It was impossible to receive one-half of the people who called upon -him--indeed, this would have been a tax upon a strong man. Mrs. Davis -always answered the door bell; and it was no uncommon thing for him to -tell her that as he wanted to have a day of unbroken tranquillity, no -one was to be admitted to his room--excepting always a number of dear -old friends, and his ever-welcome brother and good sister-in-law. - -Strange that these were often the days when visitors would flock there, -the great majority of whom would leave deeply disappointed, and for this -cause the inoffensive housekeeper--she who had to bear the brunt of -everything--incurred the displeasure, even the enmity, of some people. -So little was known to the world at large of the poet's private life and -of his state of health, that strangers would sometimes go to certain -persons in Philadelphia to inquire how they might have an audience with -him. This condition of things did not develop until after the illness of -the previous year, and much trouble resulted from it, as visitors would -show their cards or letters of introduction and insist upon going to his -room. Friends living either in Philadelphia or in Camden, especially -those who saw much of the poet, should have been mindful that so sick a -man might not at all times feel inclined to talk with strange people, or -might not be equal to it if he were so inclined. But his wishes or -needs were not conformed with, and in some cases the protestations of -Mrs. Davis were wholly disregarded. - -She invariably met each individual pleasantly and never spoke hastily or -abruptly to anyone; she always gave civil answers to their questions; -often went to Mr. Whitman to intercede for them; and it was through her -influence alone that many were admitted to his presence. But if he was -not disposed to yield, her best efforts would be in vain, and the only -alternative left her was to offend others instead of him. - -During the seven years she was with him she had numberless strange or -even unique experiences, but having quick perception she was seldom -deceived. Some people would haughtily demand an audience with the poet; -others would compromise by interviewing her, while the more determined -would force their way in uninvited and positively refuse to leave the -house until they had spoken with the owner. Many brought gifts which -they wished to present in person; and veterans came asking that they -might only clasp the hand that had ministered to them so tenderly at -some time during the civil war. Nor were souvenir fiends wanting, and -many trinkets, ornaments and keepsakes belonging to Mrs. Davis were -surreptitiously carried off. - -A few people spoke slightingly of the housekeeper, but never in Mr. -Whitman's presence, for "Mary" was "Mary" to him at all times and in all -places. - -A number who had rendered him services--those in particular who within -the last year or two had given money towards his support (as was -supposed)--were indignant that Mrs. Davis should presume to speak so -decidedly to them, believing that were their names only taken to Walt he -would be delighted to see them. And yet a visit to the poet in his own -house was to some people a decided disappointment, even when they were -able to see and talk with him. They did not find what they had been -looking for, something based on idle rumor and curious expectation, -something extraordinary or even outlandish. - -One of the most noticeable things about him, says one, was "an absence -of all effort to make a good impression, or of posing." Instead of -finding a gruff old fossil, or bearding a lion in his den, they found an -everyday, quiet, dignified man. - - - - -XIII - -WARREN FRITZINGER - - "_He (Mr. Wilkins) left Mr. Whitman in October, 1889, and was - succeeded as nurse by Warren Fritzinger, a young man of twenty-five, - and a son of Mary O. Davis, his housekeeper and friend. Mr. Fritzinger - (Warry) remained with Mr. Whitman until his death, a faithful, earnest - man._"--THOMAS DONALDSON. - - "_I get along well, am comfortable, have a fair appetite, and keep a - good oak fire._"--WALT WHITMAN. - - -While the question of getting another nurse was pending, Harry and -Warren Fritzinger returned to Camden. It was a mutual surprise, for the -brothers had lost trace of each other and came from different parts of -the world. It was indeed a joyful reunion, and though seven years had -elapsed since they had seen their foster-mother, their love had not -abated and each brought her a substantial gift in money. Coming from -California, Warren's gift was in gold--double eagles. - -They remembered Walt Whitman as a man, but neither of them had read his -poetry, and although their mother had mentioned the change at the time -it was made, they knew nothing of the way in which she was living, and -both were much alarmed at her altered appearance. Not at all satisfied, -they urged her to resign her position; to move into a more fitting -place, and let them take care of her. - -But believing, as did others, that Mr. Whitman's life was drawing to a -close, she pleaded that she could not reconcile her mind to deserting -him in his helplessness. She enlightened them in regard to financial -matters, saying that she thought it wiser to wait quietly where she was -until things were adjusted. Again, the house practically contained her -possessions only, and these she could not think of moving at a time like -the present; the sick man could not abide the confusion. She furthermore -said that the house had become homelike to her, that all of Mr. -Whitman's friends were kind to her, especially his sister-in-law, who -made weekly visits, always bringing something with her; that she had -implicit confidence in Mrs. Whitman, and knew that should any -controversy arise in the settling of affairs, this upright and capable -woman would be on her side. Again, she had pledged her word to stay; it -was expected of her; and yet the strongest argument came from her own -kind heart--the old man needed her. - -In her many talks with Warren she told him how she dreaded the coming of -another strange nurse, even though his term of service was likely to be -so short; and as she could not see how a few months, at most, could make -any material difference to him, she did wish that he would make up his -mind to apply for the position. Mr. Whitman's friends and literary -executors at once caught at this, and all brought their influence to -bear, pressing the place upon him and promising that, should he remain -until Mr. Whitman's demise, they would stand by him and see him placed -in some good way of earning a livelihood. - -The situation had no inducements for him; it was in fact decidedly -distasteful; but feeling assured that it couldn't really affect his -worldly career, he consented. He was not one to do things by halves, and -from the day he undertook this work until the last hour of his patient's -life, he performed his manifold duties in a cheerful, willing and most -capable manner. - -He loved the sea, with its broad spaces, and soon the narrow limits of -the little house became intolerable to him. This he did not betray, and -being naturally light-hearted and always appearing happy, few who met -him realized the trial he was undergoing. He was honest and -straightforward, and believed everyone to be the same. - -Mr. Whitman, who had taken to him at once, was delighted when he was -told that this bright "sailor boy" was to be his next attendant. Warren -was indeed a blessing, not only to the patient, but to his mother, for -he was always ready to assist her and to help out in times of need. But, -better than all, he soon acquired a way of quietly managing the "good -gray poet" that no other living mortal ever attained. When it was -decided that massage would benefit Mr. Whitman, he took a course in a -Philadelphia hospital and became a professional masseur, as well as -wood-sawyer and amateur carpenter. - -Good places were offered him, but he was bound, and could accept none of -them. One excellent position was kept open for months and he was advised -by his friends not to let so good an opportunity go by, but Mr. Whitman -lingered on, and the place was filled. In going to sea as a boy, Warren -was at a disadvantage on land. This he realized, and in the situation -thus surrendered he had seen a way in which he could retrieve his lost -time. - -Walt's literary attainments and associations were pleasant enough to -encounter, but they were of no material benefit to him, and the -remuneration was much smaller than he had ever before received. This was -a great drawback, for having met a young lady whom he hoped to marry, he -felt inclined and perfectly able to better himself. - -As his predecessor's prediction, that Mr. Whitman would not outlive the -year, was not verified, and New Year's Day, 1890, not only found him -alive but in a much improved condition, with no indications of immediate -danger, it came home to Warren that he had unfortunately tied himself to -an uncertainty, and that his term of service might be years instead of -weeks. There seemed no present help, however, so he philosophically -accepted the conditions and stuck to his work with manly courage. - -Warren's engagement commenced so late in the season that Mr. Whitman had -but a few outings before another winter shut him in. He had however two -or three trips to the river bank, which he enjoyed greatly; all the more -because they led to conversations on ships and ocean life. Warren was a -fluent and interesting talker, which made him an enviable companion for -anyone who, like the poet, was an ardent lover of freedom and the -boundless deep. He often referred to Warren as his "sailor boy," and -said that he was of much service to him when he was at a loss about the -names of different parts of a ship. The young "sailor boy" had a vein of -poetry in his own composition, and although he might not be qualified to -weigh the bard's words and their import in the same scale with some -others, he got a clear insight into their meaning. - -The sick man had his ups and downs during this winter, but was seldom -confined to his bed more than a week at a time. When he was at all able, -he was helped downstairs to sit by the window. He spent more time in the -kitchen with Mrs. Davis, and took a lively interest in anything she -might be doing; he talked to the birds, made a playmate of the cat, had -fellowship with the dog--in short his home life resembled that of any -old man in his own home and with his own kin. He would read and write a -little at a time, or glance over his papers, but there was a perceptible -falling off in all ways, and his domestic life became more and more -dear to him; it had no jars, ran smoothly along, and was to him his -world. - -He was still just as inflexible about having his own way. However, it -had so long been a part of his housekeeper's life to yield to this, that -he seldom had to insist upon anything. He would usually retire early -now, though this was not a stated rule. He might be in bed by eight -o'clock, or up until midnight, and he was as ingenious as ever in making -work for other people. As his massage was to be the last thing before -sleep, Warren could not calculate upon his own doings for a single -evening. He might go out before dark, make a call or do an errand, then -hasten home to wait up two or three hours or even longer; or on going -out and remaining but a little beyond eight, would on his return find -his patient in bed groaning, and saying that he had been suffering -severely for his rubbing, or "pummelling," as he called it. Suffice it -to say he was as exacting with his willing nurse as he had always been -with his faithful housekeeper. During the two and a half years that -Warren was with him, he had but a single untrammelled evening, for Mr. -Whitman wanted him always near, even when no service was required. And -so things jogged on satisfactorily to friends and admirers, but -tediously indeed to the young marine. - -Horace Traubel writes: "Warren Fritzinger, who attends upon Mr. Whitman -and is provided for through a fund steadily replenished by a group of -Walt's lovers--and who finds his services a delight--attests that -whatsoever the hour or necessity, Whitman's most intimate humor is to -the last degree composed and hopeful." ("_In Re Walt Whitman._") Others -have written of this period as one of grave neglect; a time when the -aged man was deprived of the care and comfort so essential to one in his -condition. They underrated both his means and the attention lavished -upon him. - -"He is old and poor," says one, "and were it not for small contributions -from time to time from friends who sympathize with him in his poverty, -age and helplessness, would actually suffer for the bare necessaries of -life. For many years his income from all sources has not exceeded an -average of two hundred dollars, which to a person in his helpless -condition goes but a little way even in supplying the roughest and -commonest of food and care." And again: "His wants are not many, for he -lives simply from necessity and choice; but in his old age and -constantly failing health, he needs that comfort and attendance which -he has not the means to procure." - -The poet himself was neither discontented nor dull. As his infirmities -brought new privations, he bowed to the inevitable. He missed the -outdoor life keenly, but was grateful for such trips as he could get -under Warren's care. As for indoors, conversations if protracted wore -upon him, and he could no longer take part in them with anything of his -old enthusiasm and vim. But there was no fundamental infirmity of mind, -no childishness of senility; he was essentially young in his habits, -thought and manner, and remained so until his death. Sometimes, indeed, -the flame of mental energy rose high again; and it was never -extinguished. - -"The body was fading; the vital parts seemed reluctant to die even in -their own exhaustion. The soul, the mind, the man were there, and at -times in full vigor, while the case was wrecked. Grandly and clearly his -mentality stood above the slowly straining and wasting body." (_Thomas -Donaldson._) - -But others suffered with and through him. Warren had relinquished hope -after hope, had on several occasions abandoned his resolve to better -himself and get married; his mother's entreaties and the reiterated -promises and solicitations of Mr. Whitman's friends, especially his -literary executors, were more than he could combat. But with all outward -signs of contentment, the confinement soon left visible marks upon him; -a second pair of rosy cheeks faded, and from handling the icy wood in -the cellar a lasting cold was contracted. - -He purchased a writing desk--one that fitted the niche between the -chimney and the window in the anteroom--and here he wrote, studied and -read when not actively employed; always busy, always within call. When -the monotony and confinement became too pressing, he purchased a violin -and took music lessons. He declared that this saved him from fits of -desperation. - -Mr. Whitman himself was not the only old person dependent for comfort -upon Mrs. Davis and her sons, for the maternal grandparents of the -latter, living in Beardstown, Pennsylvania, octogenarians and both -amazingly jealous of the poet, had to be visited, looked after and -consoled. - -One great annoyance to Warren was Mr. Whitman's aversion to prompt -payment. The old man had signified his willingness to purchase his own -wood, but he was so delinquent about settling for it that the -proprietor of the woodyard, a man whose heart had never been warmed by -the poet's effusions, saw no reason why he should warm his body gratis, -and so sent him bill after bill, until at length he refused to deliver a -load until the previous one was paid for. Be it understood, Mr. Whitman -intended to pay for his wood, but he intended to pay in his own time, -and not be dictated to; consequently there was a controversy when each -load was delivered. "His pride was adamant to anything that seemed -concession." (_John T. Trowbridge._) - -Warren knew that the old man had money, that right was on the -wood-dealer's side, and he would not follow his mother's way of putting -people off--telling them that Mr. Whitman was too miserable to be -troubled, asking for an extension of time, etc., then paying the bill -herself and lacking the courage to present the receipt. No, "Warry" -would approach the subject in such an original fashion and hand the bill -to his patient in such an offhand way that it would appeal to him -directly, and as a rule the money was counted out with a quiet chuckle. -Eddie Wilkins wrote: "Mr. Whitman is stubborn and self-willed. You can -only get along with him by letting him have his own way." Warren would -meet the stubbornness and self-will with just as persistent good-nature, -and would usually gain his point. He was the only person Walt Whitman -never chloroformed with one of his "Ahs!" - -Early in April, 1890, the poet was asked to read his Lincoln lecture at -the Art Club rooms in Philadelphia, and he agreed. He was just -recovering from a bad spell, and Mrs. Davis did her best to dissuade him -from such an undertaking, but without avail; he summoned up his -resolution once more and had his own way. With the assistance of Warren -and others, he dressed and painfully dragged himself to the place of -destination, and there, before a gay and crowded assembly, he appeared -for the last time in public as a speaker. But the effort was too great, -and when the reading was ended and the congratulations over, he was -taken home in a suffering and nearly unconscious condition and carried -to his bed, where, exhausted and worn out, he was for some days obliged -to remain. However, on May 31 he was sufficiently recovered to attend a -birthday dinner at Reiser's in Philadelphia. When the guests were -assembled--some fifty or sixty in number--Warren wheeled him into the -room, where without leaving his chair he joined in the convivialities of -the occasion. He did not fear to dissipate a little at events like this, -nor did he always pause at the point of prudence, for he knew that in -whatsoever state he might reach home the best of after-care awaited him -there. - -During the spring and summer the chair rides were resumed whenever he -was at his best, and he entered into the enjoyment with zest and -appreciation. When feeling particularly well he would make up for lost -time, until the rolling chair with its distinguished occupant and -handsome boyish-looking propeller was often seen by the hour as it -passed through the streets of Camden and adjacent suburbs. This chair -stimulated the interest of the neighbors and whenever it was carried to -the sidewalk the news spread quickly, so that by the time Mrs. Davis -appeared with Warren, helping the old man down the stoop, they had a -good-sized and extremely attentive audience. No doubt they had long -since ceased to look upon Mr. Whitman as a mysterious personage, but -they comprehended that he was not one of them, and everything new -connected with him still excited their curiosity. - -Warren's advent at a season when he was so needed was indeed a blessing -to his mother. Now she could count upon her time and arrange for her -work, could go out with no anxiety as to home matters, and could have -the kitchen to herself when she wished. - -The heat of this summer debilitated the invalid more than that of the -previous one, or even of the famous (or dreadful) one of 1887, devoted -so exhaustingly to art. For days the old man would now be too overcome -for any outing, and would be glad instead to sit on the sidewalk, as of -old, in the shade of his cherished tree. He spent some evenings with -friends, and occasionally went out to a Sunday dinner or to meet certain -people; but this became too strenuous, and the after-effects too -serious. - -The chair rides, though so often interrupted, were continued until late -in the fall. - -"Was out in wheel-chair yesterday, November 8, from twelve to -two-thirty." - -He made a few visits to the river, and seated in his chair took his last -boat rides across it. In October he visited Philadelphia for the last -time. - - - - -XIV - -FRIENDS, MONEY, AND A MAUSOLEUM - - "_Christmas Day, 1890, was spent by Walt Whitman in giving himself and - all his family a Christmas present for all eternity. He went out to - Harleigh Cemetery, a suburb of Camden, to select a site for a - tomb._"--WILLIAM SLOANE KENNEDY. - - -On the evening of October 21, Colonel Robert Ingersoll gave a lecture in -Horticulture Hall, Philadelphia, for the benefit of Mr. Whitman. The -subject was "Liberty in Literature." - -This form of assistance to the poet was suggested to Colonel Ingersoll -by Mr. Johnston of New York, one of Walt's oldest and most valued -friends, who came to Camden to talk the matter over and make the -necessary arrangements. Mr. Whitman took unusual interest in the project -and was desirous of being present. Mr. Johnston, who had great -confidence in Mrs. Davis and much regard for her opinion, consulted her -upon the subject. She said that recent cool weather had done much for -the old man, and barring unlooked-for accidents, she believed that he -could be counted upon. Mr. Whitman himself, who was well aware that his -later appearances in public had proved a great tax upon his strength, -declared his intention of husbanding the little that remained for the -event. This he did; the evening arrived, the weather was favorable, and -all was well. - -Every possible exertion had been spared him, and he started off in high -spirits. An easy carriage had been secured, and he reached the hall -without fatigue; even in better condition than had been anticipated. He -was accompanied by a friend, and by Warren and Mrs. Davis, for both Mr. -Johnston and Colonel Ingersoll had insisted upon her being one of the -party. On alighting from the carriage and entering the hall, Mrs. Davis -was given a seat in the audience not far from the stage, and Mr. Whitman -and Warren were taken behind the scenes, where the lecturer and some -gentlemen awaited them. An armchair had been placed for the poet by the -speaker's stand. A few moments before the lecture began, he came upon -the stage and seated himself. He was greeted with enthusiasm by the -overflowing house, and when the eloquent speaker had closed his fine -address, he arose, came forward and spoke a few words. This was his last -appearance in public. - -Colonel Ingersoll had engaged a room in a nearby hotel, where at the -close of the lecture a small company were invited to partake of a -collation and pass an informal, social hour. When all were seated at the -table, the Colonel handed Mr. Whitman $870 as his share of the proceeds, -and upon doing so remarked to Mrs. Davis: "That sum will keep you all in -comfort this winter." But like all other sums received by Mr. Whitman, -it was deposited unbroken in the bank. - -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.) - -Most of the time while he was living in Washington he occupied a small -room up three flights of stairs. He had but little furniture and no -dishes; he ate out of paper bags and subsisted upon a very meagre sum -of money. This sufficed for that period of his life, when he was in "his -splendid prime." (_John Swinton._) He had health, strength and only -himself to think of; and taking a house of his own in after -years--humble as was the one in Mickle Street--did not seem to mature in -him any realizing sense of the intrinsic value of money, or reveal to -him his own pecuniary obligations. He never seemed to question what -housekeeping involved, never seemed to pause and think that certain -responsibilities rested upon him alone, or feel that he might be -wronging others, especially those whose services he accepted and whose -embarrassments he never inquired into, never offered to relieve. But -Mrs. Davis, conservative, conscientious, and true to him, did not -disclose his domestic failures or discuss them with others. His -financial standing was not revealed to his English friends, and remained -quite a secret until the Christmas season of this year, when he was -given a site for a grave in Harleigh Cemetery. - -It is not unreasonable to believe that he had special designs in putting -money so quietly aside, one of which--and the greatest, perhaps--was to -build a family vault. It has been said that it was for this very -purpose he accumulated money; hoarded, accepted and saved in the most -minute of things. Thomas Bailey Aldrich often told the delightful story -of a certain $9.00 which Whitman borrowed from him--magnificently, but -also irrevocably--in Pfoff's restaurant on Broadway. - -After he had accepted and secured the site, he spoke freely of his -wishes and intentions regarding the tomb. He specified that certain -members of his family should be placed in it, and requested in -particular that his parents should be brought from Long Island to sleep -with them there. - -It was to be of granite, massive and commodious; and on a projection -above the door was to be a granite statue of himself, standing. His -ideas were excessive, and the expense far beyond his means; still, he -may have thought that the proceeds accruing from his book would warrant -an extravagance for death that he never vouchsafed to life. The tomb was -begun according to his orders, but was finished on a much smaller -scale--as it now stands--and just in time to lay him therein. - -When it became known that preparations had been made to erect this -costly mausoleum, it dawned upon some of his friends that he had a way -of keeping things to himself. It certainly did seem strange that some of -them should pay a monthly tax for his support when he had means of his -own, and could contemplate such an expenditure as this. In truth people -were getting tired of the constant drain upon their purses, and many had -long questioned why they should so frequently be called upon, and -wondered what _could_ become of the money that flowed in large and small -streams into the Whitman exchequer. A few even suspected Mrs. Davis of -appropriating it, and of this--unknown to her--she was accused. She was -also charged with wastefulness, neglect of the invalid, and gross -incompetence. - -The poet still kept his affairs to himself, and "it may be he thought -that what he received from his admirers was but a portion of the debt -they owed him." (_William Sloane Kennedy._) - -January and February of this winter were hard months to the sick man. He -suffered with severe headaches, lassitude and inertia, added to which he -had long and obstinate spells of indigestion. He remarked to some old -friends that he suffered somewhat from want of persons to cheer him up; -most visitors came to him to confess their own weakness and failures, -and to disburden themselves of their sorrows. It was just the opposite -disposition in his two constant attendants that made their companionship -so agreeable to him. Warren's witty and playful sallies always provoked -a quiet smile, and his mother's "inventive thoughtfulness" was rewarded -with an appreciative, approving look. - -During March he made some gain, but it was not until April 15 that he -got out of doors to enjoy the sunshine and invigorating air. With his -rides new courage came to him, and in May he was able to be taken to the -cemetery to witness the progress made on the tomb. But in the last ten -months of his life he was so worn by pain, and had so aged, that his -restful, reliable home comforts were the dearest of all earthly things -to him. - - - - -XV - -THE LAST BIRTHDAY PARTY - - "_There was one more birthday dinner celebrated with his friends in - the Mickle Street house on May 31, 1891. Whitman was seventy-two. That - privacy, which is the normal privilege of old age, was one of the - kinds of happiness which he didn't experience._"--BLISS PERRY. - - "_Munching a little bread dipped in champagne and talking about Death. - He had never been more picturesque._"--BLISS PERRY. - - -On May 31, when Mr. Whitman had reached the age of seventy-two, his last -birthday (as it proved) was celebrated by a dinner given in his own -home. This arrangement was adopted as the only means of ensuring his -presence, and the gathering was the final social event in that little -house. - -The managing committee was composed of young men, most of whom knew -nothing of the limited dimensions of the place, and had not reflected -upon the incongruity of their undertaking; nor, until the plans were all -made, arrangements nearly completed and the invitations issued, was Mrs. -Davis told what was to take place. When the youngest of the three -literary executors, who had devised and was at the head of the scheme, -finally informed her, she said she feared that such a thing as seating -thirty-six people in the parlors was impracticable; however, she would -do her best in helping them to carry out their wishes. - -It was by good luck that the arrangements were in the hands of -inexperienced, enthusiastic and hopeful young people, for the -difficulties to be overcome would have discouraged older and more -experienced folk at the outset. It was better still for them that they -found a well-balanced mind, willing hands and managing skill in their -home agent, as this alone saved them from ignoble failure. First the -parlor doors, double and single, together with the hall and kitchen -doors, secured with old-fashioned six-screw hinges, were removed and -carried into the yard; the spare bed put up since Mr. Whitman's last -stroke was taken down, together with the stove, and with the entire -furniture likewise removed. This was literally turning the parlors -inside out. - -Mrs. Davis, as usual, succeeded in making a place for everything. Warren -did most of the hard work and lifting, while his mother swept the rooms, -cleaned the windows, put up fresh curtains and made the place so -presentable that the young men of the committee, who took kindly to her -encouraging words and wise suggestions, acknowledged that they did not -see how they could have managed without her ready and efficient -coöperation. On the morning of the birthday she was of equal service to -the waiters who, when the tables, chairs and dishes arrived, discovered -many drawbacks in such an unlooked-for banquet hall. - -The head table was placed across the front parlor, in a line with the -windows, the other, the length of the back parlor, forming a T with it; -and these, with the small chairs, so completely filled the rooms that -only just sufficient space was left for the waiters to serve the guests -through the two doorways. Most of the viands came ready cooked, and the -caterer had done full justice to them; the coffee was made on the -kitchen stove, which, with the little one in the shed, was brought into -requisition for heating purposes. Mrs. Davis was usefulness itself in -getting things in readiness, advising with the caterer and helping him -out of quandaries. When the dinner had been decided upon she had been -told that it should put her to no extra work; and when she made the -matter really possible she was told that she had done her part, which -should end there, as the committee would attend to putting things to -rights afterwards. - -Getting Mr. Whitman ready, and seeing that he was in no way overtaxed, -was of much importance, and it was carefully looked after. At the -appointed hour, seven P. M., the guests assembled, and there being no -reception room, each took his or her assigned place at the table; then, -when all were seated, the venerable host was brought down. He was met -with congratulations, and led to the head of the table. There were -twenty-seven men and five women present, and not until the greetings -were over did he and his old friends observe that Mrs. Davis had been -left out. Room at the table was not wanting, as three chairs were vacant -through the non-arrival of the expected occupants; besides, two of the -ladies were strangers to the poet. Mrs. Davis felt the slight, although -she could not very well have formed one of the company in any event, her -presence being indispensable elsewhere. - -It was a good dinner and well served, all things considered. The day was -insufferably hot, and the windows and the front door were left wide -open. Many noticed and remarked that during the dinner no loungers were -about the front of the house, "no boys looking in, yelling or throwing -stones or mud--no curiosity gazers. Respect for Mr. Whitman possibly -prevented this." (_Thomas Donaldson._) Respect for Mr. Whitman in part, -no doubt, but a greater respect for a contract made beforehand; Mrs. -Davis had bought them off; something good for each one of them for good -conduct. She was not so successful in securing the same considerate -behavior from Watch, her coach dog, for to her great mortification, just -as one gentleman commenced to read "O Captain! my Captain!" he came into -the parlor doorway, "put his nose up in the air and uttered a series of -the most ungodly howls ever listened to." (_Thomas Donaldson._) He -continued to howl until the reading ceased, then abruptly left the room. - -The dinner lasted until ten o'clock--three hours. A stenographer took -down the toasts, responses, scraps of conversation, etc. But while these -were at their height, one compliment, one little speech, was not -recorded. Mr. Whitman looked around the table as if seeking something, -and on being asked, "Is there anything you want, Walt?" replied, "Yes, I -want a piece of _Mary's bread_." It was brought to him. Mr. Whitman, no -doubt, feeling that Mary had been slighted, took this peculiar way of -his own to show his regard for her. - -The next day the tables and chairs were taken away, but the committee's -promises of assistance were probably forgotten, for regardless of the -poor days Mr. Whitman passed in consequence of the dinner, and his need -of extra care, no help whatever was proffered and Mrs. Davis and Warren -were left to right the house by degrees, working as they could. - -The summer following the invalid was glad to pass quietly in his room. -The heat overcame him, for he had lost all his resistant power, and -truly needed the attention and care that it was his good fortune to -receive. Part of the time he was up and dressed, but he seldom felt -equal to more than this. His outings were few in number, the reading -fell off, and the writing was nearly discontinued. However, this did not -prevent the litter in his room from mysteriously increasing in the same -slow, sure, steady ratio. As this did not bother him, and he was -inclined to be tranquil and satisfied, no one disturbed him, or -interfered in any way with his idiosyncrasies. - -His world had become contracted to still smaller dimensions; the four -walls of his own room enclosed it. He had relinquished his hold upon -outside life with its bustle and excitement, and more than ever wished -to be left alone, left to himself. He was his own best company, -apparently, for he often evinced disapprobation on being roused from one -of his long reveries. At intervals he would seem to be the old-time man, -would rouse up and talk, even jest, after which would follow spells of -depression or dreaded indigestion. In the latter case, day would succeed -day when his only nourishment would be a light cup-custard or a small -glass of iced buttermilk. - -The fall did little for him, and there was an unmistakable and steady -decline until December 17, when after a number of miserable days he was -seized with a chill, the precursor of pneumonia. For a week his life -hung in the balance; friends and relatives were summoned, and the best -medical advice was procured. Each hour the final call seemed at hand; -then came a pause, and the issue was uncertain; next there was a slight -improvement. - -The burden of all this fell mainly upon Warren, who was only relieved -temporarily day or night by his no less worn-out mother. Believing that -each day would be the last, each had held up and gone on, until on the -28th the limit of endurance was reached, and they asked for assistance. -As the patient's symptoms were tending toward a protracted illness -rather than a speedy death, his friends saw that this was imperative, -and Dr. Bucke, who had recently arrived in Camden, went to Philadelphia -to engage a professional nurse. - - - - -XVI - -THE NEW NURSE - - "_Well, I told you doctors when I was so very bad, 'let me go; let me - die.' I felt you would not listen to a word ... you would not think of - it for a moment, and here I am._ - - "_I chose to go. I may pull through it and have it all to go through - again; it looks more so to-day than for a fortnight. You are all - making a strong pull for me, I can see that._"--WALT WHITMAN. - - -The requirements in the nurse were maturity, experience in the care of -sick men, and the ability to take notes and keep a careful record. Dr. -Bucke engaged a suitable person, and talked freely and unreservedly to -her about the patient, his physical condition and his eccentric habits. -He said it was his firm belief that his life could not last more than a -few days longer, and that he was confident that another such room as the -one he was in, littered and uncared for, did not exist upon the face of -the earth. He further said that his poor old friend had been in wretched -health for some years past, that he was in no way able to look out for -himself, and that he was in the hands and at the mercy of a designing -and unprincipled woman,--the unrefined and ignorant widow of a -sailor,--who as a housekeeper was unreliable and dishonest, and who -alone was responsible for the condition in which the sick room was to be -found. He added that it had been arranged that the nurse should go out -to all her meals at the expense of the patient's friends; that she was -to have nothing whatever to do with the housekeeper, _and above all -things she was not to allow her to enter the sick man's room_. To put -the matter to her concisely, she was, during the entire engagement, long -or short as it might prove, to speak to but three persons, these being -the two literary executors living in Camden, Mr. Harned and Mr. Traubel, -and her own colleague, Warren Fritzinger. He told her that the first -things he desired her to do were to get the sick room into order, and to -begin recording the daily transactions; she must be careful to note all -Mr. Whitman's words as they were uttered, and to write them down -faithfully. Dr. Bucke spoke as one having full authority, and the nurse -had no reason for disbelieving anything he had said. (And ever after -believed that Mrs. Davis had been cruelly maligned (but by whom?) and -that Dr. Bucke, who lived at a distance and saw little of his friend's -home life, had been deceived and misled.) He assured her that _money in -abundance_ would be supplied for all the sick man's needs, and that it -was the wish of his friends that he should have every comfort possible -until the end. - -By a second appointment Dr. Bucke met the nurse at the ferry, and they -set out together for the dying poet's home, the Doctor, while crossing -the Delaware, repeating and dwelling upon what he had previously said. - -The ring at the door was answered by a pleasant, ladylike woman, between -whom and the Doctor there was a show of mutual good feeling. The back -parlor was given to the nurse as her room, and when she had laid her -wraps aside Dr. Bucke led the way upstairs. To the relief of all Mr. -Whitman had made no objections to a lady as nurse, and when she entered -his room he extended his hand. A number of gentlemen were present, among -them his brother George and the two literary executors, who had remained -to take leave of Dr. Bucke. An artist who had just completed some -etchings of the poet had sent him six complimentary copies, one of which -he presented to his departing friend, at whose request he was raised up -to autograph it. This, it was supposed, would be his last signature. - -The prospect being that he would not only survive the night, but would -pass it in comparative comfort, his friends and relatives left, -excepting only his niece, Miss Jessie Whitman, the daughter of his -brother Jefferson. - -Poor Warren was overjoyed at the idea of going to bed, for in the last -four days and nights he had had no rest, and since the chill, ten days -before, had not found time to change or remove his clothing. While -giving the nurse her instructions he confessed that he was completely -done up, that such a siege as he had just passed through was worse than -a storm at sea; nevertheless he wished and expected to be called at any -moment if his services were required. - -Mrs. Davis, totally unconscious of any ill feeling toward her and -disposed to show every courtesy to the nurse, prepared a nice supper to -which she invited her to come. What could the nurse do? No way had been -opened for her to go outside to her meals--at least for the present--and -no one except Dr. Bucke had mentioned such a thing; it was dark, she was -in a strange city and ravenously hungry. She could not make up her mind -to refuse and run off at once to seek a restaurant, especially at a time -like this; could not risk leaving a patient so dangerously ill, even for -a minute; nor could she desert the two weary people who were looking to -her for relaxation and relief. No; she would sooner fast for the night. -But fasting was not necessary; so descending the stairs, passing through -the hall and running headlong into the flour barrel, she entered the -little cabin-like kitchen. - -Mrs. Davis was so worn out for sleep that even while standing her -eyelids would close. She apologized, saying that she had been awake so -many hours she was not at all herself. The nurse begged her to lie down -at once, believing this weary, sad-looking woman must be a relative of -her patient's, or a dear friend who had come there to bridge over the -present crisis. Dr. Bucke had not mentioned the housekeeper's name, and -the kindly, hospitable person who had been introduced as Mrs. Davis -belied in every way the description of the sailor's unrefined widow. -Besides, Warren called her mother. - -The sick man required but few attentions during the night, and was so -painfully still the nurse went to his bedside a number of times to -assure herself that he was breathing. Warren came in twice to -reconnoitre and turn him over, and when morning peeped into the window -of the dull little anteroom and he found that no new complications had -developed and that Mr. Whitman had not suffered from the change, he was -jubilant over it. - -After preparing breakfast, Mrs. Davis, as was her custom, went upstairs -to sit with the patient while the others were below. She entered his -room, and he--who up to this time had lain with downcast eyes, -speechless, almost immovable--looked up, smiled, and exclaimed in a -pleased voice, "Ah, Mary!" There was no mistaking the friendly relation -between these two people, and before noon the nurse learned that the -coarse housekeeper, the _dreaded_ housekeeper, was no other than this -pleasant, tired-out woman, whose kindness she appreciated because she -had at once made her feel so much at home. What did the nurse think! - -When Mr. Whitman was supposed to be dying, Mrs. Davis had in a way -managed to meet the emergencies of the occasion; when a rubber sheet was -called for, and no one offered to procure or order one, she gave her -own oilcloth table cover to supply the need. When extra sheets were in -demand and were not forthcoming from any quarter, she bought a piece of -cloth, tore off the lengths, and was obliged to use them unlaundered and -unhemmed, for even in this trying time only one person, besides her -personal friends, had offered her the least assistance or inquired as to -the straits to which she was put. This single exception was Mr. -Whitman's sister-in-law, who had left a sick bed to come to Camden and -do what she could. - -When with the coming of the nurse, and cessation from immediate anxiety, -Mrs. Davis found time to look around, she discovered more than an -abundance of work. An enormous wash had accumulated, her boiler had -given out, and damp and cloudy weather necessitated drying everything -within doors. Then as the eaves trough had fallen down, and the kitchen -ceiling leaked, Warren's skill in carpentering was in instant demand. - -They found the nurse willing to assist in any way, and the housekeeper -was delighted that she was plain spoken and matter-of-fact, and knew -almost nothing of her patient as a writer; that she regarded him only as -a sick and helpless old man, needing personal care, and not the -adulation with which he was surfeited. Mr. Whitman himself took kindly -to her, for like Mrs. Davis she never questioned him, and if she spoke -at all, always touched upon the most simple, commonplace subjects. - -On one occasion she ventured to say to him: "I suppose you would be -disgusted with me if I told you that I had never heard of _Leaves of -Grass_ until I came here?" He laughed a little and replied: "I guess -there are plenty of people in the world who can say the same. _Leaves of -Grass_ was the aim of my life. In these days and nights it is different: -my mutton broth--my brandy--to be turned promptly and kept clean--are -much more to me and appeal to me more deeply." - -Little by little, much was accomplished; the sheets were hemmed, and the -nurse with part of the small and only sum of money given to her soon had -a new boiler on the stove; then when the table cover, which had become -stiff, wrinkled and ruined, was replaced with a smooth rubber sheet, and -a rubber ring purchased, which gave the patient great relief, and a few -trifling articles secured, the money was exhausted. Mrs. George Whitman -added some things to the supply, after which it fell to Mrs. Davis to -resort to her own means as of old, and one by one the gold -pieces--Warren's gift--melted away. - -In the course of a couple of weeks the nurse learned that she was -boarding at the expense of the housekeeper, and finding that no -arrangements had been made to this effect she wrote to Dr. Bucke, laying -the matter before him, as it had been agreed that she should write to -him semi-weekly and in full confidence. In her next letter she told him -of her own belief in Mrs. Davis as a most excellent woman; she enlarged -upon her devotion to Mr. Whitman and his fondness for her, and expressed -her great astonishment that a man of his experience could be so mistaken -in anyone. In reply he wrote that he was pleased to know that he had -been misled. - -Mrs. Davis was much distressed in regard to the cleaning of the sick -room. She feared it would make Mr. Whitman unhappy, and she felt that as -his life was to end in so short a time, further indulgence might be -granted him. But he was found to be not at all disposed to make -objections; indeed, he was passive in the extreme, and when the nurse in -any doubt or difficulty would occasionally appeal to him, he had but -one reply: "Ask Mary." - -To the surprise of everyone he lingered on, improving instead of growing -worse, and by the end of the month had regained something of his former -condition. He even wrote a few short letters, autographed the five -remaining etchings, and a photograph for the nurse. - -When the ominous symptoms had disappeared and he was not only out of -danger, but quite comfortable, and Mrs. Davis had got the most pressing -work well in hand, things assumed an almost unbroken routine. Warren -took the night work, as reporters often came to the house at late hours -and he was accustomed to meeting them; even friends would come thus -unseasonably to inquire for the poet and perhaps beg for admittance to -his room. - -Yet there were many nights during the long sickness--lasting to March -26--when following a number of good days he would sink into a state of -collapse, and then both nurses would remain up together. - -As Warren did his home work in the forenoon, which was also his mother's -busiest time, the nurse prepared the patient's breakfast and gave it to -him; but seeing that he really preferred Mary's presence to her own, -she often exchanged work with her, and the only actual difference was -that Walt had three nurses instead of two. - -Getting the sick room into order was a tedious task. The nurse was -directed to leave every scrap of paper with writing upon it in the room, -to remove only the newspapers, magazines, circulars, bound books, -wrapping papers and so on. Then there were days when it was evident that -Mr. Whitman wished to be alone, other days when he was very low and -could not be disturbed, still other days when he had long visits from -friends; and the work would have to be postponed for the time being. - -All the newspapers and magazines were stacked upon the landing outside -the anteroom door; the books--usually dropped anywhere, open--were -placed upon the pine shelves; the manuscripts were piled upon one side -of the sick room, and the old envelopes, wrapping paper and odds and -ends of string alone were thrown away. - -Warren's desk came in nicely, and seated at this the nurse wrote her -record, going into the details and minutić of the case, as she had been -instructed. In this Warren took his part, and as he knew most of the -people who called, his information and night notes were a valuable -addition. A cot under the shelves in the anteroom, which had served as a -bed for the nurses at night and a settee by day, was taken out and a -comfortable lounge substituted, which had been hidden from view under -the débris in the other room. This gave both rooms a better appearance, -besides providing a more comfortable seat and sleeping place. - -Mr. Whitman did not take medicine with regularity; only when some acute -pain or persistent discomfort rendered it essential. His temperature was -never taken, his pulse and respiration but seldom; and in no way was he -roused up, except for an unavoidable cause, or perhaps to meet company. -He fully understood his own condition, and pleaded for but one thing: -rest. - -When he had his poor days--when it seemed that he could not again -rally--he saw no one, and in the last two months he wished to see few -beside his nurses, his two doctors (Dr. Alex. McAlister of Camden, and -Dr. Longaker of Philadelphia), and his faithful Mary. He said that -others tired him, and yet many saw him and held conversations with him, -even at this late stage in his life. Colonel Ingersoll came twice, and -sent him a basket of champagne, of which he took sparingly from time to -time. - -It was not so lonesome for Warren when there was someone associated with -him in his work, and the nurse listened with interest to the stories he -told of his early escapades, and of his subsequent adventures in strange -countries and at sea. He could boast of having saved two fellow -creatures from drowning, that is, if he were at all inclined to boast, -which he was not. After awhile he confided the disappointments of his -love affair, saying he thought it hard that after being engaged for over -two and a half years, he had not, since he had assumed the care of Mr. -Whitman, had the opportunity and pleasure of inviting and escorting his -fiancée to an evening entertainment. The nurse thought so too; she -sympathized with him; and his one untrammelled evening was when, unknown -to his mother, she slipped over to Philadelphia, bought tickets and -secured seats that he might have the gratification of taking "Coddie" to -the theatre. This plot was several days in maturing, and when the secret -was disclosed Mrs. Davis was terribly exercised, fearing that something -dreadful might come up just at that particular time. She tried to -dissuade Warren from going, but it was two against one, and he went. -Nothing eventful occurred; Mr. Whitman was at his best, and when he -asked for "Warry," and was told where he had gone, he was perfectly -satisfied. - -But day by day the patient steadily declined, and as one of his lungs -was nearly useless, it affected his breathing to such an extent that his -only relief was in change of position--"shifting," as he called it when -he was being turned from one side to the other. He could eat while lying -down, but could drink only when his head was raised with the pillow to -support it. Often when Mrs. Davis went into the room to turn him, or to -take him some little home-made delicacy, she came out in tears. What was -said when the two were alone--if they spoke at all--was never repeated, -never reported. - -Mr. Whitman did not know that the nurse kept an account of his words, or -wrote anything whatever regarding him; for of all things he disliked, -the worst was to feel that there was someone at hand or just out of -sight with pencil and paper in readiness for instant use. - -One day Warren told him that his brother Harry's Christmas present was a -little boy that he had named for him: Walt Whitman Fritzinger. This -pleased the sick man, and he expressed a wish to see his little -namesake. The child was kept in readiness for a week; then early one -evening, when Mr. Whitman was feeling better than usual, he was sent -for. His nurse brought him over, carried him into the sick room and laid -him in the arms of the old man, who kissed the little fellow, held him a -few minutes and repeated a number of times: "Well, well, Little Walt -Whitman, Little Walt Whitman." There were present the child's mother and -nurse, Mrs. Davis, Warren, and Mrs. Keller, Mr. Whitman's nurse. He -never saw the child again, but often inquired after him, and added a -codicil to his will bequeathing him two hundred dollars. (My name is on -the codicil as witness to the signature.--E. L. K.) - -The invalid had never bought himself a new mattress, and the one given -him by Mrs. Davis seven years before--too wide for the bedstead and -extending several inches beyond it at the back--had from long and -constant usage become hollow in the centre, making it difficult to turn -him from one side to the other, for he would often slip back into the -hollow place. Warren once said: "When I come on this side of the bed -you slip away from me." "Ah, Warry," he replied, "one of these fine -mornings I shall slip away from you forever." - -One evening a member of the editorial staff of the New York _Evening -Telegram_ visited him. Mr. Whitman knew that he was coming, and had made -up a little roll of his writings to give him. (Mr. Traubel always made -these engagements, met the parties and accompanied them to the house.) -Upon leaving, the gentleman said that the paper had raised a fund -wherewith to purchase flowers for the poet's room. Afterwards learning -that the defective lung made the fragrance of flowers stifling to him, -the paper requested that the money be applied in some other way. Mrs. -Davis suggested a longer bed and a firm, level mattress. This was agreed -to, the money came duly to hand, and the two nurses went together to -select the bed. The one decided upon was a single one, made of oak and -standing at least three inches higher than the old one; the mattress was -of sea-grass. When the useful gift, which was a surprise to Mr. Whitman, -arrived and was being set up--February 22, 1892--Walt was seated for the -last time in his big chair. - -Warren said it would be a pity to have this bedstead battered up as the -old one had been--for the old man still kept his cane within reach and -often pounded upon the footboard; so he rigged up a bell in the -anteroom, and carried the wire over the door and into the sick room, -where a drop string came down to the bed. Mr. Whitman found this an -easier way of summoning aid; it was the "quaint bell" mentioned by two -or three writers. - -When the patient was settled on the new bed, he looked at Mrs. Davis and -said: "You can have the old one, Mary." - -The _Evening Telegram_ gift was a great acquisition, and it is to be -regretted, for the sake both of the invalid and those who waited upon -him, that it did not come in some way years before. - - - - -XVII - -"SHIFT, WARRY" - - "_Come, lovely and soothing death, - Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, - In the day, in the night, to all, to each, - Sooner or later, delicate death._" - --WALT WHITMAN. - - "_She was his loyal friend and nurse. She stood by him in life, and - closed his eyes in death._"--THOMAS DONALDSON. - - -In January, when Mr. Whitman first rallied, wrote the few short letters -and autographed the pictures, his friends were much encouraged; but -subsequent sinking spells destroyed their hopes, and his extremely low -condition led them to believe that he would wield his pen no more. In -his poor days scarcely a word was spoken in the house, and his three -nurses worked silently, almost mechanically, about him. Then with -another temporary reaction, hopes were again renewed and a change in -everything was manifest; even the dull little anteroom seemed brighter. - -On February 5, he had so far regained his strength as to request writing -materials. His old way of writing in bed was to be firmly propped up, -with a pillow before him on which to rest a light smooth-covered book. -Now he was too weak to hold the book, and although well supported at the -back he found it an almost insurmountable task to indite even a few -words. Mrs. Davis believed he could do much better were something -devised on which the paper before him could rest firmly. She was equal -to the occasion, for going to a young artist and teacher of painting (a -young lady named Miss Button) next door she procured a drawing board, to -which she had legs attached,--two short stationary ones in front, and -two longer at the back, fastened with hinges--thus making it adjustable -to almost any angle. The invention worked well, and the next day, when -he again requested pen and ink, it was placed before him. He was -surprised and pleased, and all he could say was, "Just the thing; just -the thing"; then looking at the nurse he added: "_That's Mary_; that's -Mary; just the right thing at the right time." Not Mary the efficient -housekeeper or capable manager, but just the right woman in the right -place. - -It was on this board that Walt Whitman's last words were inscribed. - -His book, which had been completed, was out of the press, and a few -copies had been hurried through that he might see the work as it would -go out into the world. Mr. D. McKay, his publisher, brought them over -one evening, and the dying poet expressed to him the great satisfaction -he felt at the manner in which the edition had been produced. He asked -to have fifty copies bound at once in Manila paper covers, that he might -give or send them to certain friends. This was done; he designated the -people who were to receive them, and Mr. Traubel attended to the -inscriptions. The last thing Walt wrote for printing was a notice in -regard to this edition. His writing board was of the greatest service to -him in accomplishing this task; without it, not only this notice, but -his last written words to his friends at large, his farewell Greeting or -Salutation, would never have been written. - -When he had completed the notice, making numerous alterations until he -seemed satisfied, he called for Mrs. Davis, who on coming into the room -held a secret "confab" with him, after which she got ready and left the -house. The following afternoon she again left the house and on her -return handed Walt a printed proof. In this, as of old, he made some -corrections, and it was again taken out and again called for. These were -Mary's last visits to the "quaint little printing office," and the "old -fellow acquaintance's" last acts of kindness to his dying patron. - -In the two days intervening between the writing of this notice and its -ultimate approval, Walt wrote his last words to all--the final Greeting -just mentioned to his friends at large. He wrote it himself on post -office paper, and when he had covered one piece, he called for mucilage -with which to add a second. He had measured the little printed slip, and -had left a space for it. He worked intently until the task was -completed. His tendency to recline backward made it difficult for him to -use the pen properly, therefore Mrs. Davis or the nurse usually sat -behind him, and by leaning forward and holding him in her arms supported -him in a more comfortable and convenient position. While one assisted -him in this way, the other held the inkstand near him, as he could no -longer reach it from its accustomed place, the chair beside his bed. - -When the Greeting was finished, the printed notice was pasted in its -place. The original writing was sent to Mr. Bolton of England, with the -request that he would have it facsimiled and distributed amongst all -Walt's friends. Here is the letter Horace Traubel wrote conveying the -poet's wishes. - - CAMDEN, N. J., February 8th, 1892 - - "W. asked me this ev'g to give you this counsel.--'If entirely - convenient, facsimile the letter of February 6th, and send it - copiously to European and American friends and friends - anywhere,'--letting us have copies here as well. It was a great - struggle to get this letter written and he wishes it to go out as his - general salutation of friends to whom his strength will not permit him - specially to write. It was framed with that end in view." - -The request was promptly complied with and an exact reproduction was -made, even to the use of two pieces of paper pasted together, as in the -original. The desired copies arrived before Walt's death, and he gave or -sent them to his friends, as he had done with the author's copies of his -book. He evinced much interest in doing this, and kindly presented his -nurses with both a facsimile and a book. - -As may be supposed, everyone was on the alert to secure his last -signature, and the nurse, who had the advantage of being on the spot -when he was able to write, had this honor. Selecting one of the numerous -photographs with which his room abounded--she subsequently learned that -this was his own favorite ("_Mr. Whitman was not vain as to pictures of -himself. He seemed to like best the photograph showing him sitting in a -chair with a butterfly in his hand._"--_Thomas Donaldson_)--she kept it -near his bed, and when the watched-for opportunity came, one morning -after he had signed some papers and had written a kindly word to his -sister (Mrs. Heyde of Burlington, Vt.), while she sat behind him as a -support, she reached for it, telling him that she would like to own it, -and hoped if he were not too fatigued he would autograph it for her. He -willingly complied, saying: "Yes, for you; but I would do it for no one -else." (I gave this picture, with feelings of gratitude for kindness -shown me, to Dr. Lucien Howe, of Buffalo, New York.--E. L. K.) The -signature was written with a blue pencil, as he had now discarded ink. -Only once again did he sign his name in full, and this was in a business -document. He used simply his initials in his last effort to write to -his sister. - -Unhappily, a change of care was in prospect, for Mrs. Keller was to -leave him the second week in March, in consequence of an engagement -previously made. She had mentioned this to Dr. Bucke, who had assured -her that it could not possibly conflict with his friend's case. But when -the sick man lingered until late in February, it was seen that some -steps must be taken. And yet his span of life was so uncertain, that -even at this late day it was deemed wiser not to mention the subject to -him until it could no longer be postponed. The matter was talked over -between his executors, his sister-in-law and the doctors, and all agreed -that under the circumstances a stranger in the house would not be -desirable. Mrs. Davis in particular dreaded it, and had made provision -against it. The friend who had before kept house for her, while she made -her trip to Southern California, was to come again to do the housework, -so that her own undivided time and attention might be given to the dying -man. - -The nurse left on March 8. From this time on Mr. Whitman grew more and -more uneasy in bed, and as he could now lie upon his left side but a -few moments at a time, he required almost constant turning; and for -eighteen days and nights his two faithful attendants did this. A water -bed was bought for him; he only had the comfort of it for a single -night. - -"March 25, 1.15 A. M., 1892.--We put him on the water bed at twelve -o'clock. I have turned him twice since, and I can assure you from -present indications if it does the old man no good, it will us. He turns -just as easy again; can turn him with one hand, and then it does away -with the ring. He was turned sixty-three times in the last twenty-four -hours; how is that for business? Kind of beats when you were here.... -Mama has one of her old headaches, has had it since yesterday, but hopes -to be clear of it by morning.... We had a run of visitors to-day, and -the old gent had four letters in the morning mail, of which three were -applications for autographs." (_Extracts from Warren's letter to Mrs. -Keller._) - -His last days were a repetition of the preceding ones; a flaring up of -the torch, and a dying down; a fainter flare, and a gentle going out. - -On the evening of March 26 a little card was printed and widely -circulated. - - Camden, N. J., March 26, '92. - - Whitman began sinking at 4.30 P. M. He continued to grow worse and - died at 6.43 P. M. The end came peacefully. He was conscious until the - last. - - There were present at the bedside when he died--Mrs. Davis, Warren - Fritzinger, Thos. B. Harned, Horace L. Trauble and myself. - - Alex. McAlister, M. D. - -This young physician saw much of Mr. Whitman during the last three -months of his life, and his faithful services were given without price. - -The evening previous to his death Mr. Whitman requested to see Mr. -Donaldson, the trusted friend who had done so much to make his home life -a success. He came at once, and they had a long last interview. Mrs. -Davis promised to notify him if the patient grew worse, and the next day -at three P. M. she wrote for him to come, saying that Mr. Whitman was -surely "slipping away" from them. He died before his friend reached the -house. His last words were addressed to his faithful "sailor boy": -"Shift, Warry." It was the time for the final turn, from life into -death. Mrs. Davis closed his eyes. - - - - -XVIII - -WINDING UP - - "_... the grand old man whose kindly face we never shall - forget._"--DR. ALEX. MCALISTER (_In a letter to Mrs. Keller_). - - "_These promises are fair, the parties sure._" - - --SHAKESPEARE (_I King Henry IV_). - - -On the morrow the little parlors were again cleared--this time to make -room for a coffin--and Walt Whitman, at last free from pain, was brought -downstairs. An artist was in waiting to take a cast of his face, and -later a post-mortem was held. Mrs. Davis thought the latter something -dreadful, believing as she did that it was either prompted by curiosity -or was done simply for the sake of a newspaper article. When all -preliminaries were over, the poet, clothed in his accustomed style, was -laid in his coffin. This, of heavy oak, was placed in the centre of one -room, and all through the afternoon friends and acquaintances came to -see him. The following day the public was admitted, and thousands -thronged in to look at the familiar form and face: that placid face, -telling that the long sought-for rest was at last attained. People -entered through one parlor door, then passing around the coffin left by -the other. - -During the morning Mrs. Davis made a hurried run to Philadelphia to -procure some needful things for the funeral, and on her return was -surprised and horrified to find that during her absence a load of empty -barrels had arrived, and that into these the literary executors--Dr. -Bucke having arrived the night before--were hastily packing all the -movable contents of the two upper rooms. This, to her, heartless -expediency was more than she could bear, and going upstairs she asked -why Mr. Whitman's things might not remain undisturbed until after he was -buried. Dr. Bucke told her curtly that his own time was limited, and it -was not convenient for _him_. Overcome with grief, she sought her own -room. She knew that Mr. Whitman's literary effects belonged legally to -his executors, but she felt that his home was sacred to him while he -remained in it. The barrels containing his writings and some articles -coming under the head of personal property, such as books, pictures, his -knapsack, the inkstand Mrs. Davis had bought for him while on her -journey, and by him returned to her, etc., were taken from the house -while he, the owner, lay there sleeping in his coffin. - -Of Walt Whitman's funeral much has been said and written. It was -arranged and conducted by friends, and was attended by many celebrated -people. Warren was sick and worn out, but kept up bravely and was at -everybody's bid and "on deck" throughout all; then he was obliged to -yield to a heavy cold and utter exhaustion. Mrs. Davis was little better -off, but was able to be around. - -It has been said that in Mr. Whitman's will he provided generously for -his housekeeper. He left her one thousand dollars; not one-fourth of the -sum she had expended for him, without taking into consideration her -seven years of unpaid service--and such service! The only additional -bequest to her was the free rentage of the house for the term of one -year. - -In a few months Mrs. Louise Whitman followed her brother-in-law, and the -will went into other hands. Still a few months later Edward Whitman died -in the asylum and was buried from the undertaker's, with no services -whatever. But three people followed him to the grave: his brother -George, Mrs. Davis, and Warren Fritzinger. - -When the professional nurse left Camden, Mrs. Whitman, to simplify -matters, settled with her from her own private bank account. This she -did in anticipation of the winding-up of the estate at the expiration of -one year after the death of her brother-in-law. She had talked with Mrs. -Davis on this subject and had instructed her to put in her claim at the -proper time. The year expired, but Mrs. Davis on presenting the claim -was told that it was thought that in all ways full justice had been done -her, and that no demands whatever of hers would be recognized; -furthermore, that it was the wish of the executors that she should -vacate the premises _at once_. - -This was an unexpected blow, and although her regard for Dr. Bucke -personally was lessened, her confidence in his integrity remained -unshaken, and she immediately wrote to him. Unmindful of his promises -that all should be well for her, and that he would be personally -responsible, he coolly refused to take any part in the matter, saying -that it was something which did not in the least concern him; she must -settle it with those at hand. She saw no way of redress, and was given -barely time in which to find another house. What an exit! - -Watch, the dog, showed more resistance, and was determined to remain in -his old quarters. He absolutely refused to leave, and as a last resort -was carried away in a securely locked cab. - -Warren was no better dealt with than his mother. Sadly changed from the -once robust sailor boy, he tramped the streets of Camden and -Philadelphia in search of work. _Any_ work this time; any work but -nursing! He applied to those who had been Mr. Whitman's most active -friends when anything of note was going on, but no encouragement was -given him; some went so far as to tell him that his services to his late -patient had about incapacitated him for many kinds of employment. He -solicited and applied, but no helping hand was held out to him. He took -soap orders, then accepted the only thing that presented itself, the -position of night watchman in a Camden bank. After awhile a tea -merchant--one of the most kind-hearted of men and a friend of both his -mother and Mr. Whitman--offered him a clerkship in his store. He would -have preferred outside work, but had no choice and gladly accepted. In a -year he married, and notwithstanding disappointments and -discouragements, was the same bright cheerful Warry to the end of his -short life. He died after a few days' sickness in October, 1899, aged -thirty-three years. - - - - -XIX - -THE TRIAL - - "_'Tis called ungrateful - With dull unwillingness to repay a debt._" - - --SHAKESPEARE (_Richard III_). - - "_Proceed in justice, which shall have due course._" - - --(_The Winter's Tale_). - - -But to go back. Mrs. Davis's friends, many of Mr. Whitman's, and a -number of outsiders were disgusted and indignant at the treatment she -had received and united in urging her to sue the estate and take her -case into court. She was loath to do this, and hesitated for a long -while; but in 1894 the unsolicited offer of an eminent judge to -represent her without a fee (he said she was the worst used woman he had -ever met) and the continued persuasions of her friends roused her at -last to stand up for herself, and for once to take her own part. The -loss of her money did not trouble her so much as the thought of what -might be (and had been) said against her. She was confident that had -Mrs. Whitman lived all would have been different. But Mrs. Whitman had -not lived, and she had to face a problem that perplexed and saddened -her, darkening her view of human nature, and throwing a shadow over the -past and the future. The whole thing seemed so impossible, so hopelessly -unfair. - -The trial came off in the county court house, Camden, in April, 1894. -Mrs. Davis's witnesses came voluntarily to her aid--the tea merchant -only, and at his own request, being subpoenaed. There was the former -orphan girl, now a wife and mother, who told the story of the poet's -coming to the widow's door; of her many kind offices to him, and his -appreciation; of his repeated promises to repay her if she would come to -live with him, and his urgent appeals to her to do so. She gave the -particulars of the transfer into the Mickle Street house, and much that -followed after; the purchases Mrs. Davis had made, and the expense she -had been put to. The first professional nurse, Mr. Musgrove, came -forward that he might speak his good word for the late housekeeper, and -the second and last trained nurse (Mrs. Keller) was glad to testify in -public to the plaintiff's devotion to her distinguished patient, and his -great regard for her. Warren told the plain and convincing story of Mr. -Whitman's intentions, as expressed to himself, of repaying his mother -for the money she had spent. When asked how he knew that she had spent -her own money, he answered that he had recognized at least the new gold -pieces he had given her--the double eagles--which had gone one by one -during the last two years. Then when the defendant's lawyer asked, in a -very insinuating manner, what had become of the champagne left in the -cellar at the time of Mr. Whitman's death, the young artist who lived -next door told how some boys had made their way into the cellar one day, -had drunk the wine and become hopelessly intoxicated. - -The friend who had kept house on the two special occasions, and who had -been a constant visitor there for seven years; neighbors who had seen -Mrs. Davis helping the old man in and out of his carriage and rolling -chair, and carefully covering and protecting him while he was sitting -out of doors; and others who knew of her unremitting attentions, all -spoke for her, while quite a number of citizens told her that her case -was so strong they would not volunteer as witnesses, but were with her -heart and soul. Among these was the young doctor. - -On the opposite side were the two literary executors, George Whitman, -and a few others. The oyster man was there to tell of the quantity of -oysters he had taken or sent to the house--more than one man, a sick man -at that, could possibly consume; the object was to accuse Mrs. Davis by -suggestion of getting them for herself in a dishonorable manner; but -when on the stand the man could not speak, and after the trial went to -her and begged her pardon. - -Much interest was manifested in the case, which lasted two days; the -court room was crowded at each session, and it was not difficult to tell -on which side lay the sympathy. Her opponents could bring no charge -against her; they could only try to slur her and belittle what she had -done. - -The testimony taken, Mrs. Davis's counsel called his client forward, -placed a chair for her in the sight of all, and then in touching, -eloquent words summed up the case, saying that many among those present -had seen Walt Whitman going about the streets of Camden, alone, cold and -neglected, that it was a well-remembered sight, just as it was a -well-known fact that this good woman's heart and home alone had been -opened to him. - -As was expected, Mrs. Davis won her case; she received a fair sum of -money, and the congratulations, spoken or written, of all who knew her -sterling worth and the true story of her years of service. - - - - -XX - -CONCLUSION - - "_Which makes her story true, even to the point of her - death._"--SHAKESPEARE (_All's Well That Ends Well_). - - "_A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion._"--(_Richard III_). - - -If, profiting from past experience, Mrs. Davis had learned to realize -that into all lives there comes a time when self has the right of -consideration, she could have avoided further complications. But the -early precepts were too deeply implanted, and before she had left the -Mickle Street house a selfish uninteresting woman had in some insidious -way fastened upon her. This burden she carried to the end. - -Nor were money troubles wanting, grave and crippling, and due of course -to the same fatal habit of helping others at her own expense. One day -there came to her in great agitation an admirer of her late friend and -patient, saying that he was threatened with financial ruin, even -defamation of character, unless a certain sum of money was at once -forthcoming; simply a loan for a few months; it would be faithfully -repaid. Mrs. Davis had long contemplated purchasing a small home; she -had the means of doing so, and this money was at once offered and -accepted, but never returned. Warren's death followed, and her one -strong prop was gone. - -Mrs. Davis was not much of a correspondent; but notwithstanding this, -she and the nurse, Mrs. Keller, occasionally exchanged letters, and the -most friendly relations existed between them. After there had been a -longer silence than usual, Mrs. Keller wrote to Dr. McAlister, asking -him if their friend still lived in Berkley Street (the house she went to -from Mickle Street, and the only one she lived in after that), and if -so, requesting him to call and learn why she did not write. He did so, -and replied that he had found Mrs. Davis about as usual, that she had -sent much love and the promise of writing soon. Another long interval of -silence followed, and finally came this letter--the last communication -that passed between them. - - "434 Berkley Street, CAMDEN, N. J. - October 16, 1908. - - "DEAR MRS. KELLER, - - I am just in receipt of your letter. Yes, Dr. McAlister did call last - spring and I told him I would write you in a few days, which I fully - intended to do, but it so turned out that I went to France with a - friend, where I spent the summer; I have been home about three weeks. - My going away was entirely unexpected, and I had but a few hours to - get in readiness; left everything at loose ends, and one vexatious - oversight was I forgot my address book. I thought about you many - times, and would have written to you from over there had I had your - address. I was delighted to hear from you--will write to you in a few - days. I am wrestling with a bad cold. Hope you are well. - - "Lovingly, - "M. O. DAVIS." - -Mrs. Davis had always wished to see Niagara Falls, and Mrs. Keller, -whose home was near that city, hoped that the long looked-for and -talked-of visit was at last near at hand; would take place in the -following summer. Instead, at the expiration of a month she received a -black-edged envelope, the contents reading: - - "Yourself and family are respectfully invited to attend the funeral of - Mary O. Davis on Monday, November 23, at 3 P. M., from the son's - residence--H. M. Fritzinger, 810 State Street, Camden, N. J. Interment - at Evergreen Cemetery." - -On November 20, 1908, the following notice appeared in several papers. - - WHITMAN'S LAST NURSE DEAD - - Woman Who Cared for Poet Succumbs Too. - - Mrs. Mary L. Davis, who nursed Walt Whitman, the "Good Gray Poet," - during his last illness, and was with him at his death, at No. 328 - Mickle street, Camden, died last night in Cooper Hospital of - intestinal troubles. She was the widow of Levin J. Davis. - - After the death of Whitman Mrs. Davis resided for a short time at No. - 432 Clinton street, Camden, and then she went to live with a wealthy - family in New York City. About a year ago she developed intestinal - troubles. The family she was living with took her to Paris for - treatment by eminent specialists. She returned a month ago and went to - Camden to visit Henry M. Fritzinger, of No. 810 State street. There - Mrs. Davis was taken ill with the affliction from which she suffered - so much, and was removed to Cooper Hospital. - -The nurse who had cared for him in his last illness!--not his "faithful -housekeeper, nurse and friend." But the brief report, it will be seen, -had more than one error. - -Perhaps the best way of giving a clear picture of the concluding stages -will be to quote a letter from her son--as he was always called; -Warren's brother Harry. It is a very human document. - - "DEAR FRIEND, - - I am convinced that you think this letter should have been written - long before, but on account of how things have gone I can assure you - that I was taxed to the utmost. Mother died on the 18th of November; - buried on the 23rd. You would be surprised how people who were her - friends through money have changed.... - - "When Mother moved from Mickle Street to 434 Berkley Street she lived - there until she died, although I tried for years to get her to come - and live with me, as she would have been company for my wife when I - was away. She had a party living with her by the name of Mrs. H----, a - big lazy impostor. She waited on her, carried coal and water upstairs, - ashes and slops downstairs, until she worked herself into the - condition which she died from. - - "About eighteen months or two years ago, there was a family by the - name of Mr. and Mrs. Mailloux, and Dr. Bell of New York, admirers of - Walt Whitman, who came on and got acquainted with Mother. They took a - great liking to her and offered her a home with them, but she still - stayed on in Berkley Street. Mother paid them several visits, and at - last was persuaded to accompany Mrs. Mailloux to Paris on their - regular trip, as a companion. She left America feeling as well as - ever. My wife and I saw her aboard the train at Broad Street, and she - was met in Jersey City by her friends. - - "While she was in Paris, this woman who was living with her started - the devil going, when I was compelled to go down and take charge of - the house. It warmed up until I was compelled to write to Mother and - ask her to send me authority to protect her interests. This spoiled - her visit; she returned to America before the rest of the party. When - she arrived she came directly to my house; was suffering with a severe - cold. She was with us about six weeks. In the meantime my wife had her - fixed up in fairly good shape. She told me that she was going to break - up and come to live with us, but could not do it in a day or two. - - "After she was home about a week she was sick. She fooled along until - I became dissatisfied and sent my doctor down to her. He attended her - two days, and ordered her to the hospital, as an operation was the - only thing to save her. After she was opened they found the bowels - separated, also a cancerous tumor. She lived five days after the - operation. - - "All this trouble was not felt until two weeks before she died. Where - the report came from about her ill health and going to Paris for aid I - do not know, but you always find newspaper reports wrong. - - "Well, there is one thing that I feel thankful for: that she died - before I did. If such had not been the case, she would have been - buried in a pauper's grave, or gone to the dissecting table. - - "Mother has been a friend to many; they have handled what money she - had, amounting to hundreds of dollars. When she died all debts were - cancelled as far as they were concerned, and not one would say: 'Here - is five cents towards putting a good and faithful servant away.' But - Mother was laid away as fine as anybody...." - -Little more need be said. Mrs. Davis was comparatively a young woman at -the time of Walt Whitman's death,--being then in her fifty-fifth -year,--and in the sixteen years that followed, his friends passed away -one by one, and she almost passed out of the memory of his life, as -though she had never taken part in it. But the part she did take -deserves remembrance. - -Harry Fritzinger's letter speaks for itself, and I have tried, poorly as -I may have done so, to speak for one whom I valued and value as a good -woman and a loving friend. - - - - -WALT WHITMAN'S MONUMENTS - -A LETTER WRITTEN IN CAMDEN ON THE TWENTY-SEVENTH ANNIVERSARY OF HIS -DEATH - -BY GUIDO BRUNO - - -DEAR WALT WHITMAN: - -To-day is the 27th anniversary of your death. I came here to worship at -your shrine. I am a European, you must know, and reverence of our great -writers and artists is bred in us, is part of our early training. We -love to visit the houses where genius lived, to see with our own eyes -the places our great men loved. Camden hasn't changed much since you -left. The people among whom you lived are to-day the same as they were -then: petty, mean, vain, unforgiving. Your friends are few just as in -the olden days. Let me tell you about it. - -It never entered my mind to make sure of the street number of your old -residence. "Any child on the street will direct me," I thought, "to -Whitman's house." Getting off the ferry, the same ferry on which you -loved to ride back and forth, in spring and autumn, I asked a policeman -how to get to your house. "The Whitman House?" he repeated; "it's -somewhere out of the way, I'm sure. You had better stop in the Ridgely -House. That's the best place in town." He knew nothing of you and -thought I was looking for a hotel. A druggist at the nearby corner knew -about you. "William Kettler used to be a great friend of his," he told -me. "He'll tell you all about him." And he gave me Mr. Kettler's -address. Mr. Kettler still lives on North Street, and has become chief -city librarian lately. He's very deaf, but extremely kind and friendly. -He was in the midst of moving. Mrs. Kettler is ill, you must know, and -they will live on the shore for the rest of the season. - -"This Whitman cult makes me sick," he commenced. "Who was Whitman -anyway? A poet? I dare say that there are hundreds of magazine writers -to-day as there were during his lifetime, who write just as good verse -as he did. And his prose is abominable. His writings are not fit to be -read in a respectable home. They corrupt the mind and are dangerous to -the morals. We knew him well, we saw him daily and his disgraceful way -of living was open town talk. - -"I was a newspaper man and associated with the old Camden _Post_ at the -time of Bonsall, when Whitman used to come to see us almost daily. -Bonsall used to be a friend of his and did him a great many good turns. -But Whitman was an ingrate. - -"Shall I tell you what we respectable citizens of Camden think of him? I -don't mean the young generation, but the people who actually knew him. -It doesn't sound nice to speak badly about dead people. But we knew him -as an incorrigible beggar who lived very immorally ... an old loafer. - -"Why, only a few months ago, one of the most prominent citizens of our -town, John J. Russ, the great real estate dealer, objected to Whitman's -name on the Honor Tablet of our new library. Judge Howard Carrot of -Merchantville could tell you how that old scoundrel got people into -trouble, and if the case had come into court, the scandal would have -been so great, that the Judge decided to dispose of it privately. - -"I remember, several years after the Civil War, Whitman's last visit to -the Camden _Post_. Mr. Bonsall, the chief editor, myself and Whitman -were chatting in the office. There was a very young reporter in the -room. Mr. Whitman insisted on telling us one of his filthy stories. He -knew many of them and would tell them without discriminating who was -present. Filth seemed to be always on his mind. Mr. Bonsall was shocked. -And I remember distinctly what he told him, before turning him out of -the office. 'Look here, Whitman,' he said, 'why don't you become a -useful citizen, like every one of us? You never did anything decent and -worthy of an American citizen. While we took up our guns and went out to -fight the enemy, you stalked about hospitals, posing as a -philanthropist. Later on, we returned to civilian life, hunting jobs and -pensions, trying to earn a livelihood, while you were preaching -Humanitarian principles and talking against the cruelties of warfare on -Union Square. _Now_, while we are chained to our jobs, you are writing -pornographic pieces that no self-respecting publisher would print, and -loaf about most of the time, corrupting our young folk. I will not -tolerate loose talk in these offices, therefore, get out and never let -me see you again.'" - -"But haven't you said," I interjected, "that Mr. Bonsall was a friend of -Whitman?" - -"They used to be friends," cried Mr. Kettler, "until that treacherous -business of the poem came up. Whitman was getting up a little book of -poems. Mr. Bonsall, who, in my estimation, was not only an excellent man -and writer, but also a poet of no mean ability, sent in a contribution. -This particular poem was very beautiful. It was the only one that -Whitman did not print. Ever since Mr. Bonsall and myself had not much -use for Whitman, who stabbed his friends in the back at the first -opportunity." - -"Hurt vanity," I thought. How small this man Kettler seemed to me with -his petty grievances. Forty years have passed and he couldn't forget -your refusal of a poem. - -"But what is the worst," Mr. Kettler continued, "Whitman has spoiled the -life of Horace Traubel. What an excellent young man he used to be, the -son of an honored, upright citizen. Traubel got obsessed with Whitman's -greatness. He devoted his whole life to Whitman. He took Whitman's -morals for his own standard." And Mr. Kettler proceeded to tell about -Traubel's private life. Some stories a policeman's wife, Traubel's next -door neighbor, had told him. - -Does all this amuse you, Walt Whitman? - -The frame-house where you lived is in a dreadful condition. An Italian -family is living there. A taxi driver, Thomas Skymer. He has three -children and four boarders. The boarders have children, too. A litter of -young ones are playing in your back yard, around the broken well. Your -front room, where you used to sit near the window and entertain your -visitors, is a living and dining room combined. Not even a picture of -yours is in this room. Over the mantel hangs a cheap chromo of the -Italian King. One of the little boys knew your name. "Do you want to see -where the old guy died?" he asked, and led me into the back room on the -same floor. There was a big bed there. I never saw a bigger one in my -life. "We all sleep in it," said the boy. - -I know, Walt Whitman, you are shrugging your shoulders, smiling -indifferently. What does it matter to you who is sleeping now in the -room where you died, who is living now in the house where you lived, -loved and sang? But my heart cramped and ached. The poverty, the bad -odor, the utter irreverence! This Italian pays $10 a month rent. The -neighborhood is run down, and the property could be easily bought for a -few thousand dollars. Is this how the greatest nation honors its -greatest literary genius? - -Your enthusiastic young physician, Dr. Alexander McAlister, has grown a -bit old, but not in spirit. He took me up to his library and here, as -well as in his heart, you have found your sanctuary. - -"I loved Walt Whitman," Dr. McAlister said, "ever since I was a student -in the medical school, and met the old gentleman regularly on the -street. We talked occasionally; once he asked me to his house, later on, -after my graduation, I had occasion to render him professional services, -and for all the years, until Whitman's death, I called on him at least -once a day. He was the most clean-minded and kind man I have ever met. I -never heard him utter an obscene word. The magnificent personality of -Walt Whitman and his general comradeship, inspired by his ingrained -feelings and intuitive beliefs concerning the destiny of America, must -certainly have impressed all who met him long before he was known as a -poet. He lived a life so broad and noble that it will be more studied -and emulated, and will sink deeper and deeper into the heart. The -social, human world, through his aid, will reach a level hitherto -unattained. The new life which he preached has not been even dreamed of -yet, has not become yet an object of aspiration to us Americans. He has -set the spark to the prepared fuel, the living glow has crept deeply -into the dormant mass; even now tongues of flame begin to shoot forth. -The longer Whitman is dead the better he will be known. He seems to me -the typical American, the typical modern, the source and centre of a -new, spiritual aspiration, saner and manlier than any heretofore. -Whitman thought that man has within him the element of the Divine, and -that this element was capable of indefinite growth and expansion. - -"He was the most democratic man that ever lived. Everybody was welcome -to his house, everybody his equal, he was everybody's friend. He had -many enemies, but also many friends. He thought Ingersoll his best -friend. Dr. Longaker and Horace Traubel were almost always present, -especially during the last years of his life. Once in a while they got -on his nerves because they continually carried paper and pencil, writing -down every word he said. Let me tell you a few incidents of his last -illness. They all expected him to die. Traubel and Dr. Longaker were -constantly in the hall outside of the sick room, eager to catch every -one of Whitman's words. Warren Fritzinger, his nurse, was with him. - -"'Are those damn fools out there this afternoon?' he remarked when his -condition became very weak and the rustling of papers in the hall seemed -to annoy him. - -"The day before he died I came in the morning and asked him, 'How do you -feel?' - -"'Well, Doctor,' he answered, 'I am tired of this dreadful monotony of -waiting. I am tired of the sword of Damocles suspended over my head.'" - -Would it interest you, Walt Whitman, to know about your last minutes on -earth, when you lay unconscious in a coma? Dr. McAlister described them -to me. "His end was peaceful. He died at 6:43 P. M. At 4:30 he called -Mrs. Davis and requested to be shifted from the position he was lying -in. The nurse was sent for, and later on they sent me a message. When I -reached his bedside, he was lying on his right side, his pulse was very -weak and his respiration correspondingly so. I asked him if he suffered -pain and if I could do anything for him. He smiled kindly and murmured -low. He lay quietly for some time with closed eyes. A little after 5 his -eyes opened for a moment, his lips moved slightly, and he succeeded in -whispering: '_Warry, Shift._' Warry was his nurse, and these were the -last words of Whitman. Then the end came. I bent over him to detect the -last sign of the fleeting life. His heart continued to pulsate for fully -fifty minutes after he ceased breathing." - -Dr. McAlister was a great friend of yours, Walt Whitman, and I feel that -you are with him every minute of his life. He showed me letters from -your old nurse, Mrs. Keller, who wrote a few articles about you. He -treasures the books you inscribed for him, your pictures hang on his -walls and he especially loves the little plaster cast you gave him. - -Of course, you know that an autopsy was performed shortly after your -death. May I tell you about your brain, which is at present in the -possession of the Anthropometric Society? I believe it is an honor to -have one's brains placed in this society's museum, because this society -has been organized for the express purpose of studying high-type brains. -The cause of your death was pleurisy of your left side and consumption -of the right lung. You had a fatty liver, and a large gall stone in the -gall bladder. The good doctors marvelled that you could have carried on -respiration for so long a time with the limited amount of useful lung -tissue. They ascribed it largely to that indomitable energy "which was -so characteristic of everything pertaining to the life of Walt Whitman." -They said in their official report that any other man would have died -much earlier with one-half of the pathological changes which existed in -your body. - -In the late afternoon while the sun was setting over an ideal spring -day, I walked out to the Harleigh Cemetery, where you built for yourself -that magnificent tomb. How wise you were, Walt Whitman, to supervise the -cutting of the stones, to watch the workmen while they were preparing -your grave. What a beautiful spot you chose for your last resting place. -The lake lay still in the warm evening air, the willows swayed gently as -if patted by unseen hands. An old working-man, about to leave the -cemetery, showed me the spot where you used to sit and watch them work. -He told me how you wrote "pieces" on scraps of paper that you borrowed -here and there, and how you read them to the stonecutters, who were -building your tomb. I asked for the key. They keep it locked lately. I -opened the heavy granite door, and stood for quite a while in the -semi-darkness of your little house. I thought of you lying there on -your bier, peaceful, indifferent, kind. Then I thought of the other -monument you had built in words, a temple not made with hands, builded -for eternity. - -Always self-sufficing, walking your own path towards your own goal. No -legend tells of you, of your life or achievement. You live in the hearts -of thousands of Americans. Soon, very soon, perhaps, your name and -America will be synonymous. Walt Whitman, we here on earth are awakening -to your ideals of America. - - Affectionately yours, - GUIDO BRUNO - - - - -WALT WHITMAN SPEAKS - - - - - Ever upon this stage - Is acted God's calm annual drama, - Gorgeous processions, songs of birds, - Sunrise that fullest feeds and freshens most the soul, - The heaving sea, the waves upon the shore, the musical, strong waves, - The woods, the stalwart trees, the slender, tapering trees, - The liliput countless armies of the grass, - The heat, the showers, the measureless pasturages, - The scenery of the snows, the winds' free orchestra, - The stretching light-hung roof of clouds, the clear cerulean and the - silvery fringes, - The high dilating stars, the placid beckoning stars, - The moving flocks and herds, the plains and emerald meadows, - The shows of all the varied lands and all the growths and products. - - [_The Return of the Heroes_] - - - - - Shot gold, maroon and violet, dazzling silver, emerald, fawn, - The earth's whole amplitude and Nature's multiform power consign'd for - once to colors; - The light, the general air possess'd by them--colors till now unknown, - No limit, confine--not the Western sky alone--the high meridian-- - North, South, all, - Pure luminous color fighting the silent shadows to the last. - - [_A Prairie Sunset_] - - - - - Ever the undiscouraged, resolute, struggling soul of man; - (Have former armies fail'd? then we send fresh armies--and fresh - again); - Ever the grappled mysteries of all earth's ages old or new; - Ever the eager eyes, hurrahs, the welcome-clapping hands, the loud - applause; - Ever the soul dissatisfied, curious, unconvinced at last, - Struggling to-day the same--battling the same. - - [_Life_] - - - - - Spirit that form'd this scene, - These tumbled rock-piles grim and red, - These reckless heaven-ambitious peaks, - These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness, - These formless wild arrays, for reasons of their own, - I know thee, savage spirit--we have communed together, - Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own; - Was't charged against my chants they had forgotten art? - To fuse within themselves its rules precise and delicatesse? - The lyrist's measur'd beat, the wrought-out temple's grace--column and - polish'd arch forgot? - But thou that revellest here--spirit that form'd this scene, - They have remember'd thee. - - [_Spirit That Formed This Scene_] - - - - - Quicksand years that whirl me I know not whither, - Your schemes, politics, fail, lines give way, substances mock and - elude me, - Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possess'd soul, eludes - not, - One's-Self must never give way--that is the final substance--that out - of all is sure, - Out of politics, triumphs, battles, life, what at last finally - remains? - When shows break up what but One's-Self is sure? - - [_Quicksand Years_] - - - - - O living always, always dying! - O the burials of me past and present, - O me while I stride ahead, material, visible, imperious as ever; - O me, what I was for years, now dead, (I lament not, I am content); - O to disengage myself from those corpses of me, which I turn and look - at where I cast them, - To pass on (O living! always living!) and leave the corpses behind. - - [_O Living Always, Always Dying_] - - - - - This is thy hour, O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, - Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, - Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou - lovest best, - Night, sleep, death and the stars. - - [_A Clear Midnight_] - - - - - I was thinking the day most splendid till I saw what the not-day - exhibited, - I was thinking this globe enough till there sprang out so noiseless - around me myriads of other globes. - - Now while the great thoughts of space and eternity fill me I will - measure myself by them, - And now touch'd with the lives of other globes arrived as far along as - those of the earth, - Or waiting to arrive, or pass'd on farther than those of the earth, - I henceforth no more ignore them than I ignore my own life, - Or the lives of the earth arrived as far as mine, or waiting to - arrive. - - O I see now that life cannot exhibit all to me, as the day cannot, - I see that I am to wait for what will be exhibited by death. - - [_Night on the Prairies_] - - - - - Now the great organ sounds, - Tremulous, while underneath (as the hid footholds of the earth, - On which arising rest, and leaping forth depend, - All shapes of beauty, grace and strength, all hues we know, - Green blades of grass and warbling birds, children that gambol and - play, the clouds of heaven above) - The strong base stands, and its pulsations intermits not, - Bathing, supporting, merging all the rest, maternity of all the rest, - And with it every instrument in multitudes, - The players playing, all the world's musicians, - The solemn hymns and masses rousing adoration, - All passionate heart-chants, sorrowful appeals, - The measureless sweet vocalists of ages, - And for their solvent setting earth's own diapason, - Of winds and woods and mighty ocean waves, - A new composite orchestra, binder of years and climes, ten-fold - renewer, - As of the far-back days the poets tell, the Paradiso, - The straying thence, the separation long, but now the wandering done, - The journey done, the journeyman come home, - And man and art with Nature fused again. - - [_Proud Music of the Storm_] - - - - - Now trumpeter for thy close, - Vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet, - Sing to my soul, renew its languishing faith and hope, - Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of the future, - Give me for once its prophecy and joy. - - O glad, exulting, culminating song! - A vigor more than earth's is in thy notes, - Marches of victory--man disenthral'd--the conqueror at last, - Hymns to the universal God from universal man--all joy! - A reborn race appears--a perfect world, all joy! - Women and men in wisdom, innocence and health--all joy! - Riotous laughing bacchanals fill'd with joy! - War, sorrow, suffering gone--the rank earth purged--nothing but joy - left! - The ocean fill'd with joy--the atmosphere all joy! - Joy! joy! in freedom, worship, love! joy in the ecstasy of life! - Enough to merely be! enough to breathe! - Joy! joy! all over joy! - - [_The Mystic Trumpeter_] - - - - - The touch of flame--the illuminating fire--the loftiest look at last, - O'er city, passion, sea--o'er prairie, mountain, wood--the earth - itself; - The airy, different, changing hues of all, in falling twilight, - Objects and groups, bearings, faces, reminiscences; - The calmer sight--the golden setting, clear and broad: - So much i' the atmosphere, the points of view, the situation whence - we scan, - Brought out by them alone--so much (perhaps the best) unreck'd before; - The lights indeed from them--old age's lambent peaks. - - [_Old Age's Lambent Peaks_] - - - - - Thanks in old age--thanks ere I go, - For health, the midday sun, the impalpable air--for life, mere life, - For precious ever-lingering memories, (of you, my mother dear--you, - father--you, brothers, sisters, friends), - For all my days--not those of peace alone--the days of war the same, - For gentle words, caresses, gifts from foreign lands, - For shelter, wine and meat--for sweet appreciation, - (You distant, dim unknown--or young or old--countless, unspecified, - readers belov'd, - We never met, and ne'er shall meet--and yet our souls embrace, long, - close and long); - For beings, groups, love, deeds, words, books--for colors, forms, - For all the brave strong men--devoted, hardy men--who've forward - sprung in freedom's help, all years, all lands, - For braver, stronger, more devoted men--(a special laurel ere I go, - to life's war's chosen ones, - The cannoneers of song and thought--the great artillerists--the - foremost leaders, captains of the soul): - As soldier from an ended war return'd--as traveller out of myriads, - to the long procession retrospective, - Thanks--joyful thanks!--a soldier's, traveller's thanks. - - [_Thanks in Old Age_] - - - - - _Prais'd be the fathomless universe, - For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, - And for love, sweet love--but praise! praise! praise! - For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death._ - - [_When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd_] - - - - -INDEX - - -Acharon Society, 60 - -Aldrich, T. B., 139 - -Anthropometric Society, 204 - -"Auntie, Blind," 1, 2, 3 - - -Bell, Dr., 192 - -"Blind Auntie," 1, 2, 3 - -Bolton, Mr., 171 - -Bonsall, Mr., 197 - -Bruno, Guido, 195, 206 - -Bucke, Dr. R. M., IX, 102, 103, 105, 106, 108, 109, 149, 150, 151, 152, - 153, 154, 158, 173, 177 - -Button, Miss, 168 - - -Camden _Post_, 197 - -Carrot, Judge Howard, 197 - -Childs, George W., 13 - -"Coddie," 162 - -Cooper Hospital, 190 - - -Davis, Capt. L. J., 4, 190 - -Davis, Mary O., _passim_ - -Donaldson, Blaine, 49 - -Donaldson, Thomas, 1, 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 18, 21, 30, 37, 38, 39, 47, - 48, 49, 52, 61, 100, 103, 111, 113, 119, 127, 146, 172, 175 - -Duckett, Wm., 69 - - -Ellis, Sarah, V - - -Fritzinger, Capt., 4, 5, 11, 25, 62 - -Fritzinger, Henry M., 119, 163, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194 - -Fritzinger, Mrs., 3, 18, 68 - -Fritzinger, Walt Whitman, 164 - -Fritzinger, Warren, 119 _sqq._, 203, 204 - - -Gilchrist, Herbert, 76 _sqq._ - - -Harleigh Cemetery, 133, 138, 205 - -Harned, Thomas B., 101, 151 - -Heyde, Mrs., 172 - -Hicks, Elias, 95 - -Howe, Dr. Lucien, 172 - - -Ingersoll, Col. Robt., 133, 134, 135, 161, 202 - -_In Re Walt Whitman_, 9, 112, 126 - - -Johnston, Jas., X - -Johnston, Mr. (N. Y.), 133, 134 - - -Keller, Mrs. E. L., V, VI, VII, 164, 172, 173, 174, 176, 183, 188, 204 - -Keller, Wm. Wallace, V - -Kennedy, Wm. Sloane, 67, 99, 113, 133, 140, 189 - -Kettler, Wm., 196, 198, 199 - -Kettler, Mrs. W., 196 - - -_Leaves of Grass_, 157 - -Leavitt, Jas. S., V - -Lincoln lecture, 60, 69, 130 - -Longaker, Dr., 161, 202 - - -McAlister, Dr. Alex., 161, 175, 176, 188, 189, 201, 203, 204 - -McKay, D., 169 - -Mailloux, Mr., 192 - -Mailloux, Mrs., 192 - -Mary, 58 - -Morse, Sidney, 18, 37, 73 _sqq._ - -Musgrove, Mr., 108, 183 - - -N. Y. _Evening Telegram_, 165, 166 - -N. Y. _Herald_, 54, 137 - -N. Y. _Times_, 71 - -N. Y. _Tribune_, 70 - - -Packard, S. T., 98 - -Perry, Bliss, 142 - - -Russ, J. J., 167 - - -St. Mark (quoted), 1 - -Shakespeare (quoted), 176, 182, 187 - -Skymer, Thomas, 200 - -Stafford family, 67 - -Stedman, Laura, 70 - -Swinton, John, 137, 138 - - -Thompson, Vance, 27 - -"Timber Creek," 67, 90 - -Traubel, Horace, 30, 55, 68, 101, 107, 126, 151, 165, 171, 199, 202 - -Trowbridge, John T., 129 - - -_Walt Whitman the Man_, 8 - -Whitman, Edward, 31, 63, 178 - -Whitman, George, 9, 104, 153, 179, 185 - -Whitman, Jefferson, 153 - -Whitman, Miss Jessie, 153 - -Whitman, Mrs. G., 63, 104, 106, 156, 158, 178, 182 - -Wilkins, E., 55, 115, 119, 129, 137 - -Women's Hospital, Phila., VI - - - - -TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: - - - Text in italics is surrounded with underscores: _italics_. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained from the original. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Walt Whitman in Mickle Street, by -Elizabeth Leavitt Keller - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WALT WHITMAN IN MICKLE STREET *** - -***** This file should be named 42281-8.txt or 42281-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/2/8/42281/ - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, David E. 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