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diff --git a/8813-h/8813-h.htm b/8813-h/8813-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..da9f587 --- /dev/null +++ b/8813-h/8813-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,26655 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Complete Prose Works, by Walt Whitman + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: right; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; margin-left: 0.8em; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Complete Prose Works, by Walt Whitman + +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: Complete Prose Works + Specimen Days and Collect, November Boughs and Goodbye My Fancy + +Author: Walt Whitman + + +Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8813] +This file was first posted on August 22, 2003 +Last Updated: June 2, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COMPLETE PROSE WORKS *** + + + + +Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, Marc D'Hooghe and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + COMPLETE PROSE WORKS + </h1> + <h3> + Specimen Days and Collect, November Boughs and Good Bye My Fancy + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Walt Whitman + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_TOC"> DETAILED CONTENTS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> SPECIMEN DAYS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> A HAPPY HOUR'S COMMAND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> COLLECT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ONE OR TWO INDEX ITEMS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> DEMOCRATIC VISTAS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> ORIGINS OF ATTEMPTED SECESSION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACES TO "LEAVES OF GRASS" </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF2"> PREFACE, 1855 To first issue of Leaves of Grass. + <i>Brooklyn, N.Y.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF3"> PREFACE, 1872 To As a Strong Bird on Pinions Free + Now Thou Mother with </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF4"> PREFACE, 1876 <i>To the two-volume Centennial + Edition of</i> Leaves of Grass </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> A MEMORANDUM AT A VENTURE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> DEATH OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN LECTURE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> TWO LETTERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_NOTE"> NOTES LEFT OVER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_APPE"> APPENDIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> PIECES IN EARLY YOUTH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> NOVEMBER BOUGHS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> OUR EMINENT VISITORS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> THE BIBLE AS POETRY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> FATHER TAYLOR (AND ORATORY) </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> THE SPANISH ELEMENT IN OUR NATIONALITY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> WHAT LURKS BEHIND SHAKSPERE'S HISTORICAL PLAYS + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> A THOUGHT ON SHAKSPERE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> ROBERT BURNS AS POET AND PERSON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> A WORD ABOUT TENNYSON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> SLANG IN AMERICA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> AN INDIAN BUREAU REMINISCENCE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> SOME DIARY NOTES AT RANDOM </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> SOME WAR MEMORANDA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> FIVE THOUSAND POEMS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> THE OLD BOWERY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_NOTE2"> NOTES TO LATE ENGLISH BOOKS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF5"> PREFACE TO THE READER IN THE BRITISH ISLANDS—"Specimen + Days in </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF6"> PREFACE TO "DEMOCRATIC VISTAS" WITH OTHER PAPERS—<i>English + Edition</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> ABRAHAM LINCOLN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> NEW ORLEANS IN 1848 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> SMALL MEMORANDA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> LAST OF THE WAR CASES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> Endnotes (<i>such as they are) founded on</i> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> GOOD-BYE MY FANCY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> AMERICAN NATIONAL LITERATURE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> A DEATH-BOUQUET </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> SOME LAGGARDS YET </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> MEMORANDA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF7"> PREFACE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> WALT WHITMAN'S LAST {49} </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DETAILED CONTENTS + </h2> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> SPECIMEN DAYS </a> + </p> + <p> + SPECIMEN DAYS <br /> A Happy Hour's Command <br /> Answer to an Insisting + Friend <br /> Genealogy—Van Velsor and Whitman <br /> The Old Whitman + and Van Velsor Cemeteries <br /> The Maternal Homestead <br /> Two Old + Family Interiors <br /> Paumanok, and my Life on it as Child and Young Man + <br /> My First Reading—Lafayette <br /> Printing Office—Old + Brooklyn <br /> Growth—Health—Work <br /> My Passion for Ferries + <br /> Broadway Sights <br /> Omnibus Jaunts and Drivers <br /> Plays and + Operas too <br /> Through Eight Years <br /> Sources of Character—Results—1860 + <br /> Opening of the Secession War <br /> National Uprising and + Volunteering <br /> Contemptuous Feeling <br /> Battle of Bull Run, July, + 1861 <br /> The Stupor Passes—Something Else Begins <br /> Down at the + Front <br /> After First Fredericksburg <br /> Back to Washington <br /> + Fifty Hours Left Wounded on the Field <br /> Hospital Scenes and Persons + <br /> Patent-Office Hospital <br /> The White House by Moonlight <br /> An + Army Hospital Ward <br /> A Connecticut Case <br /> Two Brooklyn Boys <br /> + A Secesh Brave <br /> The Wounded from Chancellorsville <br /> A Night + Battle over a Week Since <br /> Unnamed Remains the Bravest Soldier <br /> + Some Specimen Cases <br /> My Preparations for Visits <br /> Ambulance + Processions <br /> Bad Wounds—the Young <br /> The Most Inspiriting of + all War's Shows <br /> Battle of Gettysburg <br /> A Cavalry Camp <br /> A + New York Soldier <br /> Home-Made Music <br /> Abraham Lincoln <br /> Heated + Term <br /> Soldiers and Talks <br /> Death of a Wisconsin Officer <br /> + Hospitals Ensemble <br /> A Silent Night Ramble <br /> Spiritual Characters + among the Soldiers <br /> Cattle Droves about Washington <br /> Hospital + Perplexity <br /> Down at the Front <br /> Paying the Bounties <br /> Rumors, + Changes, Etc. <br /> Virginia <br /> Summer of 1864 <br /> A New Army + Organization fit for America <br /> Death of a Hero <br /> Hospital Scenes—Incidents + <br /> A Yankee Soldier <br /> Union Prisoners South <br /> Deserters <br /> A + Glimpse of War's Hell-Scenes <br /> Gifts—Money—Discrimination + <br /> Items from My Note Books <br /> A Case from Second Bull Run <br /> + Army Surgeons—Aid Deficiencies <br /> The Blue Everywhere <br /> A + Model Hospital <br /> Boys in the Army <br /> Burial of a Lady Nurse <br /> + Female Nurses for Soldiers <br /> Southern Escapees <br /> The Capitol by + Gas-Light <br /> The Inauguration <br /> Attitude of Foreign Governments + During the War <br /> The Weather—Does it Sympathize with These + Times? <br /> Inauguration Ball <br /> Scene at the Capitol <br /> A Yankee + Antique <br /> Wounds and Diseases <br /> Death of President Lincoln <br /> + Sherman's Army Jubilation—its Sudden Stoppage <br /> No Good Portrait + of Lincoln <br /> Releas'd Union Prisoners from South <br /> Death of a + Pennsylvania Soldier <br /> The Armies Returning <br /> The Grand Review + <br /> Western Soldiers <br /> A Soldier on Lincoln <br /> Two Brothers, one + South, one North <br /> Some Sad Cases Yet <br /> Calhoun's Real Monument + <br /> Hospitals Closing <br /> Typical Soldiers <br /> "Convulsiveness" + <br /> Three Years Summ'd up <br /> The Million Dead, too, Summ'd up <br /> + The Real War will never get in the Books <br /> An Interregnum Paragraph + <br /> New Themes Enter'd Upon <br /> Entering a Long Farm-Lane <br /> To the + Spring and Brook <br /> An Early Summer Reveille <br /> Birds Migrating at + Midnight <br /> Bumble-Bees <br /> Cedar-Apples <br /> Summer Sights and + Indolences <br /> Sundown Perfume—Quail-Notes—the Hermit Thrush + <br /> A July Afternoon by the Pond <br /> Locusts and Katy-Dids <br /> The + Lesson of a Tree <br /> Autumn Side-Bits <br /> The Sky—Days and + Nights—Happiness <br /> Colors—A Contrast <br /> November 8, '76 + <br /> Crows and Crows <br /> A Winter-Day on the Sea-Beach <br /> Sea-Shore + Fancies <br /> In Memory of Thomas Paine <br /> A Two Hours' Ice-Sail <br /> + Spring Overtures—Recreations <br /> One of the Human Kinks <br /> An + Afternoon Scene <br /> The Gates Opening <br /> The Common Earth, the Soil + <br /> Birds and Birds and Birds <br /> Full-Starr'd Nights <br /> Mulleins + and Mulleins <br /> Distant Sounds <br /> A Sun-Bath—Nakedness <br /> + The Oaks and I <br /> A Quintette <br /> The First Frost—Mems <br /> + Three Young Men's Deaths <br /> February Days <br /> A Meadow Lark <br /> + Sundown Lights <br /> Thoughts Under an Oak—A Dream <br /> Clover and + Hay Perfume <br /> An Unknown <br /> Bird Whistling <br /> Horse-Mint <br /> + Three of Us <br /> Death of William Cullen Bryant <br /> Jaunt up the Hudson + <br /> Happiness and Raspberries <br /> A Specimen Tramp Family <br /> + Manhattan from the Bay <br /> Human and Heroic New York <br /> Hours for the + Soul <br /> Straw-Color'd and other Psyches <br /> A Night Remembrance <br /> + Wild Flowers <br /> A Civility Too Long Neglected <br /> Delaware River—Days + and Nights <br /> Scenes on Ferry and River—Last Winter's Nights + <br /> The First Spring Day on Chestnut Street <br /> Up the Hudson to + Ulster County <br /> Days at J.B.'s—Turf Fires—Spring Songs + <br /> Meeting a Hermit <br /> An Ulster County Waterfall <br /> Walter + Dumont and his Medal <br /> Hudson River Sights <br /> Two City Areas + Certain Hours <br /> Central Park Walks and Talks <br /> A Fine Afternoon, 4 + to 6 <br /> Departing of the Big Steamers <br /> Two Hours on the Minnesota + <br /> Mature Summer Days and Night <br /> Exposition Building—New + City Hall—River-Trip <br /> Swallows on the River <br /> Begin a Long + Jaunt West <br /> In the Sleeper <br /> Missouri State <br /> Lawrence and + Topeka, Kansas <br /> The Prairies—(and an Undeliver'd Speech) <br /> + On to Denver—A Frontier Incident <br /> An Hour on Kenosha Summit + <br /> An Egotistical "Find" <br /> New Scenes—New Joys <br /> + Steam-Power, Telegraphs, Etc. <br /> America's Back-Bone <br /> The Parks + <br /> Art Features <br /> Denver Impressions <br /> I Turn South and then + East Again <br /> Unfulfill'd Wants—the Arkansas River <br /> A Silent + Little Follower—the Coreopsis <br /> The Prairies and Great Plains in + Poetry <br /> The Spanish Peaks—Evening on the Plains <br /> America's + Characteristic Landscape <br /> Earth's Most Important Stream <br /> Prairie + Analogies—the Tree Question <br /> Mississippi Valley Literature + <br /> An Interviewer's Item <br /> The Women of the West <br /> The Silent + General <br /> President Hayes's Speeches <br /> St. Louis Memoranda <br /> + Nights on the Mississippi <br /> Upon our Own Land <br /> Edgar Poe's + Significance <br /> Beethoven's Septette <br /> A Hint of Wild Nature <br /> + Loafing in the Woods <br /> A Contralto Voice <br /> Seeing Niagara to + Advantage <br /> Jaunting to Canada <br /> Sunday with the Insane <br /> + Reminiscence of Elias Hicks <br /> Grand Native Growth <br /> A Zollverein + between the U. S. and Canada <br /> The St. Lawrence Line <br /> The Savage + Saguenay <br /> Capes Eternity and Trinity <br /> Chicoutimi, and Ha-ha Bay + <br /> The Inhabitants—Good Living <br /> Cedar-Plums Like—Names + <br /> Death of Thomas Carlyle <br /> Carlyle from American Points of View + <br /> A Couple of Old Friends—A Coleridge Bit <br /> A Week's Visit + to Boston <br /> The Boston of To-Day <br /> My Tribute to Four Poets <br /> + Millet's Pictures—Last Items <br /> Birds—and a Caution <br /> + Samples of my Common-Place Book <br /> My Native Sand and Salt Once More + <br /> Hot Weather New York <br /> "Ouster's Last Rally" <br /> Some Old + Acquaintances—Memories <br /> A Discovery of Old Age <br /> A Visit, + at the Last, to R. W. Emerson <br /> Other Concord Notations <br /> Boston + Common—More of Emerson <br /> An Ossianic Night—Dearest Friends + <br /> Only a New Ferry Boat <br /> Death of Longfellow <br /> Starting + Newspapers <br /> The Great Unrest of which We are Part <br /> By Emerson's + Grave <br /> At Present Writing—Personal <br /> After Trying a Certain + Book <br /> Final Confessions—Literary Tests <br /> Nature and + Democracy—Morality <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> COLLECT </a> + </p> + <p> + COLLECT <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ONE OR TWO INDEX ITEMS </a> + </p> + <p> + ONE OR TWO INDEX ITEMS <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> DEMOCRATIC VISTAS </a> + </p> + <p> + DEMOCRATIC VISTAS <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> ORIGINS OF ATTEMPTED SECESSION </a> + </p> + <p> + ORIGINS OF ATTEMPTED SECESSION <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACES TO "LEAVES OF GRASS" </a> + </p> + <p> + PREFACES TO "LEAVES OF GRASS" <br /> Preface, 1855, to first issue of + "Leaves of Grass" <br /> Preface, 1872, to "As a Strong Bird on Pinions + Free" <br /> Preface, 1876, to L. of G. and "Two Rivulets" <br /> POETRY + TO-DAY IN AMERICA—SHAKESPEARE—THE FUTURE <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> A MEMORANDUM AT A VENTURE </a> + </p> + <p> + A MEMORANDUM AT A VENTURE <br /> DEATH OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> TWO LETTERS </a> + </p> + <p> + TWO LETTERS <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_NOTE"> NOTES LEFT OVER </a> + </p> + <p> + NOTES LEFT OVER <br /> Nationality (and Yet) <br /> Emerson's Books (the + Shadows of Them) <br /> Ventures, on an Old Theme <br /> British Literature + <br /> Darwinism (then Furthermore) <br /> "Society" <br /> The Tramp and + Strike Questions <br /> Democracy in the New World <br /> Foundation Stages—then + Others <br /> General Suffrage, Elections, Etc. <br /> Who Gets the Plunder? + <br /> Friendship (the Real Article) <br /> Lacks and Wants Yet <br /> Rulers + Strictly Out of the Masses <br /> Monuments—the Past and Present + <br /> Little or Nothing New After All <br /> A Lincoln Reminiscence <br /> + Freedom <br /> Book-Classes-America's Literature <br /> Our Real Culmination + <br /> An American Problem <br /> The Last Collective Compaction <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> PIECES IN EARLY YOUTH </a> + </p> + <p> + PIECES IN EARLY YOUTH <br /> Dough Face Song <br /> Death in the School-Room + <br /> One Wicked Impulse <br /> The Last Loyalist <br /> Wild Frank's Return + <br /> The Boy Lover <br /> The Child and the Profligate <br /> Lingave's + Temptation <br /> Little Jane <br /> Dumb Kate <br /> Talk to an Art Union + <br /> Blood-Money <br /> Wounded in the House of Friends <br /> Sailing the + Mississippi at Midnight <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> NOVEMBER BOUGHS </a> + </p> + <p> + NOVEMBER BOUGHS <br /> OUR EMINENT VISITORS, Past, Present and Future <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> THE BIBLE AS POETRY </a> + </p> + <p> + THE BIBLE AS POETRY <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> FATHER TAYLOR (AND ORATORY) </a> + </p> + <p> + FATHER TAYLOR (AND ORATORY) <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> THE SPANISH ELEMENT IN OUR NATIONALITY </a> + </p> + <p> + THE SPANISH ELEMENT IN OUR NATIONALITY <br /> WHAT LURKS BEHIND SHAKSPERE'S + HISTORICAL PLAYS? <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> A THOUGHT ON SHAKSPERE </a> + </p> + <p> + A THOUGHT ON SHAKSPERE <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> ROBERT BURNS AS POET AND PERSON </a> + </p> + <p> + ROBERT BURNS AS POET AND PERSON <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> A WORD ABOUT TENNYSON </a> + </p> + <p> + A WORD ABOUT TENNYSON <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> SLANG IN AMERICA </a> + </p> + <p> + SLANG IN AMERICA <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> AN INDIAN BUREAU REMINISCENCE </a> + </p> + <p> + AN INDIAN BUREAU REMINISCENCE <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> SOME DIARY NOTES AT RANDOM </a> + </p> + <p> + SOME DIARY NOTES AT RANDOM <br /> Negro Slaves in New York <br /> Canada + Nights <br /> Country Days and Nights <br /> Central Park Notes <br /> Plate + Glass Notes <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> SOME WAR MEMORANDA </a> + </p> + <p> + SOME WAR MEMORANDA <br /> Washington Street Scenes <br /> The 195th + Pennsylvania <br /> Left-hand Writing by Soldiers <br /> Central Virginia in + '64 <br /> Paying the First Color'd Troops <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> FIVE THOUSAND POEMS </a> + </p> + <p> + FIVE THOUSAND POEMS <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> THE OLD BOWERY </a> + </p> + <p> + THE OLD BOWERY <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_NOTE2"> NOTES TO LATE ENGLISH BOOKS </a> + </p> + <p> + NOTES TO LATE ENGLISH BOOKS <br /> Preface to Reader in British Islands + <br /> Additional Note, 1887 <br /> Preface to English Edition "Democratic + Vistas" <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> ABRAHAM LINCOLN </a> + </p> + <p> + ABRAHAM LINCOLN <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> NEW ORLEANS IN 1848 </a> + </p> + <p> + NEW ORLEANS IN 1848 <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> SMALL MEMORANDA </a> + </p> + <p> + SMALL MEMORANDA <br /> Attorney General's Office, 1865 <br /> A Glint Inside + of Abraham Lincoln's Cabinet Appointments <br /> Note to a Friend <br /> + Written Impromptu in an Album <br /> The Place Gratitude fills in a Fine + Character <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> LAST OF THE WAR CASES </a> + </p> + <p> + LAST OF THE WAR CASES <br /> ELIAS HICKS, Notes (such as they are) <br /> + George Fox and Shakspere <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> GOOD-BYE MY FANCY </a> + </p> + <p> + GOOD-BYE MY FANCY <br /> AN OLD MAN'S REJOINDER <br /> OLD POETS <br /> Ship + Ahoy <br /> For Queen Victoria's Birthday <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> AMERICAN NATIONAL LITERATURE </a> + </p> + <p> + AMERICAN NATIONAL LITERATURE <br /> GATHERING THE CORN <br /> A DEATH + BOUQUET <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> SOME LAGGARDS YET </a> + </p> + <p> + SOME LAGGARDS YET <br /> The Perfect Human Voice <br /> Shakspere for + America <br /> "Unassailed Renown" <br /> Inscription for a Little Book on + Giordano Bruno <br /> Splinters <br /> Health (Old Style) <br /> + Gay-heartedness <br /> As in a Swoon <br /> L. of G. <br /> After the + Argument <br /> For Us Two, Reader Dear <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> MEMORANDA </a> + </p> + <p> + MEMORANDA <br /> A World's Show <br /> New York—the Bay—the Old + Name <br /> A Sick Spell <br /> To be Present Only <br /> "Intestinal + Agitation" <br /> "Walt Whitman's Last 'Public'" <br /> Ingersoll's Speech + <br /> Feeling Fairly <br /> Old Brooklyn Days <br /> Two Questions <br /> + Preface to a Volume <br /> An Engineer's Obituary <br /> Old Actors, + Singers, Shows, Etc., in New York <br /> Some Personal and Old Age Jottings + <br /> Out in the Open Again <br /> America's Bulk Average <br /> Last Saved + Items <br /> WALT WHITMAN'S LAST <br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SPECIMEN DAYS + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A HAPPY HOUR'S COMMAND + </h2> + <p> + <i>Down in the Woods, July 2d, 1882</i>.-If I do it at all I must delay no + longer. Incongruous and full of skips and jumps as is that huddle of + diary-jottings, war-memoranda of 1862-'65, Nature-notes of 1877-'81, with + Western and Canadian observations afterwards, all bundled up and tied by a + big string, the resolution and indeed mandate comes to me this day, this + hour,—(and what a day! What an hour just passing! the luxury of + riant grass and blowing breeze, with all the shows of sun and sky and + perfect temperature, never before so filling me, body and soul),—to + go home, untie the bundle, reel out diary-scraps and memoranda, just as + they are, large or small, one after another, into print-pages,{1} and let + the melange's lackings and wants of connection take care of themselves. It + will illustrate one phase of humanity anyhow; how few of life's days and + hours (and they not by relative value or proportion, but by chance) are + ever noted. Probably another point, too, how we give long preparations for + some object, planning and delving and fashioning, and then, when the + actual hour for doing arrives, find ourselves still quite unprepared, and + tumble the thing together, letting hurry and crudeness tell the story + better than fine work. At any rate I obey my happy hour's command, which + seems curiously imperative. May be, if I don't do anything else, I shall + send out the most wayward, spontaneous, fragmentary book ever printed. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {1} The pages from 1 to 15 are nearly verbatim an off-hand letter of mine + in January, 1882, to an insisting friend. Following, I give some gloomy + experiences. The war of attempted secession has, of course, been the + distinguishing event of my time. I commenced at the close of 1862, and + continued steadily through '63, '64 and '65, to visit the sick and wounded + of the army, both on the field and in the hospitals in and around + Washington city. From the first I kept little note-books for impromptu + jottings in pencil to refresh my memory of names and circumstances, and + what was specially wanted, &c. In these, I brief'd cases, persons, + sights, occurrences in camp, by the bed-side, and not seldom by the + corpses of the dead. Some were scratch'd down from narratives I heard and + itemized while watching, or waiting, or tending somebody amid those + scenes. I have dozens of such little note-books left, forming a special + history of those years, for myself alone, full of associations never to be + possibly said or sung. I wish I could convey to the reader the + associations that attach to these soil'd and creas'd livraisons, each + composed of a sheet or two of paper, folded small to carry in the pocket, + and fasten'd with a pin. I leave them just as I threw them by after the + war, blotch'd here and there with more than one blood-stain, hurriedly + written, sometimes at the clinique, not seldom amid the excitement of + uncertainty, or defeat, or of action, or getting ready for it, or a march. + Most of the pages from 20 to 75 are verbatim copies of those lurid and + blood-smuch'd little notebooks. + </p> + <p> + Very different are most of the memoranda that follow. Some time after the + war ended I had a paralytic stroke, which prostrated me for several years. + In 1876 I began to get over the worst of it. From this date, portions of + several seasons, especially summers, I spent at a secluded haunt down in + Camden county, New Jersey—Timber creek, quite a little river (it + enters from the great Delaware, twelve miles away)—with primitive + solitudes, winding stream, recluse and woody banks, sweet-feeding springs, + and all the charms that birds, grass, wild-flowers, rabbits and squirrels, + old oaks, walnut trees, &c., can bring. Through these times, and on + these spots, the diary from page 76 onward was mostly written. + </p> + <p> + The COLLECT afterwards gathers up the odds and ends of whatever pieces I + can now lay hands on, written at various times past, and swoops all + together like fish in a net. + </p> + <p> + I suppose I publish and leave the whole gathering, first, from that + eternal tendency to perpetuate and preserve which is behind all Nature, + authors included; second, to symbolize two or three specimen interiors, + personal and other, out of the myriads of my time, the middle range of the + Nineteenth century in the New World; a strange, unloosen'd, wondrous time. + But the book is probably without any definite purpose that can be told in + a statement. + </p> + <h3> + ANSWER TO AN INSISTING FRIEND + </h3> + <p> + You ask for items, details of my early life—of genealogy and + parentage, particularly of the women of my ancestry, and of its far-back + Netherlands stock on the maternal side—of the region where I was + born and raised, and my mother and father before me, and theirs before + them—with a word about Brooklyn and New York cities, the times I + lived there as lad and young man. You say you want to get at these details + mainly as the go-befores and embryons of "Leaves of Grass." Very good; you + shall have at least some specimens of them all. I have often thought of + the meaning of such things—that one can only encompass and complete + matters of that kind by 'exploring behind, perhaps very far behind, + themselves directly, and so into their genesis, antecedents, and + cumulative stages. Then as luck would have it, I lately whiled away the + tedium of a week's half-sickness and confinement, by collating these very + items for another (yet unfulfilled, probably abandon'd,) purpose; and if + you will be satisfied with them, authentic in date-occurrence and fact + simply, and told my own way, garrulous-like, here they are. I shall not + hesitate to make extracts, for I catch at anything to save labor; but + those will be the best versions of what I want to convey. + </p> + <h3> + GENEALOGY—VAN VELSOR AND WHITMAN + </h3> + <p> + The later years of the last century found the Van Velsor family, my + mother's side, living on their own farm at Cold Spring, Long Island, New + York State, near the eastern edge of Queen's county, about a mile from the + harbor.{2} My father's side—probably the fifth generation from the + first English arrivals in New England—were at the same time farmers + on their own land—(and a fine domain it was, 500 acres, all good + soil, gently sloping east and south, about one-tenth woods, plenty of + grand old trees,) two or three miles off, at West Hills, Suffolk county. + The Whitman name in the Eastern States, and so branch and South, starts + undoubtedly from one John Whitman, born 1602, in Old England, where he + grew up, married, and his eldest son was born in 1629. He came over in the + "True Love" in 1640 to America, and lived in Weymouth, Mass., which place + became the mother-hive of the New-Englanders of the name; he died in 1692. + His brother, Rev. Zechariah Whitman, also came over in the "True Love," + either at that time or soon after, and lived at Milford, Conn. A son of + this Zechariah, named Joseph, migrated to Huntington, Long Island, and + permanently settled there. Savage's "Genealogical Dictionary" (vol. iv, p. + 524) gets the Whitman family establish'd at Huntington, per this Joseph, + before 1664. It is quite certain that from that beginning, and from + Joseph, the West Hill Whitmans, and all others in Suffolk county, have + since radiated, myself among the number. John and Zechariah both went to + England and back again divers times; they had large families, and several + of their children were born in the old country. We hear of the father of + John and Zechariah, Abijah Whitman, who goes over into the 1500's, but we + know little about him, except that he also was for some time in America. + </p> + <p> + These old pedigree-reminiscences come up to me vividly from a visit I made + not long since (in my 63d year) to West Hills, and to the burial grounds + of my ancestry, both sides. I extract from notes of that visit, written + there and then: + </p> + <p> + Note: + </p> + <p> + {2} Long Island was settled first on the west end by the Dutch from + Holland, then on the east end by the English—the dividing line of + the two nationalities being a little west of Huntington where my father's + folks lived, and where I was born. + </p> + <h3> + THE OLD WHITMAN AND VAN VELSOR CEMETERIES + </h3> + <p> + <i>July 29, 1881</i>.—After more than forty years' absence, (except + a brief visit, to take my father there once more, two years before he + died,) went down Long Island on a week' s jaunt to the place where I was + born, thirty miles from New York city. Rode around the old familiar spots, + viewing and pondering and dwelling long upon them, every-thing coming back + to me. Went to the old Whitman homestead on the upland and took a view + eastward, inclining south, over the broad and beautiful farm lands of my + grandfather (1780,) and my father. There was the new house (1810,) the big + oak a hundred and fifty or two hundred years old; there the well, the + sloping kitchen-garden, and a little way off even the well-kept remains of + the dwelling of my great-grandfather (1750-'60) still standing, with its + mighty timbers and low ceilings. Near by, a stately grove of tall, + vigorous black-walnuts, beautiful, Apollo-like, the sons or grandsons, no + doubt, of black-walnuts during or before 1776. On the other side of the + road spread the famous apple orchard, over twenty acres, the trees planted + by hands long mouldering in the grave (my uncle Jesse's,) but quite many + of them evidently capable of throwing out their annual blossoms and fruit + yet. + </p> + <p> + I now write these lines seated on an old grave (doubtless of a century + since at least) on the burial hill of the Whitmans of many generations. + Fifty or more graves are quite plainly traceable, and as many more decay'd + out of all form—depress'd mounds, crumbled and broken stones, + cover'd with moss—the gray and sterile hill, the clumps of chestnuts + outside, the silence, just varied by the soughing wind. There is always + the deepest eloquence of sermon or poem in any of these ancient graveyards + of which Long Island has so many; so what must this one have been to me? + My whole family history, with its succession of links, from the first + settlement down to date, told here—three centuries concentrate on + this sterile acre. + </p> + <p> + The next day, July 30, I devoted to the maternal locality, and if possible + was still more penetrated and impress'd. I write this paragraph on the + burial hul of the Van Velsors, near Cold Spring, the most significant + depository of the dead that could be imagin'd, without the slightest help + from art, but far ahead of it, soil sterile, a mostly bare plateau-flat of + half an acre, the top of a hill, brush and well grown trees and dense + woods bordering all around, very primi-tive, secluded, no visitors, no + road (you cannot drive here, you have to bring the dead on foot, and + follow on foot.) Two or three-score graves quite plain; as many more + almost rubb'd out. My grandfather Cornelius and my grandmother Amy (Naomi) + and numerous relatives nearer or remoter, on my mother's side, lie buried + here. The scene as I stood or sat, the delicate and wild odor of the + woods, a slightly drizzling rain, the emotional atmosphere of the place, + and the inferr'd reminiscences, were fitting accompaniments. + </p> + <h3> + THE MATERNAL HOMESTEAD + </h3> + <p> + I went down from this ancient grave place eighty or ninety rods to the + site of the Van Velsor homestead, where my mother was born (1795,) and + where every spot had been familiar to me as a child and youth (1825-'40.) + Then stood there a long rambling, dark-gray, shingle-sided house, with + sheds, pens, a great barn, and much open road-space. Now of all those not + a vestige left; all had been pull'd down, erased, and the plough and + harrow pass'd over foundations, road-spaces and everything, for many + summers; fenced in at present, and grain and clover growing like any other + fine fields. Only a big hole from the cellar, with some little heaps of + broken stone, green with grass and weeds, identified the place. Even the + copious old brook and spring seem'd to have mostly dwindled away. The + whole scene, with what it arous'd, memories of my young days there half a + century ago, the vast kitchen and ample fireplace and the sitting-room + adjoining, the plain furniture, the meals, the house full of merry people, + my grandmother Amy's sweet old face in its Quaker cap, my grandfather "the + Major," jovial, red, stout, with sonorous voice and characteristic + physiognomy, with the actual sights themselves, made the most pronounc'd + half-day's experience of my whole jaunt. + </p> + <p> + For there with all those wooded, hilly, healthy surroundings, my dearest + mother, Louisa Van Velsor, grew up—(her mother, Amy Williams, of the + Friends' or Quakers' denomination—the Williams family, seven sisters + and one brother—the father and brother sailors, both of whom met + their deaths at sea.) The Van Velsor people were noted for fine horses, + which the men bred and train'd from blooded stock. My mother, as a young + woman, was a daily and daring rider. As to the head of the family himself, + the old race of the Netherlands, so deeply grafted on Manhattan island and + in Kings and Queens counties, never yielded a more mark'd and full + Americanized specimen than Major Cornelius Van Velsor. + </p> + <h3> + TWO OLD FAMILY INTERIORS + </h3> + <p> + Of the domestic and inside life of the middle of Long Island, at and just + before that time, here are two samples: + </p> + <p> + "The Whitmans, at the beginning of the present century, lived in a long + story-and-a-half farm-house, hugely timber'd, which is still standing. A + great smoke-canopied kitchen, with vast hearth and chimney, form'd one end + of the house. The existence of slavery in New York at that time, and the + possession by the family of some twelve or fifteen slaves, house and field + servants, gave things quite a patriarchial look. The very young darkies + could be seen, a swarm of them, toward sundown, in this kitchen, squatted + in a circle on the floor, eating their supper of Indian pudding and milk. + In the house, and in food and furniture, all was rude, but substantial. No + carpets or stoves were known, and no coffee, and tea or sugar only for the + women. Rousing wood fires gave both warmth and light on winter nights. + Pork, poultry, beef, and all the ordinary vegetables and grains were + plentiful. Cider was the men's common drink, and used at meals. The + clothes were mainly homespun. Journeys were made by both men and women on + horseback. Both sexes labor'd with their own hands-the men on the farm—the + women in the house and around it. Books were scarce. The annual copy of + the almanac was a treat, and was pored over through the long winter + evenings. I must not forget to mention that both these families were near + enough to the sea to behold it from the high places, and to hear in still + hours the roar of the surf; the latter, after a storm, giving a peculiar + sound at night. Then all hands, male and female, went down frequently on + beach and bathing parties, and the men on practical expeditions for + cutting salt hay, and for clamming and fishing."—<i>John Burroughs's</i> + NOTES. + </p> + <p> + "The ancestors of Walt Whitman, on both the paternal and maternal sides, + kept a good table, sustained the hospitalities, decorums, and an excellent + social reputation in the county, and they were often of mark'd + individuality. If space permitted, I should consider some of the men + worthy special description; and still more some of the women. His + great-grandmother on the paternal side, for instance, was a large swarthy + woman, who lived to a very old age. She smoked tobacco, rode on horseback + like a man, managed the most vicious horse, and, becoming a widow in later + life, went forth every day over her farm-lands, frequently in the saddle, + directing the labor of her slaves, in language in which, on exciting + occasions, oaths were not spared. The two immediate grandmothers were, in + the best sense, superior women. The maternal one (Amy Williams before + marriage) was a Friend, or Quakeress, of sweet, sensible character, + house-wifely proclivities, and deeply intuitive and spiritual. The other + (Hannah Brush,) was an equally noble, perhaps stronger character, lived to + be very old, had quite a family of sons, was a natural lady, was in early + life a school-mistress, and had great solidity of mind. W. W. himself + makes much of the women of his ancestry."—<i>The Same</i>. + </p> + <p> + Out from these arrieres of persons and scenes, I was born May 31, 1819. + And now to dwell awhile on the locality itself—as the successive + growth-stages of my infancy, childhood, youth and manhood were all pass'd + on Long Island, which I sometimes feel as if I had incorporated. I roam'd, + as boy and man, and have lived in nearly all parts, from Brooklyn to + Montauk point. + </p> + <h3> + PAUMANOK, AND MY LIFE ON IT AS CHILD AND YOUNG MAN + </h3> + <p> + Worth fully and particularly investigating indeed this Paumanok, (to give + the spot its aboriginal name{3},) stretching east through Kings, Queens + and Suffolk counties, 120 miles altogether—on the north Long Island + sound, a beautiful, varied and picturesque series of inlets, "necks" and + sea-like expansions, for a hundred miles to Orient point. On the ocean + side the great south bay dotted with countless hummocks, mostly small, + some quite large, occasionally long bars of sand out two hundred rods to a + mile-and-a-half from the shore. While now and then, as at Rockaway and far + east along the Hamptons, the beach makes right on the island, the sea + dashing up without intervention. Several light-houses on the shores east; + a long history of wrecks tragedies, some even of late years. As a + youngster, I was in the atmosphere and traditions of many of these wrecks—of + one or two almost an observer. Off Hempstead beach for example, was the + loss of the ship "Mexico" in 1840, (alluded to in "the Sleepers" in L. of + G.) And at Hampton, some years later, the destruction of the brig + "Elizabeth," a fearful affair, in one of the worst winter gales, where + Margaret Fuller went down, with her husband and child. + </p> + <p> + Inside the outer bars or beach this south bay is everywhere comparatively + shallow; of cold winters all thick ice on the surface. As a boy I often + went forth with a chum or two, on those frozen fields, with hand-sled, axe + and eel-spear, after messes of eels. We would cut holes in the ice, + sometimes striking quite an eel-bonanza, and filling our baskets with + great, fat, sweet, white-meated fellows. The scenes, the ice, drawing the + hand-sled, cutting holes, spearing the eels, &c., were of course just + such fun as is dearest to boyhood. The shores of this bay, winter and + summer, and my doings there in early life, are woven all through L. of G. + One sport I was very fond of was to go on a bay-party in summer to gather + sea-gull's eggs. (The gulls lay two or three eggs, more than half the size + of hen's eggs, right on the sand, and leave the sun's heat to hatch them.) + </p> + <p> + The eastern end of Long Island, the Peconic bay region, I knew quite well + too—sail'd more than once around Shelter island, and down to Montauk—spent + many an hour on Turtle hill by the old light-house, on the extreme point, + looking out over the ceaseless roll of the Atlantic. I used to like to go + down there and fraternize with the blue-fishers, or the annual squads of + sea-bass takers. Sometimes, along Montauk peninsula, (it is some 15 miles + long, and good grazing,) met the strange, unkempt, half-barbarous + herdsmen, at that time living there entirely aloof from society or + civilization, in charge, on those rich pasturages, of vast droves of + horses, kine or sheep, own'd by farmers of the eastern towns. Sometimes, + too, the few remaining Indians, or half-breeds, at that period left on + Montauk peninsula, but now I believe altogether extinct. + </p> + <p> + More in the middle of the island were the spreading Hempstead plains, then + (1830-'40) quite prairie-like, open, uninhabited, rather sterile, cover'd + with kill-calf and huckleberry bushes, yet plenty of fair pasture for the + cattle, mostly milch-cows, who fed there by hundreds, even thousands, and + at evening, (the plains too were own'd by the towns, and this was the use + of them in common,) might be seen taking their way home, branching off + regularly in the right places. I have often been out on the edges of these + plains toward sundown, and can yet recall in fancy the interminable + cow-processions, and hear the music of the tin or copper bells clanking + far or near, and breathe the cool of the sweet and slightly aromatic + evening air, and note the sunset. + </p> + <p> + Through the same region of the island, but further east, extended wide + central tracts of pine and scrub-oak, (charcoal was largely made here,) + monotonous and sterile. But many a good day or half-day did I have, + wandering through those solitary crossroads, inhaling the peculiar and + wild aroma. Here, and all along the island and its shores, I spent + intervals many years, all seasons, sometimes riding, sometimes boating, + but generally afoot, (I was always then a good walker,) absorbing fields, + shores, marine incidents, characters, the bay-men, farmers, pilots-always + had a plentiful acquaintance with the latter, and with fishermen—went + every summer on sailing trips—always liked the bare sea-beach, south + side, and have some of my happiest hours on it to this day. + </p> + <p> + As I write, the whole experience comes back to me after the lapse of forty + and more years—the soothing rustle of the waves, and the saline + smell—boyhood's times, the clam-digging, bare-foot, and with + trowsers roll'd up—hauling down the creek—the perfume of the + sedge-meadows—the hay-boat, and the chowder and fishing excursions;—or, + of later years, little voyages down and out New York bay, in the pilot + boats. Those same later years, also, while living in Brooklyn, (1836-'50) + I went regularly every week in the mild seasons down to Coney Island, at + that time a long, bare unfrequented shore, which I had all to myself, and + where I loved, after bathing, to race up and down the hard sand, and + declaim Homer or Shakspere to the surf and sea gulls by the hour. But I am + getting ahead too rapidly, and must keep more in my traces. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {3} "Paumanok, (or Paumanake, or Paumanack, the Indian name of Long + Island,) over a hundred miles long; shaped like a fish—plenty of sea + shore, sandy, stormy, uninviting, the horizon boundless, the air too + strong for invalids, the bays a wonderful resort for aquatic birds, the + south-side meadows cover'd with salt hay, the soil of the island generally + tough, but good for the locust-tree, the apple orchard, and the + blackberry, and with numberless springs of the sweetest water in the + world. Years ago, among the bay-men—a strong, wild race, now + extinct, or rather entirely changed—a native of Long Island was + called a <i>Paumanacker</i>, or <i>Creole-'Paumanacker</i>."—<i>John + Burroughs</i>. + </p> + <h3> + MY FIRST READING—LAFAYETTE + </h3> + <p> + From 1824 to '28 our family lived in Brooklyn in Front, Cranberry and + Johnson streets. In the latter my father built a nice house for a home, + and afterwards another in Tillary street. We occupied them, one after the + other, but they were mortgaged, and we lost them. I yet remember + Lafayette's visit.{4} Most of these years I went to the public schools. It + must have been about 1829 or '30 that I went with my father and mother to + hear Elias Hicks preach in a ball-room on Brooklyn heights. At about the + same time employ'd as a boy in an office, lawyers', father and two sons, + Clarke's, Fulton street, near Orange. I had a nice desk and window-nook to + myself; Edward C. kindly help'd me at my handwriting and composition, and, + (the signal event of my life up to that time,) subscribed for me to a big + circulating library. For a time I now revel'd in romance-reading of all + kinds; first, the "Arabian Nights," all the volumes, an amazing treat. + Then, with sorties in very many other directions, took in Walter Scott's + novels, one after another, and his poetry, (and continue to enjoy novels + and poetry to this day.) + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {4} "On the visit of General Lafayette to this country, in 1824, he came + over to Brooklyn in state, and rode through the city. The children of the + schools turn'd out to join in the welcome. An edifice for a free public + library for youths was just then commencing, and Lafayette consented to + stop on his way and lay the corner-stone. Numerous children arriving on + the ground, where a huge irregular excavation for the building was already + dug, surrounded with heaps of rough stone, several gentlemen assisted in + lifting the children to safe or convenient spots to see the ceremony. + Among the rest, Lafayette, also helping the children, took up the + five-year-old Walt Whitman, and pressing the child a moment to his breast, + and giving him a kiss, handed him down to a safe spot in the excavation."—John + Burroughs. + </p> + <h3> + PRINTING OFFICE—OLD BROOKLYN + </h3> + <p> + After about two years went to work in a weekly newspaper and printing + office, to learn the trade. The paper was the "Long Island Patriot," owned + by S. E. Clements, who was also postmaster. An old printer in the office, + William Hartshorne, a revolutionary character, who had seen Washington, + was a special friend of mine, and I had many a talk with him about long + past times. The apprentices, including myself, boarded with his + grand-daughter. I used occasionally to go out riding with the boss, who + was very kind to us boys; Sundays he took us all to a great old rough, + fortress-looking stone church, on Joralemon street, near where the + Brooklyn city hall now is—(at that time broad fields and country + roads everywhere around.{5}) Afterward I work'd on the "Long Island Star," + Alden Spooner's paper. My father all these years pursuing his trade as + carpenter and builder, with varying fortune. There was a growing family of + children—eight of us—my brother Jesse the oldest, myself the + second, my dear sisters Mary and Hannah Louisa, my brothers Andrew, + George, Thomas Jefferson, and then my youngest brother, Edward, born 1835, + and always badly crippled, as I am myself of late years. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {5} Of the Brooklyn of that time (1830-40) hardly anything remains, except + the lines of the old streets. The population was then between ten and + twelve thousand. For a mile Fulton street was lined with magnificent elm + trees. The character of the place was thoroughly rural. As a sample of + comparative values, it may be mention'd that twenty-five acres in what is + now the most costly part of the city, bounded by Flatbush and Fulton + avenues, were then bought by Mr Parmentier, a French <i>emigré</i>, for + $4000. Who remembers the old places as they were? Who remembers the old + citizens of that time? Among the former were Smith & Wood's, Coe + Downing's, and other public houses at the ferry, the old Ferry itself, + Love lane, the Heights as then, the Wallabout with the wooden bridge, and + the road out beyond Fulton street to the old toll-gate. Among the latter + were the majestic and genial General Jeremiah Johnson, with others, + Gabriel Furman, Rev. E. M. Johnson, Alden Spooner, Mr. Pierrepont, Mr. + Joralemon, Samuel Willoughby, Jonathan Trotter, George Hall, Cyrus P. + Smith, N. B. Morse, John Dikeman, Adrian Hegeman, William Udall, and old + Mr. Duflon, with his military garden. + </p> + <h3> + GROWTH—HEALTH—WORK + </h3> + <p> + I develop'd (1833-4-5) into a healthy, strong youth (grew too fast, + though, was nearly as big as a man at 15 or 16.) Our family at this period + moved back to the country, my dear mother very ill for a long time, but + recover'd. All these years I was down Long Island more or less every + summer, now east, now west, sometimes months at a stretch. At 16, 17, and + so on, was fond of debating societies, and had an active membership with + them, off and on, in Brooklyn and one or two country towns on the island. + A most omnivorous novel-reader, these and later years, devour'd everything + I could get. Fond of the theatre, also, in New York, went whenever I could—sometimes + witnessing fine performances. + </p> + <p> + 1836-7, work'd as compositor in printing offices in New York city. Then, + when little more than 18, and for a while afterwards, went to teaching + country schools down in Queens and Suffolk counties, Long Island, and + "boarded round." (This latter I consider one of my best experiences and + deepest lessons in human nature behind the scenes and in the masses.) In + '39, '40, I started and publish'd a weekly paper in my native town, + Huntington. Then returning to New York city and Brooklyn, work'd on as + printer and writer, mostly prose, but an occasional shy at "poetry". + </p> + <h3> + MY PASSION FOR FERRIES + </h3> + <p> + Living in Brooklyn or New York city from this time forward, my life, then, + and still more the following years, was curiously identified with Fulton + ferry, already becoming the greatest of its sort in the world for general + importance, volume, variety, rapidity, and picturesqueness. Almost daily, + later, ('50 to '60,) I cross'd on the boats, often up in the pilot-houses + where I could get a full sweep, absorbing shows, accompaniments, + surroundings. What oceanic currents, eddies, underneath—the great + tides of humanity also, with ever-shifting movements. Indeed, I have + always had a passion for ferries; to me they afford inimitable, streaming, + never-failing, living poems. The river and bay scenery, all about New York + island, any time of a fine day—the hurrying, splashing sea-tides—the + changing panorama of steamers, all sizes, often a string of big ones + outward bound to distant ports—the myriads of white-sail'd + schooners, sloops, skiffs, and the marvellously beautiful yachts—the + majestic sound boats as they rounded the Battery and came along towards 5, + afternoon, eastward bound—the prospect off towards Staten Island, or + down the Narrows, or the other way up the Hudson—what refreshment of + spirit such sights and experiences gave me years ago (and many a time + since.) My old pilot friends, the Balsirs, Johnny Cole, Ira Smith, William + White, and my young ferry friend, Tom Gere—how well I remember them + all. + </p> + <h3> + BROADWAY SIGHTS + </h3> + <p> + Besides Fulton ferry, off and on for years, I knew and frequented Broadway—that + noted avenue of New York's crowded and mixed humanity, and of so many + notables. Here I saw, during those times, Andrew Jackson, Webster, Clay, + Seward, Martin Van Buren, filibuster Walker, Kossuth, Fitz Greene Halleck, + Bryant, the Prince of Wales, Charles Dickens, the first Japanese + ambassadors, and lots of other celebrities of the time. Always something + novel or inspiriting; yet mostly to me the hurrying and vast amplitude of + those never-ending human currents. I remember seeing James Fenimore Cooper + in a court-room in Chambers street, back of the city hall, where he was + carrying on a law case—(I think it was a charge of libel he had + brought against some one.) I also remember seeing Edgar A. Poe, and having + a short interview with him, (it must have been in 1845 or '6,) in his + office, second story of a corner building, (Duane or Pearl street.) He was + editor and owner or part owner of "the Broadway Journal." The visit was + about a piece of mine he had publish'd. Poe was very cordial, in a quiet + way, appear'd well in person, dress, &c. I have a distinct and + pleasing remembrance of his looks, voice, manner and matter; very kindly + and human, but subdued, perhaps a little jaded. For another of my + reminiscences, here on the west side, just below Houston street, I once + saw (it must have been about 1832, of a sharp, bright January day) a bent, + feeble but stout-built very old man, bearded, swathed in rich furs, with a + great ermine cap on his head, led and assisted, almost carried, down the + steps of his high front stoop (a dozen friends and servants, emulous, + carefully holding, guiding him) and then lifted and tuck'd in a gorgeous + sleigh, envelop'd in other furs, for a ride. The sleigh was drawn by as + fine a team of horses as I ever saw. (You needn't think all the best + animals are brought up nowadays; never was such horseflesh as fifty years + ago on Long Island, or south, or in New York city; folks look'd for spirit + and mettle in a nag, not tame speed merely.) Well, I, a boy of perhaps 13 + or 14, stopp'd and gazed long at the spectacle of that fur-swathed old + man, surrounded by friends and servants, and the careful seating of him in + the sleigh. I remember the spirited, champing horses, the driver with his + whip, and a fellow-driver by his side, for extra prudence. The old man, + the subject of so much attention, I can almost see now. It was John Jacob + Astor. + </p> + <p> + The years 1846, '47, and there along, see me still in New York City, + working as writer and printer, having my usual good health, and a good + time generally. + </p> + <h3> + OMNIBUS JAUNTS AND DRIVERS + </h3> + <p> + One phase of those days must by no means go unrecorded—namely, the + Broadway omnibuses, with their drivers. + </p> + <p> + The vehicles still (I write this paragraph in 1881) give a portion of the + character of Broadway—the Fifth avenue, Madison avenue, and + Twenty-third street lines yet running. But the flush days of the old + Broadway stages, characteristic and copious, are over. The Yellow-birds, + the Red-birds, the original Broadway, the Fourth avenue, the + Knickerbocker, and a dozen others of twenty or thirty years ago, are all + gone. And the men specially identified with them, and giving vitality and + meaning to them—the drivers—a strange, natural, quick-eyed and + wondrous race—(not only Rabelais and Cervantes would have gloated + upon them, but Homer and Shakspere would)—how well I remember them, + and must here give a word about them. How many hours, forenoons and + afternoons—how many exhilarating night-times I have had—perhaps + June or July, in cooler air-riding the whole length of Broadway, listening + to some yarn, (and the most vivid yarns ever spun, and the rarest mimicry)—or + perhaps I declaiming some stormy passage from Julius Caesar or Richard, + (you could roar as loudly as you chose in that heavy, dense, uninterrupted + street-bass.) Yes, I knew all the drivers then, Broadway Jack, Dressmaker, + Balky Bill, George Storms, Old Elephant, his brother Young Elephant (who + came afterward,) Tippy, Pop Rice, Big Frank, Yellow Joe, Pete Callahan, + Patsey Dee, and dozens more; for there were hundreds. They had immense + qualities, largely animal—eating, drinking; women—great + personal pride, in their way—perhaps a few slouches here and there, + but I should have trusted the general run of them, in their simple + good-will and honor, under all circumstances. Not only for comradeship, + and sometimes affection—great studies I found them also. (I suppose + the critics will laugh heartily, but the influence of those Broadway + omnibus jaunts and drivers and declamations and escapades undoubtedly + enter'd into the gestation of "Leaves of Grass.") + </p> + <h3> + PLAYS AND OPERAS TOO + </h3> + <p> + And certain actors and singers, had a good deal to do with the business. + All through these years, off and on, I frequented the old Park, the + Bowery, Broadway and Chatham-square theatres, and the Italian operas at + Chambers-street, Astor-place or the Battery—many seasons was on the + free list, writing for papers even as quite a youth. The old Park theatre—what + names, reminiscences, the words bring back! Placide, Clarke, Mrs. Vernon, + Fisher, Clara F., Mrs. Wood, Mrs. Seguin, Ellen Tree, Hackett, the younger + Kean, Macready, Mrs. Richardson, Rice—singers, tragedians, + comedians. What perfect acting! Henry Placide in "Napoleon's Old Guard" or + "Grandfather Whitehead,"—or "the Provoked Husband" of Gibber, with + Fanny Kemble as Lady Townley—or Sheridan Knowles in his own + "Virginius"—or inimitable Power in "Born to Good Luck." These, and + many more, the years of youth and onward. Fanny Kemble—name to + conjure up great mimic scenes withal—perhaps the greatest. I + remember well her rendering of Bianca in "Fazio," and Marianna in "the + Wife." Nothing finer did ever stage exhibit—the veterans of all + nations said so, and my boyish heart and head felt it in every minute + cell. The lady was just matured, strong, better than merely beautiful, + born from the footlights, had had three years' practice in London and + through the British towns, and then she came to give America that young + maturity and roseate power in all their noon, or rather forenoon, flush. + It was my good luck to see her nearly every night she play'd at the old + Park—certainly in all her principal characters. I heard, these + years, well render'd, all the Italian and other operas in vogue, + "Sonnambula," "the Puritans," "Der Freischutz," "Huguenots," "Fille + d'Regiment," "Faust," "Etoile du Nord," "Poliuto," and others. Verdi's + "Ernani," "Rigoletto," and "Trovatore," with Donnizetti's "Lucia" or + "Favorita" or "Lucrezia," and Auber's "Massaniello," or Rossini's "William + Tell" and "Gazza Ladra," were among my special enjoyments. I heard Alboni + every time she sang in New York and vicinity—also Grisi, the tenor + Mario, and the baritone Badiali, the finest in the world. + </p> + <p> + This musical passion follow'd my theatrical one. As a boy or young man I + had seen, (reading them carefully the day beforehand,) quite all + Shakspere's acting dramas, play'd wonderfully well. Even yet I cannot + conceive anything finer than old Booth in "Richard Third," or "Lear," (I + don't know which was best,) or Iago, (or Pescara, or Sir Giles Overreach, + to go outside of Shakspere)—or Tom Hamblin in "Macbeth"—or old + Clarke, either as the ghost in "Hamlet," or as Prospero in "the Tempest," + with Mrs. Austin as Ariel, and Peter Richings as Caliban. Then other + dramas, and fine players in them, Forrest as Metamora or Damon or Brutus—John + R. Scott as Tom Cringle or Rolla—or Charlotte Cushman's Lady Gay + Spanker in "London Assurance." Then of some years later, at Castle Garden, + Battery, I yet recall the splendid seasons of the Havana musical troupe + under Maretzek—the fine band, the cool sea-breezes, the unsurpass'd + vocalism—Steffan'one, Bosio, Truffi, Marini in "Marino Faliero," + "Don Pasquale," or "Favorita." No better playing or singing ever in New + York. It was here too I afterward heard Jenny Lind. (The Battery—its + past associations—what tales those old trees and walks and sea-walls + could tell!) + </p> + <h3> + THROUGH EIGHT YEARS. + </h3> + <p> + In 1848, '49, I was occupied as editor of the "daily Eagle" newspaper, in + Brooklyn. The latter year went off on a leisurely journey and working + expedition (my brother Jeff with me) through all the middle States, and + down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers. Lived awhile in New Orleans, and + work'd there on the editorial staff of "daily Crescent" newspaper. After a + time plodded back northward, up the Mississippi, and around to, and by way + of the great lakes, Michigan, Huron, and Erie, to Niagara falls and lower + Canada, finally returning through central New York and down the Hudson; + traveling altogether probably 8,000 miles this trip, to and fro. '51, '53, + occupied in house-building in Brooklyn. (For a little of the first part of + that time in printing a daily and weekly paper, "the Freeman.") '55, lost + my dear father this year by death. Commenced putting "Leaves of Grass" to + press for good, at the job printing office of my friends, the brothers + Rome, in Brooklyn, after many MS. doings and undoings—(I had great + trouble in leaving out the stock "poetical" touches, but succeeded at + last.) I am now (1856-'7) passing through my 37th year. + </p> + <h3> + SOURCES OF CHARACTER—RESULTS—1860 + </h3> + <p> + To sum up the foregoing from the outset (and, of course, far, far more + unrecorded,) I estimate three leading sources and formative stamps to my + own character, now solidified for good or bad, and its subsequent literary + and other outgrowth—the maternal nativity-stock brought hither from + far-away Netherlands, for one, (doubtless the best)—the subterranean + tenacity and central bony structure (obstinacy, wilfulness) which I get + from my paternal English elements, for another—and the combination + of my Long Island birth-spot, sea-shores, childhood's scenes, absorptions, + with teeming Brooklyn and New York—with, I suppose, my experiences + afterward in the secession outbreak, for the third. + </p> + <p> + For, in 1862, startled by news that my brother George, an officer in the + 51st New York volunteers, had been seriously wounded (first Fredericksburg + battle, December 13th,) I hurriedly went down to the field of war in + Virginia. But I must go back a little. + </p> + <h3> + OPENING OF THE SECESSION WAR + </h3> + <p> + News of the attack on fort Sumter and <i>the flag</i> at Charleston + harbor, S. C., was receiv'd in New York city late at night (13th April, + 1861,) and was immediately sent out in extras of the newspapers. I had + been to the opera in Fourteenth street that night, and after the + performance was walking down Broadway toward twelve o'clock, on my way to + Brooklyn, when I heard in the distance the loud cries of the newsboys, who + came presently tearing and yelling up the street, rushing from side to + side even more furiously than usual. I bought an extra and cross'd to the + Metropolitan hotel (Niblo's) where the great lamps were still brightly + blazing, and, with a crowd of others, who gather'd impromptu, read the + news, which was evidently authentic. For the benefit of some who had no + papers, one of us read the telegram aloud, while all listen'd silently and + attentively. No remark was made by any of the crowd, which had increas'd + to thirty or forty, but all stood a minute or two, I remember, before they + dispers'd. I can almost see them there now, under the lamps at midnight + again. + </p> + <h3> + NATIONAL UPRISING AND VOLUNTEERING + </h3> + <p> + I have said somewhere that the three Presidentiads preceding 1861 show'd + how the weakness and wickedness of rulers are just as eligible here in + America under republican, as in Europe under dynastic influences. But what + can I say of that prompt and splendid wrestling with secession slavery, + the arch-enemy personified, the instant he unmistakably show'd his face? + The volcanic upheaval of the nation, after that firing on the flag at + Charleston, proved for certain something which had been previously in + great doubt, and at once substantially settled the question of disunion. + In my judgment it will remain as the grandest and most encouraging + spectacle yet vouchsafed in any age, old or new, to political progress and + democracy. It was not for what came to the surface merely—though + that was important—but what it indicated below, which was of eternal + importance. Down in the abysms of New World humanity there had form'd and + harden'd a primal hardpan of national Union will, determin'd and in the + majority, refusing to be tamper'd with or argued against, confronting all + emergencies, and capable at any time of bursting all surface bonds, and + breaking out like an earthquake. It is, indeed, the best lesson of the + century, or of America, and it is a mighty privilege to have been part of + it. (Two great spectacles, immortal proofs of democracy, unequall'd in all + the history of the past, are furnish'd by the secession war—one at + the beginning, the other at its close. Those are, the general, voluntary, + arm'd upheaval, and the peaceful and harmonious disbanding of the armies + in the summer of 1865.) + </p> + <h3> + CONTEMPTUOUS FEELING + </h3> + <p> + Even after the bombardment of Sumter, however, the gravity of the revolt, + and the power and will of the slave States for a strong and continued + military resistance to national authority, were not at all realized at the + North, except by a few. Nine-tenths of the people of the free States + look'd upon the rebellion, as started in South Carolina, from a feeling + one-half of contempt, and the other half composed of anger and + incredulity. It was not thought it would be join'd in by Virginia, North + Carolina, or Georgia. A great and cautious national official predicted + that it would blow over "in sixty days," and folks generally believ'd the + prediction. I remember talking about it on a Fulton ferry-boat with the + Brooklyn mayor, who said he only "hoped the Southern fire-eaters would + commit some overt act of resistance, as they would then be at once so + effectually squelch'd, we would never hear of secession again—but he + was afraid they never would have the pluck to really do anything." + </p> + <p> + I remember, too, that a couple of companies of the Thirteenth Brooklyn, + who rendezvou'd at the city armory, and started thence as thirty days' + men, were all provided with pieces of rope, conspicuously tied to their + musket-barrels, with which to bring back each man a prisoner from the + audacious South, to be led in a noose, on our men's early and triumphant + return! + </p> + <h3> + BATTLE OF BULL RUN, JULY, 1861 + </h3> + <p> + All this sort of feeling was destin'd to be arrested and revers'd by a + terrible shock—the battle of first Bull Run—certainly, as we + now know it, one of the most singular fights on record. (All battles, and + their results, are far more matters of accident than is generally thought; + but this was throughout a casualty, a chance. Each side supposed it had + won, till the last moment. One had, in point of fact, just the same right + to be routed as the other. By a fiction, or series of fictions, the + national forces at the last moment exploded in a panic and fled from the + field.) The defeated troops commenced pouring into Washington over the + Long Bridge at daylight on Monday, 22d—day drizzling all through + with rain. The Saturday and Sunday of the battle (20th, 21st,) had been + parch'd and hot to an extreme—the dust, the grime and smoke, in + layers, sweated in, follow'd by other layers again sweated in, absorb'd by + those excited souls—their clothes all saturated with the clay-powder + filling the air—stirr'd up everywhere on the dry roads and trodden + fields by the regiments, swarming wagons, artillery, &c.—all the + men with this coating of murk and sweat and rain, now recoiling back, + pouring over the Long Bridge—a horrible march of twenty miles, + returning to Washington baffed, humiliated, panic-struck. Where are the + vaunts, and the proud boasts with which you went forth? Where are your + banners, and your bands of music, and your ropes to bring back your + prisoners? Well, there isn't a band playing—and there isn't a flag + but clings ashamed and lank to its staff. + </p> + <p> + The sun rises, but shines not. The men appear, at first sparsely and + shame-faced enough, then thicker, in the streets of Washington—appear + in Pennsylvania avenue, and on the steps and basement entrances. They come + along in disorderly mobs, some in squads, stragglers, companies. + Occasionally, a rare regiment, in perfect order, with its officers (some + gaps, dead, the true braves,) marching in silence, with lowering faces, + stern, weary to sinking, all black and dirty, but every man with his + musket, and stepping alive; but these are the exceptions. Sidewalks of + Pennsylvania avenue, Fourteenth street, &c., crowded, jamm'd with + citizens, darkies, clerks, everybody, lookers-on; women in the windows, + curious expressions from faces, as those swarms of dirt-cover'd return'd + soldiers there (will they never end?) move by; but nothing said, no + comments; (half our lookers-on secesh of the most venomous kind—they + say nothing; but the devil snickers in their faces.) During the forenoon + Washington gets all over motley with these defeated soldiers—queer-looking + objects, strange eyes and faces, drench'd (the steady rain drizzles on all + day) and fearfully worn, hungry, haggard, blister'd in the feet. Good + people (but not over-many of them either,) hurry up something for their + grub. They put wash-kettles on the fire, for soup, for coffee. They set + tables on the side-walks—wagon-loads of bread are purchas'd, swiftly + cut in stout chunks. Here are two aged ladies, beautiful, the first in the + city for culture and charm, they stand with store of eating and drink at + an improvis'd table of rough plank, and give food, and have the store + replenished from their house every half-hour all that day; and there in + the rain they stand, active, silent, white-hair'd, and give food, though + the tears stream down their cheeks, almost without intermission, the whole + time. Amid the deep excitement, crowds and motion, and desperate + eagerness, it seems strange to see many, very many, of the soldiers + sleeping—in the midst of all, sleeping sound. They drop down + anywhere, on the steps of houses, up close by the basements or fences, on + the sidewalk, aside on some vacant lot, and deeply sleep. A poor 17 or 18 + year old boy lies there, on the stoop of a grand house; he sleeps so + calmly, so profoundly. Some clutch their muskets firmly even in sleep. + Some in squads; comrades, brothers, close together—and on them, as + they lay, sulkily drips the rain. + </p> + <p> + As afternoon pass'd, and evening came, the streets, the bar-rooms, knots + everywhere, listeners, questioners, terrible yarns, bugaboo, mask'd + batteries, our regiment all cut up, &c.—stories and + story-tellers, windy, bragging, vain centres of street-crowds. Resolution, + manliness, seem to have abandon'd Washington. The principal hotel, + Willard's, is full of shoulder-straps—thick, crush'd, creeping with + shoulder-straps. (I see them, and must have a word with them. There you + are, shoulder-straps!—but where are your companies? where are your + men? Incompetents! never tell me of chances of battle, of getting stray'd, + and the like. I think this is your work, this retreat, after all. Sneak, + blow, put on airs there in Willard's sumptuous parlors and bar-rooms, or + anywhere—no explanation shall save you. Bull Run is your work; had + you been half or one-tenth worthy your men, this would never have + happen'd.) + </p> + <p> + Meantime, in Washington, among the great persons and their entourage, a + mixture of awful consternation, uncertainty, rage, shame, helplessness, + and stupefying disappointment. The worst is not only imminent, but already + here. In a few hours—perhaps before the next meal—the secesh + generals, with their victorious hordes, will be upon us. The dream of + humanity, the vaunted Union we thought so strong, so impregnable—lo! + it seems already smash'd like a china plate. One bitter, bitter hour—perhaps + proud America will never again know such an hour. She must pack and fly—no + time to spare. Those white palaces—the dome-crown'd capitol there on + the hill, so stately over the trees—shall they be left—or + destroy'd first? For it is certain that the talk among certain of the + magnates and officers and clerks and officials everywhere, for twenty-four + hours in and around Washington after Bull Run, was loud and undisguised + for yielding out and out, and substituting the southern rule, and Lincoln + promptly abdicating and departing. If the secesh officers and forces had + immediately follow'd, and by a bold Napoleonic movement had enter'd + Washington the first day, (or even the second,) they could have had things + their own way, and a powerful faction north to back them. One of our + returning colonels express'd in public that night, amid a swarm of + officers and gentlemen in a crowded room, the opinion that it was useless + to fight, that the southerners had made their title clear, and that the + best course for the national government to pursue was to desist from any + further attempt at stopping them, and admit them again to the lead, on the + best terms they were willing to grant. Not a voice was rais'd against this + judgment, amid that large crowd of officers and gentlemen. (The fact is, + the hour was one of the three or four of those crises we had then and + afterward, during the fluctuations of four years, when human eyes appear'd + at least just as likely to see the last breath of the Union as to see it + continue.) + </p> + <h3> + THE STUPOR PASSES—SOMETHING ELSE BEGINS + </h3> + <p> + But the hour, the day, the night pass'd, and whatever returns, an hour, a + day, a night like that can never again return. The President, recovering + himself, begins that very night—sternly, rapidly sets about the task + of reorganizing his forces, and placing himself in positions for future + and surer work. If there were nothing else of Abraham Lincoln for history + to stamp him with, it is enough to send him with his wreath to the memory + of all future time, that he endured that hour, that day, bitterer than + gall—indeed a crucifixion day—that it did not conquer him—that + he unflinchingly stemm'd it, and resolv'd to lift himself and the Union + out of it. + </p> + <p> + Then the great New York papers at once appear'd, (commencing that evening, + and following it up the next morning, and incessantly through many days + afterwards,) with leaders that rang out over the land with the loudest, + most reverberating ring of clearest bugles, full of encouragement, hope, + inspiration, unfaltering defiance; Those magnificent editorials! they + never flagg'd for a fortnight. The "Herald" commenced them—I + remember the articles well. The "Tribune" was equally cogent and + inspiriting—and the "Times," "Evening Post," and other principal + papers, were not a whit behind. They came in good time, for they were + needed. For in the humiliation of Bull Run, the popular feeling north, + from its extreme of superciliousness, recoil'd to the depth of gloom and + apprehension. + </p> + <p> + (Of all the days of the war, there are two especially I can never forget. + Those were the day following the news, in New York and Brooklyn, of that + first Bull Run defeat, and the day of Abraham Lincoln's death. I was home + in Brooklyn on both occasions. The day of the murder we heard the news + very early in the morning. Mother prepared breakfast—and other meals + afterward—as usual; but not a mouthful was eaten all day by either + of us. We each drank half a cup of coffee; that was all. Little was said. + We got every newspaper morning and evening, and the frequent extras of + that period, and pass'd them silently to each other.) + </p> + <h3> + DOWN AT THE FRONT + </h3> + <p> + FALMOUTH, VA., <i>opposite Fredericksburgh, December 21, 1862</i>.—Begin + my visits among the camp hospitals in the army of the Potomac. Spend a + good part of the day in a large brick mansion on the banks of the + Rappahannock, used as a hospital since the battle—seems to have + receiv'd only the worst cases. Out doors, at the foot of a tree, within + ten yards of the front of the house, I notice a heap of amputated feet, + legs, arms, hands, &c., a full load for a one-horse cart. Several dead + bodies lie near, each cover'd with its brown woolen blanket. In the + door-yard, towards the river, are fresh graves, mostly of officers, their + names on pieces of arrel-staves or broken boards, stuck in the dirt. (Most + of these bodies were subsequently taken up and transported north to their + friends.) The large mansion is quite crowded upstairs and down, everything + impromptu, no system, all bad enough, but I have no doubt the best that + can be done; all the wounds pretty bad, some frightful, the men in their + old clothes, unclean and bloody. Some of the wounded are rebel soldiers + and officers, prisoners. One, a Mississippian, a captain, hit badly in + leg, I talk'd with some time; he ask'd me for papers, which I gave him. (I + saw him three months afterward in Washington, with his leg amputated, + doing well.) I went through the rooms, downstairs and up. Some of the men + were dying. I had nothing to give at that visit, but wrote a few letters + to folks home, mothers, &c. Also talk'd to three or four, who seem'd + most susceptible to it, and needing it. + </p> + <h3> + AFTER FIRST FREDERICKSBURG + </h3> + <p> + <i>December 23 to 31</i>.—The results of the late battle are + exhibited everywhere about here in thousands of cases, (hundreds die every + day,) in the camp, brigade, and division hospitals. These are merely + tents, and sometimes very poor ones, the wounded lying on the ground, + lucky if their blankets are spread on layers of pine or hemlock twigs, or + small leaves. No cots; seldom even a mattress. It is pretty cold. The + ground is frozen hard, and there is occasional snow. I go around from one + case to another. I do not see that I do much good to these wounded and + dying; but I cannot leave them. Once in a while some youngster holds on to + me convulsively, and I do what I can for him; at any rate, stop with him + and sit near him for hours, if he wishes it. + </p> + <p> + Besides the hospitals, I also go occasionally on long tours through the + camps, talking with the men, &c. Sometimes at night among the groups + around the fires, in their shebang enclosures of bushes. These are curious + shows, full of characters and groups. I soon get acquainted anywhere in + camp, with officers or men, and am always well used. Sometimes I go down + on picket with the regiments I know best. As to rations, the army here at + present seems to be tolerably well supplied, and the men have enough, such + as it is, mainly salt pork and hard tack. Most of the regiments lodge in + the flimsy little shelter-tents. A few have built themselves huts of logs + and mud, with fire-places. + </p> + <h3> + BACK TO WASHINGTON + </h3> + <p> + <i>January, '63</i>.—Left camp at Falmouth, with some wounded, a few + days since, and came here by Aquia creek railroad, and so on government + steamer up the Potomac. Many wounded were with us on the cars and boat. + The cars were just common platform ones. The railroad journey of ten or + twelve miles was made mostly before sunrise. The soldiers guarding the + road came out from their tents or shebangs of bushes with rumpled hair and + half-awake look. Those on duty were walking their posts, some on banks + over us, others down far below the level of the track. I saw large cavalry + camps off the road. At Aquia creek landing were numbers of wounded going + north. While I waited some three hours, I went around among them. Several + wanted word sent home to parents, brothers, wives, &c., which I did + for them, (by mail the next day from Washington.) On the boat I had my + hands full. One poor fellow died going up. + </p> + <p> + I am now remaining in and around Washington, daily visiting the hospitals. + Am much in Patent-office, Eighth street, H street, Armory-square, and + others. Am now able to do a little good, having money, (as almoner of + others home,) and getting experience. To-day, Sunday afternoon and till + nine in the evening, visited Campbell hospital; attended specially to one + case in ward I, very sick with pleurisy and typhoid fever, young man, + farmer's son, D. F. Russell, company E, 60th New York, downhearted and + feeble; a long time before he would take any interest; wrote a letter home + to his mother, in Malone, Franklin county, N. Y., at his request; gave him + some fruit and one or two other gifts; envelop'd and directed his letter, + &c. Then went thoroughly through ward 6, observ'd every case in the + ward, without, I think, missing one; gave perhaps from twenty to thirty + persons, each one some little gift, such as oranges, apples, sweet + crackers, figs, &c. + </p> + <p> + <i>Thursday, Jan. 21.</i>—Devoted the main part of the day to + Armory-square hospital; went pretty thoroughly through wards F, G, H, and + I; some fifty cases in each ward. In ward F supplied the men throughout + with writing paper and stamp'd envelope each; distributed in small + portions, to proper subjects, a large jar of first-rate preserv'd berries, + which had been donated to me by a lady—her own cooking. Found + several cases I thought good subjects for small sums of money, which I + furnish'd. (The wounded men often come up broke, and it helps their + spirits to have even the small sum I give them.) My paper and envelopes + all gone, but distributed a good lot of amusing reading matter; also, as I + thought judicious, tobacco, oranges, apples, &c. Interesting cases in + ward I; Charles Miller, bed 19, company D, 53d Pennsylvania, is only 16 + years of age, very bright, courageous boy, left leg amputated below the + knee; next bed to him, another young lad very sick; gave each appropriate + gifts. In the bed above, also, amputation of the left leg; gave him a + little jar of raspberries; bed J, this ward, gave a small sum; also to a + soldier on crutches, sitting on his bed near.... (I am more and more + surprised at the very great proportion of youngsters from fifteen to + twenty-one in the army. I afterwards found a still greater proportion + among the southerners.) + </p> + <p> + Evening, same day, went to see D. F. R., before alluded to; found him + remarkably changed for the better; up and dress'd—quite a triumph; + he afterwards got well, and went back to his regiment. + </p> + <p> + Distributed in the wards a quantity of note-paper, and forty or fifty + stamp'd envelopes, of which I had recruited my stock, and the men were + much in need. + </p> + <h3> + FIFTY HOURS LEFT WOUNDED ON THE FIELD + </h3> + <p> + Here is a case of a soldier I found among the crowded cots in the + Patent-office. He likes to have some one to talk to, and we will listen to + him. He got badly hit in his leg and side at Fredericksburgh that eventful + Saturday, 13th of December. He lay the succeeding two days and nights + helpless on the field, between the city and those grim terraces of + batteries; his company and regiment had been compell'd to leave him to his + fate. To make matters worse, it happen'd he lay with his head slightly + down hill, and could not help himself. At the end of some fifty hours he + was brought off, with other wounded, under a flag of truce. I ask him how + the rebels treated him as he lay during those two days and nights within + reach of them—whether they came to him—whether they abused + him? He answers that several of the rebels, soldiers and others, came to + him at one time and another. A couple of them, who were together, spoke + roughly and sarcastically, but nothing worse. One middle-aged man, + however, who seem'd to be moving around the field, among the dead and + wounded, for benevolent purposes, came to him in a way he will never + forget; treated our soldier kindly, bound up his wounds, cheer'd him, gave + him a couple of biscuits and a drink of whiskey and water; asked him if he + could eat some beef. This good secesh, however, did not change our + soldier's position, for it might have caused the blood to burst from the + wounds, clotted and stagnated. Our soldier is from Pennsylvania; has had a + pretty severe time; the wounds proved to be bad ones. But he retains a + good heart, and is at present on the gain. (It is not uncommon for the men + to remain on the field this way, one, two, or even four or five days.) + </p> + <h3> + HOSPITAL SCENES AND PERSONS + </h3> + <p> + <i>Letter Writing</i>.—When eligible, I encourage the men to write, + and myself, when called upon, write all sorts of letters for them + (including love letters, very tender ones.) Almost as I reel off these + memoranda, I write for a new patient to his wife. M. de F., of the 17th + Connecticut, company H, has just come up (February 17th) from Windmill + point, and is received in ward H, Armory-square. He is an intelligent + looking man, has a foreign accent, black-eyed and hair'd, a Hebraic + appearance. Wants a telegraphic message sent to his wife, New Canaan, + Conn. I agree to send the message—but to make things sure I also sit + down and write the wife a letter, and despatch it to the post-office + immediately, as he fears she will come on, and he does not wish her to, as + he will surely get well. + </p> + <p> + <i>Saturday, January 30th.</i>—Afternoon, visited Campbell hospital. + Scene of cleaning up the ward, and giving the men all clean clothes—through + the ward (6) the patients dressing or being dress'd—the naked upper + half of the bodies—the good-humor and fun—the shirts, drawers, + sheets of beds, &c., and the general fixing up for Sunday. Gave J. L. + 50 cents. + </p> + <p> + <i>Wednesday, February 4th.</i>—Visited Armory-square hospital, went + pretty thoroughly through wards E and D. Supplied paper and envelopes to + all who wish'd—as usual, found plenty of men who needed those + articles. Wrote letters. Saw and talk'd with two or three members of the + Brooklyn 14th regt. A poor fellow in ward D, with a fearful wound in a + fearful condition, was having some loose splinters of bone taken from the + neighborhood of the wound. The operation was long, and one of great pain—yet, + after it was well commenced, the soldier bore it in silence. He sat up, + propp'd—was much wasted—had lain a long time quiet in one + position (not for days only but weeks,) a bloodless, brown-skinn'd face, + with eyes full of determination—belong'd to a New York regiment. + There was an unusual cluster of surgeons, medical cadets, nurses, &c., + around his bed—I thought the whole thing was done with tenderness, + and done well. In one case, the wife sat by the side of her husband, his + sickness typhoid fever, pretty bad. In another, by the side of her son, a + mother—she told me she had seven children, and this was the + youngest. (A fine, kind, healthy, gentle mother, good-looking, not very + old, with a cap on her head, and dress'd like home—what a charm it + gave to the whole ward.) I liked the woman nurse in ward E—I noticed + how she sat a long time by a poor fellow who just had, that morning, in + addition to his other sickness, bad hemorrhage—she gently assisted + him, reliev'd him of the blood, holding a cloth to his mouth, as he + coughed it up—he was so weak he could only just turn his head over + on the pillow. + </p> + <p> + One young New York man, with a bright, handsome face, had been lying + several months from a most disagreeable wound, receiv'd at Bull Run. A + bullet had shot him right through the bladder, hitting him front, low in + the belly, and coming out back. He had suffer'd much—the water came + out of the wound, by slow but steady quantities, for many weeks—so + that he lay almost constantly in a sort of puddle—and there were + other disagreeable circumstances. He was of good heart, however. At + present comparatively comfortable, had a bad throat, was delighted with a + stick of horehound candy I gave him, with one or two other trifles. + </p> + <h3> + PATENT-OFFICE HOSPITAL + </h3> + <p> + <i>February 23.</i>—I must not let the great hospital at the + Patent-office pass away without some mention. A few weeks ago the vast + area of the second story of that noblest of Washington buildings was + crowded close with rows of sick, badly wounded and dying soldiers. They + were placed in three very large apartments. I went there many times. It + was a strange, solemn, and, with all its features of suffering and death, + a sort of fascinating sight. I go sometimes at night to soothe and relieve + particular cases. Two of the immense apartments are fill'd with high and + ponderous glass cases, crowded with models in miniature of every kind of + utensil, machine or invention, it ever enter'd into the mind of man to + conceive; and with curiosities and foreign presents. Between these cases + are lateral openings, perhaps eight feet wide and quite deep, and in these + were placed the sick, besides a great long double row of them up and down + through the middle of the hall. Many of them were very bad cases, wounds + and amputations. Then there was a gallery running above the hall in which + there were beds also. It was, indeed, a curious scene, especially at night + when lit up. The glass cases, the beds, the forms lying there, the gallery + above, and the marble pavement under foot—the suffering, and the + fortitude to bear it in various degrees—occasionally, from some, the + groan that could not be repress'd—sometimes a poor fellow dying, + with emaciated face and glassy eye, the nurse by his side, the doctor also + there, but no friend, no relative—such were the sights but lately in + the Patent-office. (The wounded have since been removed from there, and it + is now vacant again.) + </p> + <h3> + THE WHITE HOUSE BY MOONLIGHT + </h3> + <p> + <i>February 24th.</i>—A spell of fine soft weather. I wander about a + good deal, sometimes at night under the moon. Tonight took a long look at + the President's house. The white portico—the palace-like, tall, + round columns, spotless as snow—the walls also—the tender and + soft moonlight, flooding the pale marble, and making peculiar faint + languishing shades, not shadows—everywhere a soft transparent hazy, + thin, blue moon-lace, hanging in the air—the brilliant and + extra-plentiful clusters of gas, on and around the façade, columns, + portico, &c.—everything so white, so marbly pure and dazzling, + yet soft—the White House of future poems, and of dreams and dramas, + there in the soft and copious moon—the gorgeous front, in the trees, + under the lustrous flooding moon, full of realty, full of illusion—the + forms of the trees, leafless, silent, in trunk and myriad—angles of + branches, under the stars and sky—the White House of the land, and + of beauty and night—sentries at the gates, and by the portico, + silent, pacing there in blue overcoats—stopping you not at all, but + eyeing you with sharp eyes, whichever way you move. + </p> + <h3> + AN ARMY HOSPITAL WARD + </h3> + <p> + Let me specialize a visit I made to the collection of barrack-like + one-story edifices, Campbell hospital, out on the flats, at the end of the + then horse railway route, on Seventh street. There is a long building + appropriated to each ward. Let us go into ward 6. It contains, to-day, I + should judge, eighty or a hundred patients, half sick, half wounded. The + edifice is nothing but boards, well whitewash'd inside, and the usual + slender-framed iron bedsteads, narrow and plain. You walk down the central + passage, with a row on either side, their feet towards you, and their + heads to the wall. There are fires in large stoves, and the prevailing + white of the walls is reliev'd by some ornaments, stars, circles, &c., + made of evergreens. The view of the whole edifice and occupants can be + taken at once, for there is no partition. You may hear groans or other + sounds of unendurable suffering from two or three of the cots, but in the + main there is quiet—almost a painful absence of demonstration; but + the pallid face, the dull'd eye, and the moisture of the lip, are + demonstration enough. Most of these sick or hurt are evidently young + fellows from the country, farmers' sons, and such like. Look at the fine + large frames, the bright and broad countenances, and the many yet + lingering proofs of strong constitution and physique. Look at the patient + and mute manner of our American wounded as they lie in such a sad + collection; representatives from all New England, and from New York, and + New Jersey, and Pennsylvania—indeed from all the States and all the + cities—largely from the west. Most of them are entirely without + friends or acquaintances here—no familiar face, and hardly a word of + judicious sympathy or cheer, through their sometimes long and tedious + sickness, or the pangs of aggravated wounds. + </p> + <h3> + A CONNECTICUT CASE + </h3> + <p> + This young man in bed 25 is H. D. B. of the 27th Connecticut, company B. + His folks live at Northford, near New Haven. Though not more than + twenty-one, or thereabouts, he has knock'd much around the world, on sea + and land, and has seen some fighting on both. When I first saw him he was + very sick, with no appetite. He declined offers of money—said he did + not need anything. As I was quite anxious to do something, he confess'd + that he had a hankering for a good home-made rice pudding—thought he + could relish it better than anything. At this time his stomach was very + weak. (The doctor, whom I consulted, said nourishment would do him more + good than anything; but things in the hospital, though better than usual, + revolted him.) I soon procured B. his rice pudding. A Washington lady, + (Mrs. O'C.), hearing his wish, made the pudding herself, and I took it up + to him the next day. He subsequently told me he lived upon it for three or + four days. This B. is a good sample of the American eastern young man—the + typical Yankee. I took a fancy to him, and gave him a nice pipe for a + keepsake. He receiv'd afterwards a box of things from home, and nothing + would do but I must take dinner with him, which I did, and a very good one + it was. + </p> + <h3> + TWO BROOKLYN BOYS + </h3> + <p> + Here in this same ward are two young men from Brooklyn, members of the + 51st New York. I had known both the two as young lads at home, so they + seem near to me. One of them, J. L., lies there with an amputated arm, the + stump healing pretty well. (I saw him lying on the ground at + Fredericksburgh last December, all bloody, just after the arm was taken + off. He was very phlegmatic about it, munching away at a cracker in the + remaining hand—made no fuss.) He will recover, and thinks and talks + yet of meeting Johnny Rebs. + </p> + <h3> + A SECESH BRAVE + </h3> + <p> + The grand soldiers are not comprised in those of one side, any more than + the other. Here is a sample of an unknown southerner, a lad of seventeen. + At the War department, a few days ago, I witness'd a presentation of + captured flags to the Secretary. Among others a soldier named Gant, of the + 104th Ohio volunteers, presented a rebel battle-flag, which one of the + officers stated to me was borne to the mouth of our cannon and planted + there by a boy but seventeen years of age, who actually endeavor'd to stop + the muzzle of the gun with fence-rails. He was kill'd in the effort, and + the flag-staff was sever'd by a shot from one of our men. + </p> + <h3> + THE WOUNDED FROM CHANCELLORSVILLE + </h3> + <p> + <i>May '63</i>.—As I write this, the wounded have begun to arrive + from Hooker's command from bloody Chancellorsville. I was down among the + first arrivals. The men in charge told me the bad cases were yet to come. + If that is so I pity them, for these are bad enough. You ought to see the + scene of the wounded arriving at the landing here at the foot of Sixth + street, at night. Two boat loads came about half-past seven last night. A + little after eight it rain'd a long and violent shower. The pale, helpless + soldiers had been debark'd, and lay around on the wharf and neighborhood + anywhere. The rain was, probably, grateful to them; at any rate they were + exposed to it. The few torches light up the spectacle. All around—on + the wharf, on the ground, out on side places—the men are lying on + blankets, old quilts, &c., with bloody rags bound round heads, arms, + and legs. The attendants are few, and at night few outsiders also—only + a few hard-work'd transportation men and drivers. (The wounded are getting + to be common, and people grow callous.) The men, whatever their condition, + lie there, and patiently wait till their turn comes to be taken up. Near + by, the ambulances are now arriving in clusters, and one after another is + call'd to back up and take its load. Extreme cases are sent off on + stretchers. The men generally make little or no ado, whatever their + sufferings. A few groans that cannot be suppress'd, and occasionally a + scream of pain as they lift a man into the ambulance. To-day, as I write, + hundreds more are expected, and to-morrow and the next day more, and so on + for many days. Quite often they arrive at the rate of 1000 a day. + </p> + <h3> + A NIGHT BATTLE OVER A WEEK SINCE + </h3> + <p> + <i>May 12</i>.—There was part of the late battle at + Chancellorsville, (second Fredericksburgh,) a little over a week ago, + Saturday, Saturday night and Sunday, under Gen. Joe Hooker, I would like + to give just a glimpse of—(a moment's look in a terrible storm at + sea—of which a few suggestions are enough, and full details + impossible.) The fighting had been very hot during the day, and after an + intermission the latter part, was resumed at night, and kept up with + furious energy till 3 o'clock in the morning. That afternoon (Saturday) an + attack sudden and strong by Stonewall Jackson had gain'd a great advantage + to the southern army, and broken our lines, entering us like a wedge, and + leaving things in that position at dark. But Hooker at 11 at night made a + desperate push, drove the secesh forces back, restored his original lines, + and resumed his plans. This night scrimmage was very exciting, and + afforded countless strange and fearful pictures. The fighting had been + general both at Chancellorsville and northeast at Fredericksburgh. (We + hear of some poor fighting, episodes, skedaddling on our part. I think not + of it. I think of the fierce bravery, the general rule.) One corps, the + 6th, Sedgewick's, fights four dashing and bloody battles in thirty-six + hours, retreating in great jeopardy, losing largely but maintaining + itself, fighting with the sternest desperation under all circumstances, + getting over the Rappahannock only by the skin of its teeth, yet getting + over. It lost many, many brave men, yet it took vengeance, ample + vengeance. + </p> + <p> + But it was the tug of Saturday evening, and through the night and Sunday + morning, I wanted to make a special note of. It was largely in the woods, + and quite a general engagement. The night was very pleasant, at times the + moon shining out full and clear, all Nature so calm in itself, the early + summer grass so rich, and foliage of the trees—yet there the battle + raging, and many good fellows lying helpless, with new accessions to them, + and every minute amid the rattle of muskets and crash of cannon, (for + there was an artillery contest too,) the red life-blood oozing out from + heads or trunks or limbs upon that green and dew-cool grass. Patches of + the woods take fire, and several of the wounded, unable to move, are + consumed—quite large spaces are swept over, burning the dead also—some + of the men have their hair and beards singed—some, burns on their + faces and hands—others holes burnt in their clothing. The flashes of + fire from the cannon, the quick flaring flames and smoke, and the immense + roar—the musketry so general, the light nearly bright enough for + each side to see the other—the crashing, tramping of men—the + yelling—close quarters—we hear the secesh yells—our men + cheer loudly back, especially if Hooker is in sight—hand to hand + conflicts, each side stands up to it, brave, determin'd as demons, they + often charge upon us—a thousand deeds are done worth to write newer + greater poems on—and still the woods on fire—still many are + not only scorch'd—too many, unable to move, are burned to death. + </p> + <p> + Then the camps of the wounded—O heavens, what scene is this?—is + this indeed <i>humanity</i>—these butchers' shambles? There are + several of them. There they lie, in the largest, in an open space in the + woods, from 200 to 300 poor fellows—the groans and screams—the + odor of blood, mixed with the fresh scent of the night, the grass, the + trees—that slaughter-house! O well is it their mothers, their + sisters cannot see them—cannot conceive, and never conceiv'd, these + things. One man is shot by a shell, both in the arm and leg—both are + amputated—there lie the rejected members. Some have their legs blown + off—some bullets through the breast—some indescribably horrid + wounds in the face or head, all mutilated, sickening, torn, gouged out—some + in the abdomen—some mere boys—many rebels, badly hurt—they + take their regular turns with the rest, just the same as any—the + surgeons use them just the same. Such is the camp of the wounded—such + a fragment, a reflection afar off of the bloody scene—while all over + the clear, large moon comes out at times softly, quietly shining. Amid the + woods, that scene of flitting souls—amid the crack and crash and + yelling sounds—the impalpable perfume of the woods—and yet the + pungent, stifling smoke—the radiance of the moon, looking from + heaven at intervals so placid—the sky so heavenly the clear-obscure + up there, those buoyant upper oceans—a few large placid stars + beyond, coming silently and languidly out, and then disappearing—the + melancholy, draperied night above, around. And there, upon the roads, the + fields, and in those woods, that contest, never one more desperate in any + age or land—both parties now in force—masses—no fancy + battle, no semi-play, but fierce and savage demons fighting there—courage + and scorn of death the rule, exceptions almost none. + </p> + <p> + What history, I say, can ever give—for who can know—the mad, + determin'd tussle of the armies, in all their separate large and little + squads—as this—each steep'd from crown to toe in desperate, + mortal purports? Who know the conflict, hand-to-hand—the many + conflicts in the dark, those shadowy-tangled, flashing moonbeam'd woods—the + writhing groups and squads—the cries, the din, the cracking guns and + pistols—the distant cannon—the cheers and calls and threats + and awful music of the oaths—the indescribable mix—the + officers' orders, persuasions, encouragements—the devils fully + rous'd in human hearts—the strong shout, <i>Charge, men, charge</i>—the + flash of the naked sword, and rolling flame and smoke? And still the + broken, clear and clouded heaven—and still again the moonlight + pouring silvery soft its radiant patches over all. Who paint the scene, + the sudden partial panic of the afternoon, at dusk? Who paint the + irrepressible advance of the second division of the Third corps, under + Hooker himself, suddenly order'd up—those rapid-filing phantoms + through the woods? Who show what moves there in the shadows, fluid and + firm—to save, (and it did save,) the army's name, perhaps the + nation? as there the veterans hold the field. (Brave Berry falls not yet—but + death has mark'd him—soon he falls.) + </p> + <h3> + UNNAMED REMAINS THE BRAVEST SOLDIER + </h3> + <p> + Of scenes like these, I say, who writes—whoe'er can write the story? + Of many a score—aye, thousands, north and south, of unwrit heroes, + unknown heroisms, incredible, impromptu, first-class desperations—who + tells? No history ever—no poem sings, no music sounds, those bravest + men of all—those deeds. No formal general's report, nor book in the + library, norcolumn in the paper, embalms the bravest, north or south, east + or west. Unnamed, unknown, remain, and still remain, the bravest soldiers. + Our manliest—our boys—our hardy darlings; no picture gives + them. Likely, the typic one of them (standing, no doubt, for hundreds, + thousands,) crawls aside to some bush-clump, or ferny tuft, on receiving + his death-shot—there sheltering a little while, soaking roots, grass + and soil, with red blood—the battle advances, retreats, flits from + the scene, sweeps by—and there, haply with pain and suffering (yet + less, far less, than is supposed,) the last lethargy winds like a serpent + round him—the eyes glaze in death——none recks—perhaps + the burial-squads, in truce, a week afterwards, search not the secluded + spot—and there, at last, the Bravest Soldier crumbles in mother + earth, unburied and unknown. + </p> + <h3> + SOME SPECIMEN CASES + </h3> + <p> + <i>June 18th</i>.—In one of the hospitals I find Thomas Haley, + company M, 4th New York cavalry—a regular Irish boy, a fine specimen + of youthful physical manliness—shot through the lungs—inevitably + dying—came over to this country from Ireland to enlist—has not + a single friend or acquaintance here—is sleeping soundly at this + moment, (but it is the sleep of death)—has a bullet-hole straight + through the lung. I saw Tom when first brought here, three days since, and + didn't suppose he could live twelve hours—(yet he looks well enough + in the face to a casual observer.) He lies there with his frame exposed + above the waist, all naked, for coolness, a fine built man, the tan not + yet bleach'd from his cheeks and neck. It is useless to talk to him, as + with his sad hurt, and the stimulants they give him, and the utter + strangeness of every object, face, furniture, &c., the poor fellow, + even when awake, is like some frighten'd, shy animal. Much of the time he + sleeps, or half sleeps. (Sometimes I thought he knew more than he show'd.) + I often come and sit by him in perfect silence; he will breathe for ten + minutes as softly and evenly as a young babe asleep. Poor youth, so + handsome, athletic, with profuse beautiful shining hair. One time as I sat + looking at him while he lay asleep, he suddenly, without the least start, + awaken'd, open'd his eyes, gave me a long steady look, turning his face + very slightly to gaze easier—one long, clear, silent look—a + slight sigh—then turn'd back and went into his doze again. Little he + knew, poor death-stricken boy, the heart of the stranger that hover'd + near. + </p> + <p> + <i>W.H.E., Co. F, 2nd N.Y.</i>—His disease is pneumonia. He lay sick + at the wretched hospital below Aquia creek, for seven or eight days before + brought here. He was detail'd from his regiment to go there and help as + nurse, but was soon taken down himself. Is an elderly, sallow-faced, + rather gaunt, gray-hair'd man, a widower, with children. He express'd a + great desire for good, strong green tea. An excellent lady, Mrs. W., of + Washington, soon sent him a package; also a small sum of money. The doctor + said give him the tea at pleasure; it lay on the table by his side, and he + used it every day. He slept a great deal; could not talk much, as he grew + deaf. Occupied bed 15, ward I, Armory. (The same lady above, Mrs. W., sent + the men a large package of tobacco.) + </p> + <p> + J. G. lies in bed 52, ward I; is of company B, 7th Pennsylvania. I gave + him a small sum of money, some tobacco, and envelopes. To a man adjoining + also gave twenty-five cents; he flush'd in the face when I offer'd it—refused + at first, but as I found he had not a cent, and was very fond of having + the daily papers to read, I prest it on him. He was evidently very + grateful, but said little. + </p> + <p> + J.T.L., of company F, 9th New Hampshire, lies in bed 37, ward I. Is very + fond of tobacco. I furnish him some; also with a little money. Has + gangrene of the feet; a pretty bad case; will surely have to lose three + toes. Is a regular specimen of an old-fashion'd, rude, hearty, New England + countryman, impressing me with his likeness to that celebrated singed cat, + who was better than she look'd. + </p> + <p> + Bed 3, ward E, Armory, has a great hankering for pickles, something + pungent. After consulting the doctor, I gave him a small bottle of + horse-radish; also some apples; also a book. Some of the nurses are + excellent. The woman-nurse in this ward I like very much. (Mrs. Wright—a + year afterwards I found her in Mansion house hospital, Alexandria—she + is a perfect nurse.) + </p> + <p> + In one bed a young man, Marcus Small, company K, 7th Maine—sick with + dysentery and typhoid fever—pretty critical case—I talk with + him often—he thinks he will die—looks like it indeed. I write + a letter for him home to East Livermore, Maine—I let him talk to me + a little, but not much, advise him to keep very quiet—do most of the + talking myself—stay quite a while with him, as he holds on to my + hand—talk to him in a cheering, but slow, low and measured manner—talk + about his furlough, and going home as soon as he is able to travel. + </p> + <p> + Thomas Lindly, 1st Pennsylvania cavalry, shot very badly through the foot—poor + young man, he suffers horridly, has to be constantly dosed with morphine, + his face ashy and glazed, bright young eyes—I give him a large + handsome apple, lay it in sight, tell him to have it roasted in the + morning, as he generally feels easier then, and can eat a little + breakfast. I write two letters for him. + </p> + <p> + Opposite, an old Quaker lady sits by the side of her son, Amer Moore, 2d + U. S. artillery—shot in the head two weeks since, very low, quite + rational—from hips down paralyzed—he will surely die. I speak + a very few words to him every day and evening—he answers pleasantly—wants + nothing—(he told me soon after he came about his home affairs, his + mother had been an invalid, and he fear'd to let her know his condition.) + He died soon after she came. + </p> + <h3> + MY PREPARATIONS FOR VISITS + </h3> + <p> + In my visits to the hospitals I found it was in the simple matter of + personal presence, and emanating ordinary cheer and magnetism, that I + succeeded and help'd more than by medical nursing, or delicacies, or gifts + of money, or anything else. During the war I possess'd the perfection of + physical health. My habit, when practicable, was to prepare for starting + out on one of those daily or nightly tours of from a couple to four or + five hours, by fortifying myself with previous rest, the bath, clean + clothes, a good meal, and as cheerful an appearance as possible. + </p> + <h3> + AMBULANCE PROCESSIONS + </h3> + <p> + <i>June 23, Sundown.</i>—As I sit writing this paragraph I see a + train of about thirty huge four-horse wagons, used as ambulances, fill'd + with wounded, passing up Fourteenth street, on their way, probably, to + Columbian, Carver, and Mount Pleasant hospitals. This is the way the men + come in now, seldom in small numbers, but almost always in these long, sad + processions. Through the past winter, while our army lay opposite + Fredericksburg, the like strings of ambulances were of frequent occurrence + along Seventh street, passing slowly up from the steamboat wharf, with + loads from Aquia creek. + </p> + <h3> + BAD WOUNDS—THE YOUNG + </h3> + <p> + The soldiers are nearly all young men, and far more American than is + generally supposed—I should say nine-tenths are native-born. Among + the arrivals from Chancellorsville I find a large proportion of Ohio, + Indiana, and Illinois men. As usual, there are all sorts of wounds. Some + of the men fearfully burnt from the explosions of artillery caissons. One + ward has a long row of officers, some with ugly hurts. Yesterday was + perhaps worse than usual. Amputations are going on—the attendants + are dressing wounds. As you pass by, you must be on your guard where you + look. I saw the other day a gentlemen, a visitor apparently from + curiosity, in one of the wards, stop and turn a moment to look at an awful + wound they were probing. He turn'd pale, and in a moment more he had + fainted away and fallen to the floor. + </p> + <h3> + THE MOST INSPIRITING OF ALL WAR'S SHOWS + </h3> + <p> + <i>June 29.</i>—Just before sundown this evening a very large + cavalry force went by—a fine sight. The men evidently had seen + service. First came a mounted band of sixteen bugles, drums and cymbals, + playing wild martial tunes—made my heart jump. Then the principal + officers, then company after company, with their officers at their heads, + making of course the main part of the cavalcade; then a long train of men + with led horses, lots of mounted negroes with special horses—and a + long string of baggage-wagons, each drawn by four horses—and then a + motley rear guard. + </p> + <p> + It was a pronouncedly warlike and gay show; the sabres clank'd, the men + look'd young and healthy and strong; the electric tramping of so many + horses on the hard road, and the gallant bearing, fine seat, and bright + faced appearance of a thousand and more handsome young American men, were + so good to see. An hour later another troop went by, smaller in numbers, + perhaps three hundred men. They too look'd like serviceable men, + campaigners used to field and fight. + </p> + <p> + <i>July 3</i>.—This forenoon, for more than an hour, again long + strings of cavalry, several regiments, very fine men and horses, four or + five abreast. I saw them in Fourteenth street, coming in town from north. + Several hundred extra horses, some of the mares with colts, trotting + along. (Appear'd to be a number of prisoners too.) How inspiriting always + the cavalry regiments. Our men are generally well mounted, feel good, are + young, gay on the saddle, their blankets in a roll behind them, their + sabres clanking at their sides. This noise and movement and the tramp of + many horses' hoofs has a curious effect upon one. The bugles play—presently + you hear them afar off, deaden'd, mix'd with other noises. Then just as + they had all pass'd, a string of ambulances commenc'd from the other way, + moving up Fourteenth street north, slowly wending along, bearing a large + lot of wounded to the hospitals. + </p> + <h3> + BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG + </h3> + <p> + <i>July 4th</i>.—The weather to-day, upon the whole, is very fine, + warm, but from a smart rain last night, fresh enough, and no dust, which + is a great relief for this city. I saw the parade about noon, Pennsylvania + avenue, from Fifteenth street down toward the capitol. There were three + regiments of infantry, (I suppose the ones doing patrol duty here,) two or + three societies of Odd Fellows, a lot of children in barouches, and a + squad of policemen. (A useless imposition upon the soldiers—they + have work enough on their backs without piling the like of this.) + </p> + <p> + As I went down the Avenue, saw a big flaring placard on the bulletin board + of a newspaper office, announcing "Glorious Victory for the Union Army!" + Meade had fought Lee at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, yesterday and day + before, and repuls'd him most signally, taken 3,000 prisoners, &c. (I + afterwards saw Meade's despatch, very modest, and a sort of order of the + day from the President himself, quite religious, giving thanks to the + Supreme, and calling on the people to do the same.) + </p> + <p> + I walk'd on to Armory hospital—took along with me several bottles of + blackberry and cherry syrup, good and strong, but innocent. Went through + several of the wards, announc'd to the soldiers the news from Meade, and + gave them all a good drink of the syrups with ice water, quite refreshing—prepar'd + it all myself, and serv'd it around. Meanwhile the Washington bells are + ringing their sun-down peals for Fourth of July, and the usual fusilades + of boys' pistols, crackers, and guns. + </p> + <h3> + A CAVALRY CAMP + </h3> + <p> + I am writing this, nearly sundown, watching a cavalry company (acting + Signal service,) just come in through a shower, making their night's camp + ready on some broad, vacant ground, a sort of hill, in full view opposite + my window. There are the men in their yellow-striped jackets. All are + dismounted; the freed horses stand with drooping heads and wet sides; they + are to be led off presently in groups, to water. The little wall-tents and + shelter tents spring up quickly. I see the fires already blazing, and pots + and kettles over them. Some among the men are driving in tent-poles, + wielding their axes with strong, slow blows. I see great huddles of + horses, bundles of hay, groups of men (some with unbuckled sabres yet on + their sides,) a few officers, piles of wood, the flames of the fires, + saddles, harness, &c. The smoke streams upward, additional men arrive + and dismount—some drive in stakes, and tie their horses to them; + some go with buckets for water, some are chopping wood, and so on. + </p> + <p> + <i>July 6th</i>.—A steady rain, dark and thick and warm. A train of + six-mule wagons has just pass'd bearing pontoons, great square-end + flatboats, and the heavy planking for overlaying them. We hear that the + Potomac above here is flooded, and are wondering whether Lee will be able + to get back across again, or whether Meade will indeed break him to + pieces. The cavalry camp on the hill is a ceaseless field of observation + for me. This forenoon there stand the horses, tether'd together, dripping, + steaming, chewing their hay. The men emerge from their tents, dripping + also. The fires are half quench'd. + </p> + <p> + <i>July 10th</i>.—Still the camp opposite—perhaps fifty or + sixty tents. Some of the men are cleaning their sabres (pleasant to-day,) + some brushing boots, some laying off, reading, writing—some cooking, + some sleeping. On long temporary cross-sticks back of the tents are + cavalry accoutrements—blankets and overcoats are hung out to air—there + are the squads of horses tether'd, feeding, continually stamping and + whisking their tails to keep off flies. I sit long in my third story + window and look at the scene—a hundred little things going on—peculiar + objects connected with the camp that could not be described, any one of + them justly, without much minute drawing and coloring in words. + </p> + <h3> + A NEW YORK SOLDIER + </h3> + <p> + This afternoon, July 22d, I have spent a long time with Oscar F. Wilber, + company G, 154th New York, low with chronic diarrhoea, and a bad wound + also. He asked me to read him a chapter in the New Testament. I complied, + and ask'd him what I should read. He said, "Make your own choice." I + open'd at the close of one of the first books of the evangelists, and read + the chapters describing the latter hours of Christ, and the scenes at the + crucifixion. The poor, wasted young man ask'd me to read the following + chapter also, how Christ rose again. I read very slowly, for Oscar was + feeble. It pleased him very much, yet the tears were in his eyes. He ask'd + me if I enjoy'd religion. I said, "Perhaps not, my dear, in the way you + mean, and yet, may-be, it is the same thing." He said, "It is my chief + reliance." He talk'd of death, and said he did not fear it. I said, "Why, + Oscar, don't you think you will get well?" He said, "I may, but it is not + probable." He spoke calmly of his condition. The wound was very bad, it + discharg'd much. Then the diarrhoea had prostrated him, and I felt that he + was even then the same as dying. He behaved very manly and affectionate. + The kiss I gave him as I was about leaving he return'd fourfold. He gave + me his mother's address, Mrs. Sally D. Wilber, Alleghany pest-office, + Cattaraugus county, N. Y. I had several such interviews with him. He died + a few days after the one just described. + </p> + <h3> + HOME-MADE MUSIC + </h3> + <p> + <i>August 8th</i>.—To-night, as I was trying to keep cool, sitting + by a wounded soldier in Armory-square, I was attracted by some pleasant + singing in an adjoining ward. As my soldier was asleep, I left him, and + entering the ward where the music was, I walk'd halfway down and took a + seat by the cot of a young Brooklyn friend, S. R., badly wounded in the + hand at Chancellorsville, and who has suffer'd much, but at that moment in + the evening was wide awake and comparatively easy. He had turn'd over on + his left side to get a better view of the singers, but the + mosquito-curtains of the adjoining cots obstructed the sight. I stept + round and loop'd them all up, so that he had a clear show, and then sat + down again by him, and look'd and listen'd. The principal singer was a + young lady-nurse of one of the wards, accompanying on a melodeon, and + join'd by the lady-nurses of other wards. They sat there, making a + charming group, with their handsome, healthy faces, and standing up a + little behind them were some ten or fifteen of the convalescent soldiers, + young men, nurses, &c., with books in their hands, singing. Of course + it was not such a performance as the great soloists at the New York opera + house take a hand in, yet I am not sure but I receiv'd as much pleasure + under the circumstances, sitting there, as I have had from the best + Italian compositions, express'd by world-famous performers. The men lying + up and down the hospital, in their cots, (some badly wounded—some + never to rise thence,) the cots themselves, with their drapery of white + curtains, and the shadows down the lower and upper parts of the ward; then + the silence of the men, and the attitudes they took—the whole was a + sight to look around upon again and again. And there sweetly rose those + voices up to the high, whitewash'd wooden roof, and pleasantly the roof + sent it all back again. They sang very well, mostly quaint old songs and + declamatory hymns, to fitting tunes. Here, for instance: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My days are swiftly gliding by, and I a pilgrim stranger, + Would not detain them as they fly, those hours of toil and danger; + For O we stand on Jordan's strand, our friends are passing over, + And just before, the shining shore we may almost discover. + We'll gird our loins my brethren dear, our distant home discerning, + Our absent Lord has left us word, let every lamp be burning, + For O we stand on Jordan's strand, our friends are passing over, + And just before, the shining shore we may almost discover. +</pre> + <h3> + ABRAHAM LINCOLN + </h3> + <p> + <i>August 12th</i>.—I see the President almost every day, as I + happen to live where he passes to or from his lodgings out of town. He + never sleeps at the White House during the hot season, but has quarters at + a healthy location some three miles north of the city, the Soldiers' home, + a United States military establishment. I saw him this morning about 8 1/2 + coming in to business, riding on Vermont avenue, near L street. He always + has a company of twenty-five or thirty cavalry, with sabres drawn and held + upright over their shoulders. They say this guard was against his personal + wish, but he let his counselors have their way. The party makes no great + show in uniform or horses. Mr. Lincoln on the saddle generally rides a + good-sized, easy-going gray horse, is dress'd in plain black, somewhat + rusty and dusty, wears a black stiff hat, and looks about as ordinary in + attire, &c., as the commonest man. A lieutenant, with yellow straps, + rides at his left, and following behind, two by two, come the cavalry men, + in their yellow-striped jackets. They are generally going at a slow trot, + as that is the pace set them by the one they wait upon. The sabres and + accoutrements clank, and the entirely unornamental <i>cortège</i> as it + trots towards Lafayette square arouses no sensation, only some curious + stranger stops and gazes. I see very plainly ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S dark brown + face, with the deep-cut lines, the eyes, always to me with a deep latent + sadness in the expression. We have got so that we exchange bows, and very + cordial ones. Sometimes the President goes and comes in an open barouche. + The cavalry always accompany him, with drawn sabres. Often I notice as he + goes out evenings—and sometimes in the morning, when he returns + early—he turns off and halts at the large and handsome residence of + the Secretary of War, on K street, and holds conference there. If in his + barouche, I can see from my window he does not alight, but sits in his + vehicle, and Mr. Stanton comes out to attend him. Sometimes one of his + sons, a boy of ten or twelve, accompanies him, riding at his right on a + pony. Earlier in the summer I occasionally saw the President and his wife, + toward the latter part of the afternoon, out in a barouche, on a pleasure + ride through the city. Mrs. Lincoln was dress'd in complete black, with a + long crape veil. The equipage is of the plainest kind, only two horses, + and they nothing extra. They pass'd me once very close, and I saw the + President in the face fully, as they were moving slowly, and his look, + though abstracted, happen'd to be directed steadily in my eye. He bow'd + and smiled, but far beneath his smile I noticed well the expression I have + alluded to. None of the artists or pictures has caught the deep, though + subtle and indirect expression of this man's face. There is something else + there. One of the great portrait painters of two or three centuries ago is + needed. + </p> + <h3> + HEATED TERM + </h3> + <p> + There has lately been much suffering here from heat; we have had it upon + us now eleven days. I go around with an umbrella and a fan. I saw two + cases of sun-stroke yesterday, one in Pennsylvania avenue, and another in + Seventh street. The City railroad company loses some horses every day. Yet + Washington is having a livelier August, and is probably putting in a more + energetic and satisfactory summer, than ever before during its existence. + There is probably more human electricity, more population to make it, more + business, more light-heartedness, than ever before. The armies that + swiftly circumambiated from Fredericksburgh—march'd, struggled, + fought, had out their mighty clinch and hurl at Gettysburg—wheel'd, + circumambiated again, return'd to their ways, touching us not, either at + their going or coming. And Washington feels that she has pass'd the worst; + perhaps feels that she is henceforth mistress. So here she sits with her + surrounding hills spotted with guns, and is conscious of a character and + identity different from what it was five or six short weeks ago, and very + considerably pleasanter and prouder. + </p> + <h3> + SOLDIERS AND TALKS + </h3> + <p> + Soldiers, soldiers, soldiers, you meet everywhere about the city, often + superb-looking men, though invalids dress'd in worn uniforms, and carrying + canes or crutches. I often have talks with them, occasionally quite long + and interesting. One, for instance, will have been all through the + peninsula under McClellan—narrates to me the fights, the marches, + the strange, quick changes of that eventful campaign, and gives glimpses + of many things untold in any official reports or books or journals. These, + indeed, are the things that are genuine and precious. The man was there, + has been out two years, has been through a dozen fights, the superfluous + flesh of talking is long work'd off him, and he gives me little but the + hard meat and sinew. I find it refreshing, these hardy, bright, intuitive, + American young men, (experienc'd soldiers with all their youth.) The vocal + play and significance moves one more than books. Then there hangs + something majestic about a man who has borne his part in battles, + especially if he is very quiet regarding it when you desire him to + unbosom. I am continually lost at the absence of blowing and blowers among + these old-young American militaires. I have found some man or other who + has been in every battle since the war began, and have talk'd with them + about each one in every part of the United States, and many of the + engagements on the rivers and harbors too. I find men here from every + State in the Union, without exception. (There are more Southerners, + especially border State men, in the Union army than is generally supposed. + {A}) I now doubt whether one can get a fair idea of what this war + practically is, or what genuine America is, and her character, without + some such experience as this I am having. + </p> + <h3> + DEATH OF A WISCONSIN OFFICER + </h3> + <p> + Another characteristic scene of that dark and bloody 1863, from notes of + my visit to Armory-square hospital, one hot but pleasant summer day. In + ward H we approach the cot of a young lieutenant of one of the Wisconsin + regiments. Tread the bare board floor lightly here, for the pain and + panting of death are in this cot. I saw the lieutenant when he was first + brought here from Chancellorsville, and have been with him occasionally + from day to day and night to night. He had been getting along pretty well + till night before last, when a sudden hemorrhage that could not be stopt + came upon him, and to-day it still continues at intervals. Notice that + water-pail by the side of the bed, with a quantity of blood and bloody + pieces of muslin, nearly full; that tells the story. The poor young man is + struggling painfully for breath, his great dark eyes with a glaze already + upon them, and the choking faint but audible in his throat. An attendant + sits by him, and will not leave him till the last; yet little or nothing + can be done. He will die here in an hour or two, without the presence of + kith or kin. Meantime the ordinary chat and business of{6} the ward a + little way off goes on indifferently. Some of the inmates are laughing and + joking, others are playing checkers or cards, others are reading, &c. + </p> + <p> + I have noticed through most of the hospitals that as long as there is any + chance for a man, no matter how bad he may be, the surgeon and nurses work + hard, sometimes with curious tenacity, for his life, doing everything, and + keeping somebody by him to execute the doctor's orders, and minister to + him every minute night and day. See that screen there. As you advance + through the dusk of early candle-light, a nurse will step forth on + tip-toe, and silently but imperiously forbid you to make any noise, or + perhaps to come near at all. Some soldier's life is flickering there, + suspended between recovery and death. Perhaps at this moment the exhausted + frame has just fallen into a light sleep that a step might shake. You must + retire. The neighboring patients must move in their stocking feet. I have + been several times struck with such mark'd efforts—everything bent + to save a life from the very grip of the destroyer. But when that grip is + once firmly fix'd, leaving no hope or chance at all, the surgeon abandons + the patient. If it is a case where stimulus is any relief, the nurse gives + milk-punch or brandy, or whatever is wanted, <i>ad libitum</i>. There is + no fuss made. Not a bit of sentimentalism or whining have I seen about a + single death-bed in hospital or on the field, but generally impassive + indifference. All is over, as far as any efforts can avail; it is useless + to expend emotions or labors. While there is a prospect they strive hard—at + least most surgeons do; but death certain and evident, they yield the + field. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {6}MR. GARFIELD (<i>In the House of Representatives, April 15,'79</i>.) + "Do gentlemen know that (leaving out all the border States) there were + fifty regiments and seven companies of white men in our army fighting for + the Union from the States that went into rebellion? Do they know that from + the single State of Kentucky more Union soldiers fought under our flag + than Napoleon took into the battle of Waterloo? more than Wellington took + with all the allied armies against Napoleon? Do they remember that 186,000 + color'd men fought under our flag against the rebellion and for the Union, + and that of that number 90,000 were from the States which went into + rebellion?" + </p> + <h3> + HOSPITALS ENSEMBLE + </h3> + <p> + <i>Aug., Sept., and Oct., '63.</i>—I am in the habit of going to + all, and to Fairfax seminary, Alexandria, and over Long bridge to the + great Convalescent camp. The journals publish a regular directory of them—a + long list. As a specimen of almost any one of the larger of these + hospitals, fancy to yourself a space of three to twenty acres of ground, + on which are group'd ten or twelve very large wooden barracks, with, + perhaps, a dozen or twenty, and sometimes more than that number, small + buildings, capable altogether of accommodating from five hundred to a + thousand or fifteen hundred persons. Sometimes these wooden barracks or + wards, each of them perhaps from a hundred to a hundred and fifty feet + long, are rang'd in a straight row, evenly fronting the street; others are + plann'd so as to form an immense V; and others again are ranged around a + hollow square. They make altogether a huge cluster, with the additional + tents, extra wards for contagious diseases, guard-houses, sutler's stores, + chaplain's house; in the middle will probably be an edifice devoted to the + offices of the surgeon in charge and the ward surgeons, principal + attaches, clerks, &c. The wards are either letter'd alphabetically, + ward G, ward K, or else numerically, 1, 2, 3, &c. Each has its ward + surgeon and corps of nurses. Of course, there is, in the aggregate, quite + a muster of employes, and over all the surgeon in charge. Here in + Washington, when these army hospitals are all fill'd, (as they have been + already several times,) they contain a population more numerous in itself + than the whole of the Washington of ten or fifteen years ago. Within sight + of the capitol, as I write, are some thirty or forty such collections, at + times holding from fifty to seventy thousand men. Looking from any + eminence and studying the topography in my rambles, I use them as + landmarks. Through the rich August verdure of the trees, see that white + group of buildings off yonder in the outskirts; then another cluster half + a mile to the left of the first; then another a mile to the right, and + another a mile beyond, and still another between us and the first. Indeed, + we can hardly look in any direction but these clusters are dotting the + landscape and environs. That little town, as you might suppose it, off + there on the brow of a hill, is indeed a town, but of wounds, sickness, + and death. It is Finley hospital, northeast of the city, on Kendall green, + as it used to be call'd. That other is Campbell hospital. Both are large + establishments. I have known these two alone to have from two thousand to + twenty-five hundred inmates. Then there is Carver hospital, larger still, + a wall'd and military city regularly laid out, and guarded by squads of + sentries. Again, off east, Lincoln hospital, a still larger one; and half + a mile further Emory hospital. Still sweeping the eye around down the + river toward Alexandria, we see, to the right, the locality where the + Convalescent camp stands, with its five, eight, or sometimes ten thousand + inmates. Even all these are but a portion. The Harewood, Mount Pleasant, + Armory-square, Judiciary hospitals, are some of the rest, and all large + collections. + </p> + <h3> + A SILENT NIGHT RAMBLE + </h3> + <p> + <i>October 20th</i>.—To-night, after leaving the hospital at 10 + o'clock, (I had been on self-imposed duty some five hours, pretty closely + confined,) I wander'd a long time around Washington. The night was sweet, + very clear, sufficiently cool, a voluptuous halfmoon, slightly golden, the + space near it of a transparent blue-gray tinge. I walk'd up Pennsylvania + avenue, and then to Seventh street, and a long while around the + Patent-office. Somehow it look'd rebukefully strong, majestic, there in + the delicate moonlight. The sky, the planets, the constellations all so + bright, so calm, so expressively silent, so soothing, after those hospital + scenes. I wander'd to and fro till the moist moon set, long after + midnight. + </p> + <h3> + SPIRITUAL CHARACTERS AMONG THE SOLDIERS + </h3> + <p> + Every now and then, in hospital or camp, there are beings I meet—specimens + of unworldliness, disinterestedness, and animal purity and heroism—perhaps + some unconscious Indianian, or from Ohio or Tennessee—on whose birth + the calmness of heaven seems to have descended, and whose gradual growing + up, whatever the circumstances of work-life or change, or hardship, or + small or no education that attended it, the power of a strange spiritual + sweetness, fibre and inward health, have also attended. Something veil'd + and abstracted is often a part of the manners of these beings. I have met + them, I say, not seldom in the army, in camp, and in the hospitals. The + Western regiments contain many of them. They are often young men, obeying + the events and occasions about them, marching, soldiering, righting, + foraging, cooking, working on farms or at some trade before the war—unaware + of their own nature, (as to that, who is aware of his own nature?) their + companions only understanding that they are different from the rest, more + silent, "something odd about them," and apt to go off and meditate and + muse in solitude. + </p> + <h3> + CATTLE DROVES ABOUT WASHINGTON + </h3> + <p> + Among other sights are immense droves of cattle with their drivers, + passing through the streets of the city. Some of the men have a way of + leading the cattle by a peculiar call, a wild, pensive hoot, quite + musical, prolong'd, indescribable, sounding something between the cooing + of a pigeon and the hoot of an owl. I like to stand and look at the sight + of one of these immense droves—a little way off—(as the dust + is great.) There are always men on horseback, cracking their whips and + shouting—the cattle low—some obstinate ox or steer attempts to + escape—then a lively scene—the mounted men, always excellent + riders and on good horses, dash after the recusant, and wheel and turn—a + dozen mounted drovers, their great slouch'd, broad-brim'd hats, very + picturesque—another dozen on foot—everybody cover'd with dust—long + goads in their hands—an immense drove of perhaps 1000 cattle—the + shouting, hooting, movement, &c. + </p> + <h3> + HOSPITAL PERPLEXITY + </h3> + <p> + To add to other troubles, amid the confusion of this great army of sick, + it is almost impossible for a stranger to find any friend or relative, + unless he has the patient's specific address to start upon. Besides the + directory printed in the newspapers here, there are one or two general + directories of the hospitals kept at provost's head-quarters, but they are + nothing like complete; they are never up to date, and, as things are, with + the daily streams of coming and going and changing, cannot be. I have + known cases, for instance such as a farmer coming here from northern New + York to find a wounded brother, faithfully hunting round for a week, and + then compell'd to leave and go home without getting any trace of him. When + he got home he found a letter from the brother giving the right address. + </p> + <h3> + DOWN AT THE FRONT + </h3> + <p> + CULPEPPER, VA., <i>Feb. '64.</i>—Here I am FRONT pretty well down + toward the extreme front. Three or four days ago General S., who is now in + chief command, (I believe Meade is absent, sick,) moved a strong force + southward from camp as if intending business. They went to the Rapidan; + there has since been some manoeuvering and a little fighting, but nothing + of consequence. The telegraphic accounts given Monday morning last, make + entirely too much of it, I should say. What General S. intended we here + know not, but we trust in that competent commander. We were somewhat + excited, (but not so very much either,) on Sunday, during the day and + night, as orders were sent out to pack up and harness, and be ready to + evacuate, to fall back towards Washington. But I was very sleepy and went + to bed. Some tremendous shouts arousing me during the night, I went forth + and found it was from the men above mention'd, who were returning. I + talk'd with some of the men; as usual I found them full of gayety, + endurance, and many fine little outshows, the signs of the most excellent + good manliness of the world. It was a curious sight to see those shadowy + columns moving through the night. I stood unobserv'd in the darkness and + watch'd them long. The mud was very deep. The men had their usual burdens, + overcoats, knapsacks, guns and blankets. Along and along they filed by me, + with often a laugh, a song, a cheerful word, but never once a murmur. It + may have been odd, but I never before so realized the majesty and reality + of the American people <i>en masse</i>. It fell upon me like a great awe. + The strong ranks moved neither fast nor slow. They had march'd seven or + eight miles already through the slipping unctuous mud. The brave First + corps stopt here. The equally brave Third corps moved on to Brandy + station. The famous Brooklyn 14th are here, guarding the town. You see + their red legs actively moving everywhere. Then they have a theatre of + their own here. They give musical performances, nearly everything done + capitally. Of course the audience is a jam. It is good sport to attend one + of these entertainments of the 14th. I like to look around at the + soldiers, and the general collection in front of the curtain, more than + the scene on the stage. + </p> + <h3> + PAYING THE BOUNTIES + </h3> + <p> + One of the things to note here now is the arrival of the paymaster with + his strong box, and the payment of bounties to veterans re-enlisting. + Major H. is here to-day, with a small mountain of greenbacks, rejoicing + the hearts of the 2d division of the First corps. In the midst of a + rickety shanty, behind a little table, sit the major and clerk Eldridge, + with the rolls before them, and much moneys. A re-enlisted man gets in + cash about $200 down, (and heavy instalments following, as the pay-days + arrive, one after another.) The show of the men crowding around is quite + exhilarating; I like to stand and look. They feel elated, their pockets + full, and the ensuing furlough, the visit home. It is a scene of sparkling + eyes and flush'd cheeks. The soldier has many gloomy and harsh + experiences, and this makes up for some of them. Major H. is order'd to + pay first all the re-enlisted men of the First corps their bounties and + back pay, and then the rest. You hear the peculiar sound of the rustling + of the new and crisp greenbacks by the hour, through the nimble fingers of + the major and my friend clerk E. + </p> + <h3> + RUMORS, CHANGES, ETC. + </h3> + <p> + About the excitement of Sunday, and the orders to be ready to start, I + have heard since that the said orders came from some cautious minor + commander, and that the high principalities knew not and thought not of + any such move; which is likely. The rumor and fear here intimated a long + circuit by Lee, and flank attack on our right. But I cast my eyes at the + mud, which was then at its deepest and palmiest condition, and retired + composedly to rest. Still it is about time for Culpepper to have a change. + Authorities have chased each other here like clouds in a stormy sky. + Before the first Bull Run this was the rendezvous and camp of instruction + of the secession troops. I am stopping at the house of a lady who has + witness'd all the eventful changes of the war, along this route of + contending armies. She is a widow, with a family of young children, and + lives here with her sister in a large handsome house. A number of army + officers board with them. + </p> + <h3> + VIRGINIA + </h3> + <p> + Dilapidated, fenceless, and trodden with war as Virginia is, wherever I + move across her surface, I find myself rous'd to surprise and admiration. + What capacity for products, improvements, human life, nourishment and + expansion. Everywhere that I have been in the Old Dominion, (the subtle + mockery of that title now!) such thoughts have fill'd me. The soil is yet + far above the average of any of the northern States. And how full of + breadth the scenery, everywhere distant mountains, everywhere convenient + rivers. Even yet prodigal in forest woods, and surely eligible for all the + fruits, orchards, and flowers. The skies and atmosphere most luscious, as + I feel certain, from more than a year's residence in the State, and + movements hither and yon. I should say very healthy, as a general thing. + Then a rich and elastic quality, by night and by day. The sun rejoices in + his strength, dazzling and burning, and yet, to me, never unpleasantly + weakening. It is not the panting tropical heat, but invigorates. The north + tempers it. The nights are often unsurpassable. Last evening (Feb. 8,) I + saw the first of the new moon, the outlined old moon clear along with it; + the sky and air so clear, such transparent hues of color, it seem'd to me + I had never really seen the new moon before. It was the thinnest cut + crescent possible. It hung delicate just above the sulky shadow of the + Blue mountains. Ah, if it might prove an omen and good prophecy for this + unhappy State. + </p> + <h3> + SUMMER OF 1864 + </h3> + <p> + I am back again in Washington, on my regular daily and nightly rounds. Of + course there are many specialties. Dotting a ward here and there are + always cases of poor fellows, long-suffering under obstinate wounds, or + weak and dishearten'd from typhoid fever, or the like; mark'd cases, + needing special and sympathetic nourishment. These I sit down and either + talk to, or silently cheer them up. They always like it hugely, (and so do + I.) Each case has its peculiarities, and needs some new adaptation. I have + learnt to thus conform—learnt a good deal of hospital wisdom. Some + of the poor young chaps, away from home for the first time in their lives, + hunger and thirst for affection; this is sometimes the only thing that + will reach their condition. The men like to have a pencil, and something + to write in. I have given them cheap pocket-diaries, and almanacs for + 1864, interleav'd with blank paper. For reading I generally have some old + pictorial magazines or story papers—they are always acceptable. Also + the morning or evening papers of the day. The best books I do not give, + but lend to read through the wards, and then take them to others, and so + on; they are very punctual about returning the books. In these wards, or + on the field, as I thus continue to go round, I have come to adapt myself + to each emergency, after its kind or call, however trivial, however + solemn, every one justified and made real under its circumstances—not + only visits and cheering talk and little gifts—not only washing and + dressing wounds, (I have some cases where the patient is unwilling any one + should do this but me)—but passages from the Bible, expounding them, + prayer at the bedside, explanations of doctrine, &c. (I think I see my + friends smiling at this confession, but I was never more in earnest in my + life.) In camp and everywhere, I was in the habit of reading or giving + recitations to the men. They were very fond of it, and liked declamatory + poetical pieces. We would gather in a large group by ourselves, after + supper, and spend the time in such readings, or in talking, and + occasionally by an amusing game called the game of twenty questions. + </p> + <h3> + A NEW ARMY ORGANIZATION FIT FOR AMERICA + </h3> + <p> + It is plain to me out of the events of the war, north and south, and out + of all considerations, that the current military theory, practice, rules + and organization, (adopted from Europe from the feudal institutes, with, + of course, the "modern improvements," largely from the French,) though + tacitly follow'd, and believ'd in by the officers generally, are not at + all consonant with the United States, nor our people, nor our days. What + it will be I know not—but I know that as entire an abnegation of the + present military system, and the naval too, and a building up from + radically different root-bases and centres appropriate to us, must + eventually result, as that our political system has resulted and become + establish'd, different from feudal Europe, and built up on itself from + original, perennial, democratic premises. We have undoubtedly in the + United States the greatest military power—an exhaustless, + intelligent, brave and reliable rank and file—in the world, any + land, perhaps all lands. The problem is to organize this in the manner + fully appropriate to it, to the principles of the republic, and to get the + best service out of it. In the present struggle, as already seen and + review'd, probably three-fourths of the losses, men, lives, &c., have + been sheer superfluity, extravagance, waste. + </p> + <h3> + DEATH OF A HERO + </h3> + <p> + I wonder if I could ever convey to another—to you, for instance, + reader dear—the tender and terrible realities of such cases, (many, + many happen'd,) as the one I am now going to mention. Stewart C. Glover, + company E, 5th Wisconsin—was wounded May 5, in one of those fierce + tussles of the Wilderness-died May 21—aged about 20. He was a small + and beardless young man—a splendid soldier—in fact almost an + ideal American, of his age. He had serv'd nearly three years, and would + have been entitled to his discharge in a few days. He was in Hancock's + corps. The fighting had about ceas'd for the day, and the general + commanding the brigade rode by and call'd for volunteers to bring in the + wounded. Glover responded among the first—went out gayly—but + while in the act of bearing in a wounded sergeant to our lines, was shot + in the knee by a rebel sharpshooter; consequence, amputation and death. He + had resided with his father, John Glover, an aged and feeble man, in + Batavia, Genesee county, N. Y., but was at school in Wisconsin, after the + war broke out, and there enlisted—soon took to soldier-life, liked + it, was very manly, was belov'd by officers and comrades. He kept a little + diary, like so many of the soldiers. On the day of his death he wrote the + following in it, <i>to-day the doctor says I must die—all is over + with me—ah, so young to die</i>. On another blank leaf he pencill'd + to his brother, <i>dear brother Thomas, I have been brave but wicked—pray + for me.</i> + </p> + <h3> + HOSPITAL SCENES—INCIDENTS + </h3> + <p> + It is Sunday afternoon, middle of summer, hot and oppressive, and very + silent through the ward. I am taking care of a critical case, now lying in + a half lethargy. Near where I sit is a suffering rebel, from the 8th + Louisiana; his name is Irving. He has been here a long time, badly + wounded, and lately had his leg amputated; it is not doing very well. + Right opposite me is a sick soldier-boy, laid down with his clothes on, + sleeping, looking much wasted, his pallid face on his arm. I see by the + yellow trimming on his jacket that he is a cavalry boy. I step softly over + and find by his card that he is named William Cone, of the 1st Maine + cavalry, and his folks live in Skowhegan. + </p> + <p> + <i>Ice Cream Treat</i>.—One hot day toward the middle of June, I + gave the inmates of Carver hospital a general ice cream treat, purchasing + a large quantity, and, under convoy of the doctor or head nurse, going + around personally through the wards to see to its distribution. <i>An + Incident</i>.—In one of the rights before Atlanta, a rebel soldier, + of large size, evidently a young man, was mortally wounded top of the + head, so that the brains partially exuded. He lived three days, lying on + his back on the spot where he first dropt. He dug with his heel in the + ground during that time a hole big enough to put in a couple of ordinary + knapsacks. He just lay there in the open air, and with little intermission + kept his heel going night and day. Some of our soldiers then moved him to + a house, but he died in a few minutes. + </p> + <p> + <i>Another</i>.—After the battles at Columbia, Tennessee, where we + repuls'd about a score of vehement rebel charges, they left a great many + wounded on the ground, mostly within our range. Whenever any of these + wounded attempted to move away by any means, generally by crawling off, + our men without exception brought them down by a bullet. They let none + crawl away, no matter what his condition. + </p> + <h3> + A YANKEE SOLDIER + </h3> + <p> + As I turn'd off the Avenue one cool October evening into Thirteenth + street, a soldier with knapsack and overcoat stood at the corner inquiring + his way. I found he wanted to go part of the road in my direction, so we + walk'd on together. We soon fell into conversation. He was small and not + very young, and a tough little fellow, as I judged in the evening light, + catching glimpses by the lamps we pass'd. His answers were short, but + clear. His name was Charles Carroll; he belong'd to one of the + Massachusetts regiments, and was born in or near Lynn. His parents were + living, but were very old. There were four sons, and all had enlisted. Two + had died of starvation and misery in the prison at Andersonville, and one + had been kill'd in the west. He only was left. He was now going home, and + by the way he talk'd I inferr'd that his time was nearly out. He made + great calculations on being with his parents to comfort them the rest of + their days. + </p> + <h3> + UNION PRISONERS SOUTH + </h3> + <p> + Michael Stansbury, 48 years of age, a seafaring man, a southerner by birth + and raising, formerly captain of U. S. light ship Long Shoal, station'd at + Long Shoal point, Pamlico sound—though a southerner, a firm Union + man—was captur'd Feb. 17, 1863, and has been nearly two years in the + Confederate prisons; was at one time order'd releas'd by Governor Vance, + but a rebel officer re-arrested him; then sent on to Richmond for exchange—but + instead of being exchanged was sent down (as a southern citizen, not a + soldier,) to Salisbury, N. C., where he remain'd until lately, when he + escap'd among the exchang'd by assuming the name of a dead soldier, and + coming up via Wilmington with the rest. Was about sixteen months in + Salisbury. + </p> + <p> + Subsequent to October, '64, there were about 11,000 Union prisoners in the + stockade; about 100 of them southern unionists, 200 U. S. deserters. + During the past winter 1500 of the prisoners, to save their lives, join'd + the confederacy, on condition of being assign'd merely to guard duty. Out + of the 11,000 not more than 2500 came out; 500 of these were pitiable, + helpless wretches—the rest were in a condition to travel. There were + often 60 dead bodies to be buried in the morning; the daily average would + be about 40. The regular food was a meal of corn, the cob and husk ground + together, and sometimes once a week a ration of sorghum molasses. A + diminutive ration of meat might possibly come once a month, not oftener. + In the stockade, containing the 11,000 men, there was a partial show of + tents, not enough for 2000. A large proportion of the men lived in holes + in the ground, in the utmost wretchedness. Some froze to death, others had + their hands and feet frozen. The rebel guards would occasionally, and on + the least pretence, fire into the prison from mere demonism and + wantonness. All the horrors that can be named, starvation, lassitude, + filth, vermin, despair, swift loss of self-respect, idiocy, insanity, and + frequent murder, were there. Stansbury has a wife and child living in + Newbern—has written to them from here—is in the U. S. + light-house employ still—(had been home to Newbern to see his + family, and on his return to the ship was captured in his boat.) Has seen + men brought there to Salisbury as hearty as you ever see in your life—in + a few weeks completely dead gone, much of it from thinking on their + condition—hope all gone. Has himself a hard, sad, strangely deaden'd + kind of look, as of one chill' d for years in the cold and dark, where his + good manly nature had no room to exercise itself. + </p> + <h3> + DESERTERS + </h3> + <p> + <i>Oct. 24</i>.—Saw a large squad of our own deserters (over 300) + surrounded with a cordon of arm'd guards, marching along Pennsylvania + avenue. The most motley collection I ever saw, all sorts of rig, all sorts + of hats and caps, many fine-looking young fellows, some of them + shame-faced, some sickly, most of them dirty, shirts very dirty and long + worn, &c. They tramp'd along without order, a huge huddling mass, not + in ranks. I saw some of the spectators laughing, but I felt like anything + else but laughing. These deserters are far more numerous than would be + thought. Almost every day I see squads of them, sometimes two or three at + a time, with a small guard; sometimes ten or twelve, under a larger one. + (I hear that desertions from the army now in the field have often averaged + 10,000 a month. One of the commonest sights in Washington is a squad of + deserters.) + </p> + <h3> + A GLIMPSE OF WAR'S HELL-SCENES + </h3> + <p> + In one of the late movements of our troops in the valley, (near + Upperville, I think,) a strong force of Moseby's mounted guerillas + attack'd a train of wounded, and the guard of cavalry convoying them. The + ambulances contain'd about 60 wounded, quite a number of them officers of + rank. The rebels were in strength, and the capture of the train and its + partial guard after a short snap was effectually accomplish'd. No sooner + had our men surrender'd, the rebels instantly commenced robbing the train + and murdering their prisoners, even the wounded. Here is the scene, or a + sample of it, ten minutes after. Among the wounded officers in the + ambulances were one, a lieutenant of regulars, and another of higher rank. + These two were dragg'd out on the ground on their backs, and were now + surrounded by the guerillas, a demoniac crowd, each member of which was + stabbing them in different parts of their bodies. One of the officers had + his feet pinn'd firmly to the ground by bayonets stuck through them and + thrust into the ground. These two officers, as afterwards found on + examination, had receiv'd about twenty such thrusts, some of them through + the mouth, face, &c. The wounded had all been dragg'd (to give a + better chance also for plunder,) out of their wagons; some had been + effectually dispatch'd, and their bodies were lying there lifeless and + bloody. Others, not yet dead, but horribly mutilated, were moaning or + groaning. Of our men who surrender'd, most had been thus maim'd or + slaughter'd. + </p> + <p> + At this instant a force of our cavalry, who had been following the train + at some interval, charged suddenly upon the secesh captors, who proceeded + at once to make the best escape they could. Most of them got away, but we + gobbled two officers and seventeen men, in the very acts just described. + The sight was one which admitted of little discussion, as may be imagined. + The seventeen captur'd men and two officers were put under guard for the + night, but it was decided there and then that they should die. The next + morning the two officers were taken in the town, separate places, put in + the centre of the street, and shot. The seventeen men were taken to an + open ground, a little one side. They were placed in a hollow square, + half-encompass'd by two of our cavalry regiments, one of which regiments + had three days before found the bloody corpses of three of their men + hamstrung and hung up by the heels to limbs of trees by Moseby's + guerillas, and the other had not long before had twelve men, after + surrendering, shot and then hung by the neck to limbs of trees, and + jeering inscriptions pinn'd to the breast of one of the corpses, who had + been a sergeant. Those three, and those twelve, had been found, I say, by + these environing regiments. Now, with revolvers, they form'd the grim + cordon of the seventeen prisoners. The latter were placed in the midst of + the hollow square, unfasten'd, and the ironical remark made to them that + they were now to be given "a chance for themselves." A few ran for it. But + what use? From every side the deadly pills came. In a few minutes the + seventeen corpses strew'd the hollow square. I was curious to know whether + some of the Union soldiers, some few, (some one or two at least of the + youngsters,) did not abstain from shooting on the helpless men. Not one. + There was no exultation, very little said, almost nothing, yet every man + there contributed his shot. + </p> + <p> + Multiply the above by scores, aye hundreds—verify it in all the + forms that different circumstances, individuals, places, could afford—light + it with every lurid passion, the wolf's, the lion's lapping thirst for + blood—the passionate, boiling volcanoes of human revenge for + comrades, brothers slain—with the light of burning farms, and heaps + of smutting, smouldering black embers—and in the human heart + everywhere black, worse embers—and you have an inkling of this war. + </p> + <h3> + GIFTS—MONEY—DISCRIMINATION + </h3> + <p> + As a very large proportion of the wounded came up from the front without a + cent of money in their pockets, I soon discover'd that it was about the + best thing I could do to raise their spirits, and show them that somebody + cared for them, and practically felt a fatherly or brotherly interest in + them, to give them small sums in such cases, using tact and discretion + about it. I am regularly supplied with funds for this purpose by good + women and men in Boston, Salem, Providence, Brooklyn, and New York. I + provide myself with a quantity of bright new ten-cent and five-cent bills, + and, when I think it incumbent, I give 25 or 30 cents, or perhaps 50 + cents, and occasionally a still larger sum to some particular case. As I + have started this subject, I take opportunity to ventilate the financial + question. My supplies, altogether voluntary, mostly confidential, often + seeming quite Providential, were numerous and varied. For instance, there + were two distant and wealthy ladies, sisters, who sent regularly, for two + years, quite heavy sums, enjoining that their names should be kept secret. + The same delicacy was indeed a frequent condition. From several I had <i>carte + blanche</i>. Many were entire strangers. From these sources, during from + two to three years, in the manner described, in the hospitals, I bestowed, + as almoner for others, many, many thousands of dollars. I learn'd one + thing conclusively—that beneath all the ostensible greed and + heartlessness of our times there is no end to the generous benevolence of + men and women in the United States, when once sure of their object. + Another thing became clear to me—while <i>cash</i> is not amiss to + bring up the rear, tact and magnetic sympathy and unction are, and ever + will be, sovereign still. + </p> + <h3> + ITEMS FROM MY NOTE BOOKS + </h3> + <p> + Some of the half-eras'd, and not over-legible when made, memoranda of + things wanted by one patient or another, will convey quite a fair idea. D. + S. G., bed 52, wants a good book; has a sore, weak throat; would like some + horehound candy; is from New Jersey, 28th regiment. C. H. L., 145th + Pennsylvania, lies in bed 6, with jaundice and erysipelas; also wounded; + stomach easily nauseated; bring him some oranges, also a little tart + jelly; hearty, full-blooded young fellow—(he got better in a few + days, and is now home on a furlough.) J. H. G., bed 24, wants an + undershirt, drawers, and socks; has not had a change for quite a while; is + evidently a neat, clean boy from New England—(I supplied him; also + with a comb, tooth-brush, and some soap and towels; I noticed afterward he + was the cleanest of the whole ward.) Mrs. G., lady-nurse, ward F, wants a + bottle of brandy—has two patients imperatively requiring stimulus—low + with wounds and exhaustion. (I supplied her with a bottle of first-rate + brandy from the Christian commission rooms.) + </p> + <h3> + A CASE FROM SECOND BULL RUN + </h3> + <p> + Well, Poor John Mahay is dead. He died yesterday. His was a painful and + long-lingering case (see p. 24 <i>ante</i>.) I have been with him at times + for the past fifteen months. He belonged to company A, 101st New York, and + was shot through the lower region of the abdomen at second Bull Run, + August, '62. One scene at his bedside will suffice for the agonies of + nearly two years. The bladder had been perforated by a bullet going + entirely through him. Not long since I sat a good part of the morning by + his bedside, ward E, Armory square. The water ran out of his eyes from the + intense pain, and the muscles of his face were distorted, but he utter'd + nothing except a low groan now and then. Hot moist cloths were applied, + and reliev'd him somewhat. Poor Mahay, a mere boy in age, but old in + misfortune. He never knew the love of parents, was placed in infancy in + one of the New York charitable institutions, and subsequently bound out to + a tyrannical master in Sullivan county, (the scars of whose cowhide and + club remain'd yet on his back.) His wound here was a most disagreeable + one, for he was a gentle, cleanly, and affectionate boy. He found friends + in his hospital life, and, indeed, was a universal favorite. He had quite + a funeral ceremony. + </p> + <h3> + ARMY SURGEONS—AID DEFICIENCIES + </h3> + <p> + I must bear my most emphatic testimony to the zeal, manliness, and + professional spirit and capacity, generally prevailing among the surgeons, + many of them young men, in the hospitals and the army. I will not say much + about the exceptions, for they are few; (but I have met some of those few, + and very incompetent and airish they were.) I never ceas'd to find the + best men, and the hardest and most disinterested workers, among the + surgeons in the hospitals. They are full of genius, too. I have seen many + hundreds of them and this is my testimony. There are, however, serious + deficiencies, wastes, sad want of system, in the commissions, + contributions, and in all the voluntary, and a great part of the + governmental nursing, edibles, medicines, stores, &c. (I do not say + surgical attendance, because the surgeons cannot do more than human + endurance permits.) Whatever puffing accounts there may be in the papers + of the North, this is the actual fact. No thorough previous preparation, + no system, no foresight, no genius. Always plenty of stores, no doubt, but + never where they are needed, and never the proper application. Of all + harrowing experiences, none is greater than that of the days following a + heavy battle. Scores, hundreds of the noblest men on earth, uncomplaining, + lie helpless, mangled, faint, alone, and so bleed to death, or die from + exhaustion, either actually untouch'd at all, or merely the laying of them + down and leaving them, when there ought to be means provided to save them. + </p> + <h3> + THE BLUE EVERYWHERE + </h3> + <p> + This city, its suburbs, the capitol, the front of the White House, the + places of amusement, the Avenue, and all the main streets, swarm with + soldiers this winter, more than ever before. Some are out from the + hospitals, some from the neighboring camps, &c. One source or another, + they pour plenteously, and make, I should say, the mark'd feature in the + human movement and costume-appearance of our national city. Their blue + pants and overcoats are everywhere. The clump of crutches is heard up the + stairs of the paymasters' offices, and there are characteristic groups + around the doors of the same, often waiting long and wearily in the cold. + Toward the latter part of the afternoon, you see the furlough'd men, + sometimes singly, sometimes in small squads, making their way to the + Baltimore depot. At all times, except early in the morning, the patrol + detachments are moving around, especially during the earlier hours of + evening, examining passes, and arresting all soldiers without them. They + do not question the one-legged, or men badly disabled or main'd, but all + others are stopt. They also go around evenings through the auditoriums of + the theatres, and make officers and all show their passes, or other + authority, for being there. + </p> + <h3> + A MODEL HOSPITAL + </h3> + <p> + <i>Sunday, January 29th, 1865</i>.—Have been in Armory-square this + afternoon. The wards are very comfortable, new floors and plaster walls, + and models of neatness. I am not sure but this is a model hospital after + all, in important respects. I found several sad cases of old lingering + wounds. One Delaware soldier, William H. Millis, from Bridgeville, whom I + had been with after the battles of the Wilderness, last May, where he + receiv'd a very bad wound in the chest, with another in the left arm, and + whose case was serious (pneumonia had set in) all last June and July, I + now find well enough to do light duty. For three weeks at the time + mention'd he just hovered between life and death. + </p> + <h3> + BOYS IN THE ARMY + </h3> + <p> + As I walk'd home about sunset, I saw in Fourteenth street a very young + soldier, thinly clad, standing near the house I was about to enter. I + stopt a moment in front of the door and call'd him to me. I knew that an + old Tennessee regiment, and also an Indiana regiment, were temporarily + stopping in new barracks, near Fourteenth street. This boy I found + belonged to the Tennessee regiment. But I could hardly believe he carried + a musket. He was but 15 years old, yet had been twelve months a soldier, + and had borne his part in several battles, even historic ones. I ask'd him + if he did not suffer from the cold, and if he had no overcoat. No, he did + not suffer from cold, and had no overcoat, but could draw one whenever he + wish'd. His father was dead, and his mother living in some part of East + Tennessee; all the men were from that part of the country. The next + forenoon I saw the Tennessee and Indiana regiments marching down the + Avenue. My boy was with the former, stepping along with the rest. There + were many other boys no older. I stood and watch'd them as they tramp'd + along with slow, strong, heavy, regular steps. There did not appear to be + a man over 30 years of age, and a large proportion were from 15 to perhaps + 22 or 23. They had all the look of veterans, worn, stain'd, impassive, and + a certain unbent, lounging gait, carrying in addition to their regular + arms and knapsacks, frequently a frying-pan, broom, &c. They were all + of pleasant physiognomy; no refinement, nor blanch'd with intellect, but + as my eye pick'd them, moving along, rank by rank, there did not seem to + be a single repulsive, brutal or markedly stupid face among them. + </p> + <h3> + BURIAL OF A LADY NURSE + </h3> + <p> + Here is an incident just occurr'd in one of the hospitals. A lady named + Miss or Mrs. Billings, who has long been a practical friend of soldiers, + and nurse in the army, and had become attached to it in a way that no one + can realize but him or her who has had experience, was taken sick, early + this winter, linger'd some time, and finally died in the hospital. It was + her request that she should be buried among the soldiers, and after the + military method. This request was fully carried out. Her coffin was + carried to the grave by soldiers, with the usual escort, buried, and a + salute fired over the grave. This was at Annapolis a few days since. + </p> + <h3> + FEMALE NURSES FOR SOLDIERS + </h3> + <p> + There are many women in one position or another, among the hospitals, + mostly as nurses here in Washington, and among the military stations; + quite a number of them young ladies acting as volunteers. They are a help + in certain ways, and deserve to be mention'd with respect. Then it remains + to be distinctly said that few or no young ladies, under the irresistible + conventions of society, answer the practical requirements of nurses for + soldiers. Middle-aged or healthy and good condition'd elderly women, + mothers of children, are always best. Many of the wounded must be handled. + A hundred things which cannot be gainsay'd, must occur and must be done. + The presence of a good middle-aged or elderly woman, the magnetic touch of + hands, the expressive features of the mother, the silent soothing of her + presence, her words, her knowledge and privileges arrived at only through + having had children, are precious and final qualifications. It is a + natural faculty that is required; it is not merely having a genteel young + woman at a table in a ward. One of the finest nurses I met was a red-faced + illiterate old Irish woman; I have seen her take the poor wasted naked + boys so tenderly up in her arms. There are plenty of excellent clean old + black women that would make tip-top nurses. + </p> + <h3> + SOUTHERN ESCAPEES + </h3> + <p> + <i>Feb. 23, '65</i>.—I saw a large procession of young men from the + rebel army, (deserters they are call'd, but the usual meaning of the word + does not apply to them,) passing the Avenue to-day. There were nearly 200, + come up yesterday by boat from James river. I stood and watch'd them as + they shuffled along, in a slow, tired, worn sort of way; a large + proportion of light-hair'd, blonde, light gray-eyed young men among them. + Their costumes had a dirt-stain'd uniformity; most had been originally + gray; some had articles of our uniform, pants on one, vest or coat on + another; I think they were mostly Georgia and North Carolina boys. They + excited little or no attention. As I stood quite close to them, several + good looking enough youths, (but O what a tale of misery their appearance + told,) nodded or just spoke to me, without doubt divining pity and + fatherliness out of my face, for my heart was full enough of it. Several + of the couples trudg'd along with their arms about each other, some + probably brothers, as if they were afraid they might somehow get + separated. They nearly all look'd what one might call simple, yet + intelligent, too. Some had pieces of old carpet, some blankets, and others + old bags around their shoulders. Some of them here and there had fine + faces, still it was a procession of misery. The two hundred had with them + about half a dozen arm'd guards. Along this week I saw some such + procession, more or less in numbers, every day, as they were brought up by + the boat. The government does what it can for them, and sends them north + and west. + </p> + <p> + <i>Feb. 27</i>.—Some three or four hundred more escapees from the + confederate army came up on the boat. As the day has been very pleasant + indeed, (after a long spell of bad weather,) I have been wandering around + a good deal, without any other object than to be out-doors and enjoy it; + have met these escaped men in all directions. Their apparel is the same + ragged, long-worn motley as before described. I talk'd with a number of + the men. Some are quite bright and stylish, for all their poor clothes—walking + with an air, wearing their old head-coverings on one side, quite saucily. + I find the old, unquestionable proofs, as all along the past four years, + of the unscrupulous tyranny exercised by the secession government in + conscripting the common people by absolute force everywhere, and paying no + attention whatever to the men's time being up—keeping them in + military service just the same. One gigantic young fellow, a Georgian, at + least six feet three inches high, broad-sized in proportion, attired in + the dirtiest, drab, well smear'd rags, tied with strings, his trousers at + the knees all strips and streamers, was complacently standing eating some + bread and meat. He appear'd contented enough. Then a few minutes after I + saw him slowly walking along. It was plain he did not take anything to + heart. + </p> + <p> + <i>Feb. 28.</i>—As I pass'd the military headquarters of the city, + not far from the President's house, I stopt to interview some of the crowd + of escapees who were lounging there. In appearance they were the same as + previously mention'd. Two of them, one about 17, and the other perhaps 25 + or '6, I talk'd with some time. They were from North Carolina, born and + rais'd there, and had folks there. The elder had been in the rebel service + four years. He was first conscripted for two years. He was then kept + arbitrarily in the ranks. This is the case with a large proportion of the + secession army. There was nothing downcast in these young men's manners; + the younger had been soldiering about a year; he was conscripted; there + were six brothers (all the boys of the family) in the army, part of them + as conscripts, part as volunteers; three had been kill'd; one had escaped + about four months ago, and now this one had got away; he was a pleasant + and well-talking lad, with the peculiar North Carolina idiom (not at all + disagreeable to my ears.) He and the elder one were of the same company, + and escaped together—and wish'd to remain together. They thought of + getting transportation away to Missouri, and working there; but were not + sure it was judicious. I advised them rather to go to some of the directly + northern States, and get farm work for the present. The younger had made + six dollars on the boat, with some tobacco he brought; he had three and a + half left. The elder had nothing; I gave him a trifle. Soon after, met + John Wormley, 9th Alabama, a West Tennessee rais' d boy, parents both dead—had + the look of one for a long time on short allowance—said very little—chew'd + tobacco at a fearful rate, spitting in proportion—large clear + dark-brown eyes, very fine—didn't know what to make of me—told + me at last he wanted much to get some clean underclothes, and a pair of + decent pants. Didn't care about coat or hat fixings. Wanted a chance to + wash himself well, and put on the underclothes. I had the very great + pleasure of helping him to accomplish all those wholesome designs. + </p> + <p> + <i>March 1st</i>.—Plenty more butternut or clay-color'd escapees + every day. About 160 came in to-day, a large portion South Carolinians. + They generally take the oath of allegiance, and are sent north, west, or + extreme south-west if they wish. Several of them told me that the + desertions in their army, of men going home, leave or no leave, are far + more numerous than their desertions to our side. I saw a very forlorn + looking squad of about a hundred, late this afternoon, on their way to the + Baltimore depot. + </p> + <h3> + THE CAPITOL BY GAS-LIGHT + </h3> + <p> + To-night I have been wandering awhile in the capitol, which is all lit up. + The illuminated rotunda looks fine. I like to stand aside and look a long, + long while, up at the dome; it comforts me somehow. The House and Senate + were both in session till very late. I look'd in upon them, but only a few + moments; they were hard at work on tax and appropriation bills. I wander'd + through the long and rich corridors and apartments under the Senate; an + old habit of mine, former winters, and now more satisfaction than ever. + Not many persons down there, occasionally a flitting figure in the + distance. + </p> + <h3> + THE INAUGURATION + </h3> + <p> + <i>March 4th.</i>—The President very quietly rode down to the + capitol in his own carriage, by himself, on a sharp trot, about noon, + either because he wish'd to be on hand to sign bills, or to get rid of + marching in line with the absurd procession, the muslin temple of liberty + and pasteboard monitor. I saw him on his return, at three o'clock, after + the performance was over. He was in his plain two-horse barouche, and + look'd very much worn and tired; the lines, indeed, of vast + responsibilities, intricate questions, and demands of life and death, cut + deeper than ever upon his dark brown face; yet all the old goodness, + tenderness, sadness, and canny shrewdness, underneath the furrows. (I + never see that man without feeling that he is one to become personally + attach'd to, for his combination of purest, heartiest tenderness, and + native western form of manliness.) By his side sat his little boy, of ten + years. There were no soldiers, only a lot of civilians on horseback, with + huge yellow scarfs over their shoulders, riding around the carriage. (At + the inauguration four years ago, he rode down and back again surrounded by + a dense mass of arm'd cavalrymen eight deep, with drawn sabres; and there + were sharpshooters station'd at every corner on the route.) I ought to + make mention of the closing levee of Saturday night last. Never before was + such a compact jam in front of the White House—all the grounds + fill'd, and away out to the spacious sidewalks. I was there, as I took a + notion to go—was in the rush inside with the crowd—surged + along the passage-ways, the blue and other rooms, and through the great + east room. Crowds of country people, some very funny. Fine music from the + Marine band, off in a side place. I saw Mr. Lincoln, drest all in black, + with white kid gloves and a claw-hammer coat, receiving, as in duty bound, + shaking hands, looking very disconsolate, and as if he would give anything + to be somewhere else. + </p> + <h3> + ATTITUDE OF FOREIGN GOVERNMENTS DURING THE WAR + </h3> + <p> + Looking over my scraps, I find I wrote the following during 1864. The + happening to our America, abroad as well as at home, these years, is + indeed most strange. The democratic republic has paid her today the + terrible and resplendent compliment of the united wish of all the nations + of the world that her union should be broken, her future cut off, and that + she should be compell'd to descend to the level of kingdoms and empires + ordinarily great. There is certainly not one government in Europe but is + now watching the war in this country, with the ardent prayer that the + United States may be effectually split, crippled, and dismember'd by it. + There is not one but would help toward that dismemberment, if it dared. I + say such is the ardent wish to-day of England and of France, as + governments, and of all the nations of Europe, as governments. I think + indeed it is to-day the real, heartfelt wish of all the nations of the + world, with the single exception of Mexico—Mexico, the only one to + whom we have ever really done wrong, and now the only one who prays for us + and for our triumph, with genuine prayer. Is it not indeed strange? + America, made up of all, cheerfully from the beginning opening her arms to + all, the result and justifier of all, of Britain, Germany, France and + Spain—all here—the accepter, the friend, hope, last resource + and general house of all—she who has harm'd none, but been bounteous + to so many, to millions, the mother of strangers and exiles, all nations—should + now, I say, be paid this dread compliment of general governmental fear and + hatred. Are we indignant? alarm'd? Do we feel jeopardized? No; help'd, + braced, concentrated, rather. We are all too prone to wander from + ourselves, to affect Europe, and watch her frowns and smiles. We need this + hot lesson of general hatred, and henceforth must never forget it. Never + again will we trust the moral sense nor abstract friendliness of a single + <i>government</i> of the old world. + </p> + <h3> + THE WEATHER—DOES IT SYMPATHIZE WITH THESE TIMES? + </h3> + <p> + Whether the rains, the heat and cold, and what underlies them all, are + affected with what affects man in masses, and follow his play of + passionate action, strain'd stronger than usual, and on a larger scale + than usual—whether this, or no, it is certain that there is now, and + has been for twenty months or more, on this American continent north, many + a remarkable, many an unprecedented expression of the subtile world of air + above us and around us. There, since this war, and the wide and deep + national agitation, strange analogies, different combinations, a different + sunlight, or absence of it; different products even out of the ground. + After every great battle, a great storm. Even civic events the same. On + Saturday last, a forenoon like whirling demons, dark, with slanting rain, + full of rage; and then the afternoon, so calm, so bathed with flooding + splendor from heaven's most excellent sun, with atmosphere of sweetness; + so clear, it show'd the stars, long long before they were due. As the + President came out on the capitol portico, a curious little white cloud, + the only one in that part of the sky, appear'd like a hovering bird, right + over him. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, the heavens, the elements, all the meteorological influences, have + run riot for weeks past. Such caprices, abruptest alternation of frowns + and beauty, I never knew. It is a common remark that (as last summer was + different in its spells of intense heat from any preceding it,) the winter + just completed has been without parallel. It has remain'd so down to the + hour I am writing. Much of the daytime of the past month was sulky, with + leaden heaviness, fog, interstices of bitter cold, and some insane storms. + But there have been samples of another description. Nor earth nor sky ever + knew spectacles of superber beauty than some of the nights lately here. + The western star, Venus, in the earlier hours of evening, has never been + so large, so clear; it seems as if it told something, as if it held + rapport indulgent with humanity, with us Americans. Five or six nights + since, it hung close by the moon, then a little past its first quarter. + The star was wonderful, the moon like a young mother. The sky, dark blue, + the transparent night, the planets, the moderate west wind, the elastic + temperature, the miracle of that great star, and the young and swelling + moon swimming in the west, suffused the soul. Then I heard, slow and + clear, the deliberate notes of a bugle come up out of the silence, + sounding so good through the night's mystery, no hurry, but firm and + faithful, floating along, rising, falling leisurely, with here and there a + long-drawn note; the bugle, well play'd, sounding tattoo, in one of the + army hospitals near here, where the wounded (some of them personally so + dear to me,) are lying in their cots, and many a sick boy come down to the + war from Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, Iowa, and the rest. + </p> + <h3> + INAUGURATION BALL + </h3> + <p> + <i>March 6</i>.—I have been up to look at the dance and + supper-rooms, for the inauguration ball at the Patent office; and I could + not help thinking, what a different scene they presented to my view a + while since, fill'd with a crowded mass of the worst wounded of the war, + brought in from second Bull Run, Antietam, and Fredericksburgh. To-night, + beautiful women, perfumes, the violin's sweetness, the polka and the + waltz; then the amputation, the blue face, the groan, the glassy eye of + the dying, the clotted rag, the odor of wounds and blood, and many a + mother's son amid strangers, passing away untended there, (for the crowd + of the badly hurt was great, and much for nurse to do, and much for + surgeon.) + </p> + <h3> + SCENE AT THE CAPITOL + </h3> + <p> + I must mention a strange scene at the capitol, the hall of + Representatives, the morning of Saturday last, (March 4th.) The day just + dawn'd, but in half-darkness, everything dim, leaden, and soaking. In that + dim light, the members nervous from long drawn duty, exhausted, some + asleep, and many half asleep. The gas-light, mix'd with the dingy + day-break, produced an unearthly effect. The poor little sleepy, stumbling + pages, the smell of the hall, the members with heads leaning on their + desks, the sounds of the voices speaking, with unusual intonations—the + general moral atmosphere also of the close of this important session—the + strong hope that the war is approaching its close—the tantalizing + dread lest the hope may be a false one—the grandeur of the hall + itself, with its effect of vast shadows up toward the panels and spaces + over the galleries—all made a mark'd combination. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of this, with the suddenness of a thunderbolt, burst one of + the most angry and crashing storms of rain and hail ever heard. It beat + like a deluge on the heavy glass roof of the hall, and the wind literally + howl'd and roar'd. For a moment, (and no wonder,) the nervous and sleeping + Representatives were thrown into confusion. The slumberers awaked with + fear, some started for the doors, some look'd up with blanch'd cheeks and + lips to the roof, and the little pages began to cry; it was a scene. But + it was over almost as soon as the drowsied men were actually awake. They + recover'd themselves; the storm raged on, beating, dashing, and with loud + noises at times. But the House went ahead with its business then, I think, + as calmly and with as much deliberation as at any time in its career. + Perhaps the shock did it good. (One is not without impression, after all, + amid these members of Congress, of both the Houses, that if the flat + routine of their duties should ever be broken in upon by some great + emergency involving real danger, and calling for first-class personal + qualities, those qualities would be found generally forthcoming, and from + men not now credited with them.) + </p> + <h3> + A YANKEE ANTIQUE + </h3> + <p> + <i>March 27, 1865</i>.—Sergeant Calvin F. Harlowe, company C, 29th + Massachusetts, 3d brigade, 1st division, Ninth corps—a mark'd sample + of heroism and death, (some may say bravado, but I say heroism, of + grandest, oldest order)—in the late attack by the rebel troops, and + temporary capture by them, of fort Steadman, at night. The fort was + surprised at dead of night. Suddenly awaken'd from their sleep, and + rushing from their tents, Harlowe, with others, found himself in the hands + of the secesh—they demanded his surrender—he answer'd, <i>Never + while I live</i>. (Of course it was useless. The others surrender'd; the + odds were too great.) Again he was ask'd to yield, this time by a rebel + captain. Though surrounded, and quite calm, he again refused, call'd + sternly to his comrades to fight on, and himself attempted to do so. The + rebel captain then shot him—but at the same instant he shot the + captain. Both fell together mortally wounded. Harlowe died almost + instantly. The rebels were driven out in a very short time. The body was + buried next day, but soon taken up and sent home, (Plymouth county, Mass.) + Harlowe was only 22 years of age—was a tall, slim, dark-hair'd, + blue-eyed young man—had come out originally with the 29th; and that + is the way he met his death, after four years' campaign. He was in the + Seven Days fight before Richmond, in second Bull Run, Antietam, first + Fredericksburgh, Vicksburgh, Jackson, Wilderness, and the campaigns + following—was as good a soldier as ever wore the blue, and every old + officer in the regiment will bear that testimony. Though so young, and in + a common rank, he had a spirit as resolute and brave as any hero in the + books, ancient or modern—It was too great to say the words "I + surrender"—and so he died. (When I think of such things, knowing + them well, all the vast and complicated events of the war, on which + history dwells and makes its volumes, fall aside, and for the moment at + any rate I see nothing but young Calvin Harlowe's figure in the night, + disdaining to surrender.) + </p> + <h3> + WOUNDS AND DISEASES + </h3> + <p> + The war is over, but the hospitals are fuller than ever, from former and + current cases. A large' majority of the wounds are in the arms and legs. + But there is every kind of wound, in every part of the body. I should say + of the sick, from my observation, that the prevailing maladies are typhoid + fever and the camp fevers generally, diarrhoea, catarrhal affections and + bronchitis, rheumatism and pneumonia. These forms of sickness lead; all + the rest follow. There are twice as many sick as there are wounded. The + deaths range from seven to ten per cent, of those under treatment.{7} + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {7} In the U. S. Surgeon-General's office since, there is a formal record + and treatment of 153, 142 cases of wounds by government surgeons. What + must have been the number unofficial, indirect—to say nothing of the + Southern armies? + </p> + <h3> + DEATH OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN + </h3> + <p> + <i>April 16, '65</i>.—I find in my notes of the time, this passage + on the death of Abraham Lincoln: He leaves for America's history and + biography, so far, not only its most dramatic reminiscence—he + leaves, in my opinion, the greatest, best, most characteristic, artistic, + moral personality. Not but that he had faults, and show'd them in the + Presidency; but honesty, goodness, shrewdness, conscience, and (a new + virtue, unknown to other lands, and hardly yet really known here, but the + foundation and tie of all, as the future will grandly develop,) UNIONISM, + in its truest and amplest sense, form'd the hard-pan of his character. + These he seal'd with his life. The tragic splendor of his death, purging, + illuminating all, throws round his form, his head, an aureole that will + remain and will grow brighter through time, while history lives, and love + of country lasts. By many has this Union been help'd; but if one name, one + man, must be pick'd out, he, most of all, is the conservator of it, to the + future. He was assassinated—but the Union is not assassinated—<i>ça + ira</i>! One falls and another falls. The soldier drops, sinks like a wave—but + the ranks of the ocean eternally press on. Death does its work, + obliterates a hundred, a thousand—President, general, captain, + private,—but the Nation is immortal. + </p> + <h3> + SHERMAN'S ARMY'S JUBILATION—ITS SUDDEN STOPPAGE + </h3> + <p> + When Sherman's armies, (long after they left Atlanta,) were marching + through Southand North Carolina—after leaving Savannah, the news of + Lee's capitulation having been receiv'd—the men never mov'd a mile + without from some part of the line sending up continued, inspiriting + shouts. At intervals all day long sounded out the wild music of those + peculiar army cries. They would be commenc'd by one regiment or brigade, + immediately taken up by others, and at length whole corps and armies would + join in these wild triumphant choruses. It was one of the characteristic + expressions of the western troops, and became a habit, serving as a relief + and outlet to the men—a vent for their feelings of victory, + returning peace, &c. Morning, noon, and afternoon, spontaneous, for + occasion or without occasion, these huge, strange cries, differing from + any other, echoing through the open air for many a mile, expressing youth, + joy, wildness, irrepressible strength, and the ideas of advance and + conquest, sounded along the swamps and uplands of the South, floating to + the skies. ("There never were men that kept in better spirits in danger or + defeat—what then could they do in victory?"—said one of the + 15th corps to me, afterwards.) This exuberance continued till the armies + arrived at Raleigh. There the news of the President's murder was receiv'd. + Then no more shouts or yells, for a week. All the marching was + comparatively muffled. It was very significant—hardly a loud word or + laugh in many of the regiments. A hush and silence pervaded all. + </p> + <h3> + NO GOOD PORTRAIT OF LINCOLN + </h3> + <p> + Probably the reader has seen physiognomies (often old farmers, + sea-captains, and such) that, behind their homeliness, or even ugliness, + held superior points so subtle, yet so palpable, making the real life of + their faces almost as impossible to depict as a wild perfume or + fruit-taste, or a passionate tone of the living voice—and such was + Lincoln's face, the peculiar color, the lines of it, the eyes, mouth, + expression. Of technical beauty it had nothing—but to the eye of a + great artist it furnished a rare study, a feast and fascination. The + current portraits are all failures—most of them caricatures. + </p> + <h3> + RELEAS'D UNION PRISONERS FROM SOUTH + </h3> + <p> + The releas'd prisoners of war are now coming up from the southern prisons. + I have seen a number of them. The sight is worse than any sight of + battle-fields, or any collection of wounded, even the bloodiest. There + was, (as a sample,) one large boat load, of several hundreds, brought + about the 25th, to Annapolis; and out of the whole number only three + individuals were able to walk from the boat. The rest were carried ashore + and laid down in one place or another. Can those be <i>men</i>—those + little livid brown, ash-streak'd, monkey-looking dwarfs?—are they + really not mummied, dwindled corpses? They lay there, most of them, quite + still, but with a horrible look in their eyes and skinny lips (often with + not enough flesh on the lips to cover their teeth.) Probably no more + appalling sight was ever seen on this earth. (There are deeds, crimes, + that may be forgiven; but this is not among them. It steeps its + perpetrators in blackest, escapeless, endless damnation. Over 50,000 have + been compell' d to die the death of starvation—reader, did you ever + try to realize what <i>starvation</i> actually is?—in those prisons—and + in a land of plenty.) An indescribable meanness, tyranny, aggravating + course of insults, almost incredible—was evidently the rule of + treatment through all the southern military prisons. The dead there are + not to be pitied as much as some of the living that come from there—if + they can be call' d living—many of them are mentally imbecile, and + will never recuperate.{8} + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {8} <i>From a review of</i> "ANDERSONVILLE, A STORY OF SOUTHERN MILTTARY + PRISONS," <i>published serially in the Toledo "Blade" in 1879, and + afterwards in book form</i>. + </p> + <p> + "There is a deep fascination in the subject of Andersonville—for + that Golgotha, in which lie the whitening bones of 13,000 gallant young + men, represents the dearest and costliest sacrifice of the war for the + preservation of our national unity. It is a type, too, of its class. Its + more than hundred hecatombs of dead represent several times that number of + their brethren, for whom the prison gates of Belle Isle, Danville, + Salisbury, Florence, Columbia, and Cahaba open'd only in eternity. There + are few families in the North who have not at least one dear relative or + friend among these 60,000 whose sad fortune it was to end their service + for the Union by lying down and dying for it in a southern prison pen. The + manner of their death, the horrors that cluster'd thickly around every + moment of their existence, the loyal, unfaltering steadfastness with which + they endured all that fate had brought them, has never been adequately + told. It was not with them as with their comrades in the field, whose + every act was perform'd in the presence of those whose duty it was to + observe such matters and report them to the world. Hidden from the view of + their friends in the north by the impenetrable veil which the military + operations of the rebels drew around the so-called confederacy, the people + knew next to nothing of their career or their sufferings. Thousands died + there less heeded even than the hundreds who perish'd on the battlefield. + Grant did not lose as many men kill'd outright, in the terrible campaign + from the Wilderness to the James river—43 days of desperate fighting—as + died in July and August at Andersonville. Nearly twice as many died in + that prison as fell from the day that Grant cross'd the Rapidan, till he + settled down in the trenches before Petersburg. More than four times as + many Union dead lie under the solemn soughing pines about that forlorn + little village in southern Georgia, than mark the course of Sherman from + Chattanooga to Atlanta. The nation stands aghast at the expenditure of + life which attended the two bloody campaigns of 1864, which virtually + crush'd the confederacy, but no one remembers that more Union soldiers + died in the rear of the rebel lines than were kill'd in the front of them. + The great military events which stamp'd out the rebellion drew attention + away from the sad drama which starvation and disease play'd in those + gloomy pens in the far recesses of sombre southern forests." + </p> + <p> + <i>From a letter of "Johnny Bouquet," in N. Y. "Tribune," March 27, '81.</i> + </p> + <p> + "I visited at Salisbury, N. C., the prison pen or the site of it, from + which nearly 11,000 victims of southern politicians were buried, being + confined in a pen without shelter, exposed to all the elements could do, + to all the disease herding animals together could create, and to all the + starvation and cruelty an incompetent and intense caitiff government could + accomplish. From the conversation and almost from the recollection of the + northern people this place has dropp' d, but not so in the gossip of the + Salisbury people, nearly all of whom say that the half was never told; + that such was the nature of habitual outrage here that when Federal + prisoners escaped the townspeople harbor'd them in their barns, afraid the + vengeance of God would fall on them, to deliver even their enemies back to + such cruelty. Said one old man at the Boyden House, who join'd in the + conversation one evening: 'There were often men buried out of that prison + pen still alive. I have the testimony of a surgeon that he had seen them + pull'd out of the dead cart with their eyes open and taking notice, but + too weak to lift a finger. There was not the least excuse for such + treatment, as the confederate government had seized every sawmill in the + region, and could just as well have put up shelter for these prisoners as + not, wood being plentiful here. It will be hard to make any honest man in + Salisbury say that there was the slightest necessity for those prisoners + having to live in old tents, caves and holes half-full of water. + Representations were made to the Davis government against the officers in + charge of it, but no attention was paid to them. Promotion was the + punishment for cruelty there. The inmates were skeletons. Hell could have + no terrors for any man who died there, except the inhuman keepers.'" + </p> + <h3> + DEATH OF A PENNSYLVANIA SOLDIER + </h3> + <p> + <i>Frank H. Irwin, company E, 93rd Pennsylvania—died May 1, '65—My + letter to his mother</i>—Dear madam: No doubt you and Frank's + friends have heard the sad fact of his death in hospital here, through his + uncle, or the lady from Baltimore, who took his things. (I have not seen + them, only heard of them visiting Frank.) I will write you a few lines—as + a casual friend that sat by his death-bed. Your son, corporal Frank H. + Irwin, was wounded near fort Fisher, Virginia, March 25th, 1865—the + wound was in the left knee, pretty bad. He was sent up to Washington, was + receiv'd in ward C, Armory-square hospital, March 28th—the wound + became worse, and on the 4th of April the leg was amputated a little above + the knee—the operation was perform' d by Dr. Bliss, one of the best + surgeons in the army—he did the whole operation himself—there + was a good deal of bad matter gather'd—the bullet was found in the + knee. For a couple of weeks afterwards he was doing pretty well. I visited + and sat by him frequently, as he was fond of having me. The last ten or + twelve days of April I saw that his case was critical. He previously had + some fever, with cold spells. The last week in April he was much of the + time flighty—but always mild and gentle. He died first of May. The + actual cause of death was pyaemia, (the absorption of the matter in the + system instead of its discharge.) Frank, as far as I saw, had everything + requisite in surgical treatment, nursing, &c. He had watches much of + the time. He was so good and well-behaved and affectionate, I myself liked + him very much. I was in the habit of coming in afternoons and sitting by + him, and soothing him, and he liked to have me—liked to put his arm + out and lay his hand on my knee—would keep it so a long while. + Toward the last he was more restless and flighty at night—often + fancied himself with his regiment—by his talk sometimes seem'd as if + his feelings were hurt by being blamed by his officers for something he + was entirely innocent of—said, "I never in my life was thought + capable of such a thing, and never was." At other times he would fancy + himself talking as it seem'd to children or such like, his relatives I + suppose, and giving them good advice; would talk to them a long while. All + the time he was out of his head not one single bad word or idea escaped + him. It was remark'd that many a man's conversation in his senses was not + half as good as Frank's delirium. He seem'd quite willing to die—he + had become very weak and had suffer'd a good deal, and was perfectly + resign'd, poor boy. I do not know his past life, but I feel as if it must + have been good. At any rate what I saw of him here, under the most trying + circumstances, with a painful wound, and among strangers, I can say that + he behaved so brave, so composed, and so sweet and affectionate, it could + not be surpass'd. And now like many other noble and good men, after + serving his country as a soldier, he has yielded up his young life at the + very outset in her service. Such things are gloomy—yet there is a + text, "God doeth all things well"—the meaning of which, after due + time, appears to the soul. + </p> + <p> + I thought perhaps a few words, though from a stranger, about your son, + from one who was with him at the last, might be worth while—for I + loved the young man, though I but saw him immediately to lose him. I am + merely a friend visiting the hospitals occasionally to cheer the wounded + and sick. + </p> + <h3> + W. W. + </h3> + <h3> + THE ARMIES RETURNING + </h3> + <p> + <i>May 7</i>.—Sunday.—To-day as I was walking a mile or two + south of Alexandria, I fell in with several large squads of the returning + Western army, (Sherman's men as they call'd themselves) about a thousand + in all, the largest portion of them half sick, some convalescents, on + their way to a hospital camp. These fragmentary excerpts, with the + unmistakable Western physiognomy and idioms, crawling along slowly—after + a great campaign, blown this way, as it were, out of their latitude—I + mark'd with curiosity, and talk'd with off and on for over an hour. Here + and there was one very sick; but all were able to walk, except some of the + last, who had given out, and were seated on the ground, faint and + despondent. These I tried to cheer, told them the camp they were to reach + was only a little way further over the hill, and so got them up and + started, accompanying some of the worst a little way, and helping them, or + putting them under the support of stronger comrades. + </p> + <p> + <i>May 21</i>.—Saw General Sheridan and his cavalry to-day; a + strong, attractive sight; the men were mostly young, (a few middle-aged,) + superb-looking fellows, brown, spare, keen, with well-worn clothing, many + with pieces of water-proof cloth around their shoulders, hanging down. + They dash'd along pretty fast, in wide close ranks, all spatter'd with + mud; no holiday soldiers; brigade after brigade. I could have watch'd for + a week. Sheridan stood on a balcony, under a big tree, coolly smoking a + cigar. His looks and manner impress'd me favorably. + </p> + <p> + <i>May 22</i>.—Have been taking a walk along Pennsylvania avenue and + Seventh street north. The city is full of soldiers, running around loose. + Officers everywhere, of all grades. All have the weatherbeaten look of + practical service. It is a sight I never tire of. All the armies are now + here (or portions of them,) for to-morrow's review. You see them swarming + like bees everywhere. + </p> + <h3> + THE GRAND REVIEW + </h3> + <p> + For two days now the broad spaces of Pennsylvania avenue along to Treasury + hill, and so by detour around to the President's house, and so up to + Georgetown, and across the aqueduct bridge, have been alive with a + magnificent sight, the returning armies. In their wide ranks stretching + clear across the Avenue, I watch them march or ride along, at a brisk + pace, through two whole days—infantry, cavalry, artillery—some + 200,000 men. Some days afterwards one or two other corps; and then, still + afterwards, a good part of Sherman's immense army, brought up from + Charleston, Savannah, &c. + </p> + <h3> + WESTERN SOLDIERS + </h3> + <p> + <i>May 26-7</i>.—The streets, the public buildings and grounds of + Washington, still swarm with soldiers from Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, + Missouri, Iowa, and all the Western States. I am continually meeting and + talking with them. They often speak to me first, and always show great + sociability, and glad to have a good interchange of chat. These Western + soldiers are more slow in their movements, and in their intellectual + quality also; have no extreme alertness. They are larger in size, have a + more serious physiognomy, are continually looking at you as they pass in + the street. They are largely animal, and handsomely so. During the war I + have been at times with the Fourteenth, Fifteenth, Seventeenth, and + Twentieth Corps. I always feel drawn toward the men, and like their + personal contact when we are crowded close together, as frequently these + days in the street-cars. They all think the world of General Sherman; call + him "old Bill," or sometimes "uncle Billy." + </p> + <h3> + A SOLDIER ON LINCOLN + </h3> + <p> + <i>May 28</i>.—As I sat by the bedside of a sick Michigan soldier in + hospital to-day, a convalescent from the adjoining bed rose and came to + me, and presently we began talking. He was a middleaged man, belonged to + the 2d Virginia regiment, but lived in Racine, Ohio, and had a family + there. He spoke of President Lincoln, and said: "The war is over, and many + are lost. And now we have lost the best, the fairest, the truest man in + America. Take him altogether, he was the best man this country ever + produced. It was quite a while I thought very different; but some time + before the murder, that's the way I have seen it." There was deep + earnestness in the soldier. (I found upon further talk he had known Mr. + Lincoln personally, and quite closely, years before.) He was a veteran; + was now in the fifth year of his service; was a cavalry man, and had been + in a good deal of hard fighting. + </p> + <h3> + TWO BROTHERS, ONE SOUTH, ONE NORTH + </h3> + <p> + <i>May 28-9</i>.—I staid to-night a long time by the bedside of a + new patient, a young Baltimorean, aged about 19 years, W. S. P., (2d + Maryland, southern,) very feeble, right leg amputated, can't sleep hardly + at all—has taken a great deal of morphine, which, as usual, is + costing more than it comes to. Evidently very intelligent and well bred—very + affectionate—held on to my hand, and put it by his face, not willing + to let me leave. As I was lingering, soothing him in his pain, he says to + me suddenly, "I hardly think you know who I am—I don't wish to + impose upon you—I am a rebel soldier." I said I did not know that, + but it made no difference. Visiting him daily for about two weeks after + that, while he lived, (death had mark'd him, and he was quite alone,) I + loved him much, always kiss'd him, and he did me. In an adjoining ward I + found his brother, an officer of rank, a Union soldier, a brave and + religious man, (Col. Clifton K. Prentiss, sixth Maryland infantry, Sixth + corps, wounded in one of the engagements at Petersburgh, April 2—linger'd, + suffer'd much, died in Brooklyn, Aug. 20, '65). It was in the same battle + both were hit. One was a strong Unionist, the other Secesh; both fought on + their respective sides, both badly wounded, and both brought together here + after a separation of four years. Each died for his cause. + </p> + <h3> + SOME SAD CASES YET + </h3> + <p> + <i>May 31</i>.—James H. Williams, aged 21, 3d Virginia + cavalry.-About as mark'd a case of a strong man brought low by a + complication of diseases, (laryngitis, fever, debility and diarrhoea,) as + I have ever seen—has superb physique, remains swarthy yet, and + flushed and red with fever-is altogether flighty—flesh of his great + breast and arms tremulous, and pulse pounding away with treble quickness—lies + a good deal of the time in a partial sleep, but with low muttering and + groans—a sleep in which there is no rest. Powerful as he is, and so + young, he will not be able to stand many more days of the strain and + sapping heat of yesterday and to-day. His throat is in a bad way, tongue + and lips parch'd. When I ask him how he feels, he is able just to + articulate, "I feel pretty bad yet, old man," and looks at me with his + great bright eyes. Father, John Williams, Millensport, Ohio. + </p> + <p> + <i>June 9-10</i>.—I have been sitting late to-night by the bedside + of a wounded captain, a special friend of mine, lying with a painful + fracture of left leg in one of the hospitals, in a large ward partially + vacant. The lights were put out, all but a little candle, far from where I + sat. The full moon shone in through the windows, making long, slanting + silvery patches on the floor. All was still, my friend too was silent, but + could not sleep; so I sat there by him, slowly wafting the fan, and + occupied with the musings that arose out of the scene, the long shadowy + ward, the beautiful ghostly moonlight on the floor, the white beds, here + and there an occupant with huddled form, the bed-clothes thrown off. The + hospitals have a number of cases of sun-stroke and exhaustion by heat, + from the late reviews. There are many such from the Sixth corps, from the + hot parade of day before yesterday. (Some of these shows cost the lives of + scores of men.) + </p> + <p> + <i>Sunday, Sep. 10</i>.—Visited Douglas and Stanton hospitals. They + are quite full. Many of the cases are bad ones, lingering wounds, and old + sickness. There is a more than usual look of despair on the countenances + of many of the men; hope has left them. I went through the wards, talking + as usual. There are several here from the confederate army whom I had seen + in other hospitals, and they recognized me. Two were in a dying condition. + </p> + <h3> + CALHOUN'S REAL MONUMENT + </h3> + <p> + In one of the hospital tents for special cases, as I sat to-day tending a + new amputation, I heard a couple of neighboring soldiers talking to each + other from their cots. One down with fever, but improving, had come up + belated from Charleston not long before. The other was what we now call an + "old veteran," (<i>i.e.</i>, he was a Connecticut youth, probably of less + than the age of twenty-five years, the four last of which he had spent in + active service in the war in all parts of the country.) The two were + chatting of one thing and another. The fever soldier spoke of John C. + Calhoun's monument, which he had seen, and was describing it. The veteran + said: "I have seen Calhoun's monument. That you saw is not the real + monument. But I have seen it. It is the desolated, ruined south; nearly + the whole generation of young men between seventeen and thirty destroyed + or maim'd; all the old families used up—the rich impoverish'd, the + plantations cover'd with weeds, the slaves unloos'd and become the + masters, and the name of southerner blacken'd with every shame—all + that is Calhoun's real monument." + </p> + <h3> + HOSPITALS CLOSING + </h3> + <p> + <i>October 3</i>.—There are two army hospitals now remaining. I went + to the largest of these (Douglas) and spent the afternoon and evening. + There are many sad cases, old wounds, incurable sickness, and some of the + wounded from the March and April battles before Richmond. Few realize how + sharp and bloody those closing battles were. Our men exposed themselves + more than usual; press'd ahead without urging. Then the southerners fought + with extra desperation. Both sides knew that with the successful chasing + of the rebel cabal from Richmond, and the occupation of that city by the + national troops, the game was up. The dead and wounded were unusually + many. Of the wounded the last lingering driblets have been brought to + hospital here. I find many rebel wounded here, and have been extra busy + to-day 'tending to the worst cases of them with the rest. + </p> + <p> + <i>Oct., Nov. and Dec., '65—Sundays</i>—Every Sunday of these + months visited Harewood hospital out in the woods, pleasant and recluse, + some two and a half or three miles north of the capitol. The situation is + healthy, with broken ground, grassy slopes and patches of oak woods, the + trees large and fine. It was one of the most extensive of the hospitals, + now reduced to four or five partially occupied wards, the numerous others + being vacant. In November, this became the last military hospital kept up + by the government, all the others being closed. Cases of the worst and + most incurable wounds, obstinate illness, and of poor fellows who have no + homes to go to, are found here. + </p> + <p> + <i>Dec. 10—Sunday</i>—Again spending a good part of the day at + Harewood. I write this about an hour before sundown. I have walk'd out for + a few minutes to the edge of the woods to soothe myself with the hour and + scene. It is a glorious, warm, golden-sunny, still afternoon. The only + noise is from a crowd of cawing crows, on some trees three hundred yards + distant. Clusters of gnats swimming and dancing in the air in all + directions. The oak leaves are thick under the bare trees, and give a + strong and delicious perfume. Inside the wards everything is gloomy. Death + is there. As I enter'd, I was confronted by it the first thing; a corpse + of a poor soldier, just dead, of typhoid fever. The attendants had just + straighten'd the limbs, put coppers on the eyes, and were laying it out. + </p> + <p> + <i>The roads</i>—A great recreation, the past three years, has been + in taking long walks out from Washington, five, seven, perhaps ten miles + and back; generally with my friend Peter Doyle, who is as fond of it as I + am. Fine moonlight nights, over the perfect military roads, hard and + smooth—or Sundays—we had these delightful walks, never to be + forgotten. The roads connecting Washington and the numerous forts around + the city, made one useful result, at any rate, out of the war. + </p> + <h3> + TYPICAL SOLDIERS + </h3> + <p> + Even the typical soldiers I have been personally intimate with,—it + seems to me if I were to make a list of them it would be like a city + directory. Some few only have I mention'd in the foregoing pages—most + are dead—a few yet living. There is Reuben Farwell, of Michigan, + (little "Mitch;") Benton H. Wilson, color-bearer, 185th New York; Wm. + Stansberry; Manvill Winterstein, Ohio; Bethuel Smith; Capt. Simms, of 51st + New York, (kill'd at Petersburgh mine explosion,) Capt. Sam. Pooley and + Lieut. Fred. McReady, same reg't. Also, same reg't., my brother, George W. + Whitman—in active service all through, four years, re-enlisting + twice—was promoted, step by step, (several times immediately after + battles,) lieutenant, captain, major and lieut. colonel—was in the + actions at Roanoke, Newbern, 2d Bull Run, Chantilly, South Mountain, + Antietam, Fredericksburgh, Vicksburgh, Jackson, the bloody conflicts of + the Wilderness, and at Spottsylvania, Cold Harbor, and afterwards around + Petersburgh; at one of these latter was taken prisoner, and pass'd four or + five months in secesh military prisons, narrowly escaping with life, from + a severe fever, from starvation and half-nakedness in the winter. (What a + history that 51st New York had! Went out early—march'd, fought + everywhere—was in storms at sea, nearly wreck'd—storm'd forts—tramp'd + hither and yon in Virginia, night and day, summer of '62—afterwards + Kentucky and Mississippi—re-enlisted—was in all the + engagements and campaigns, as above.) I strengthen and comfort myself much + with the certainty that the capacity for just such regiments, (hundreds, + thousands of them) is inexhaustible in the United States, and that there + isn't a county nor a township in the republic—nor a street in any + city—but could turn out, and, on occasion, would turn out, lots of + just such typical soldiers, whenever wanted. + </p> + <h3> + "CONVULSIVENESS" + </h3> + <p> + As I have look'd over the proof-sheets of the preceding pages, I have once + or twice fear'd that my diary would prove, at best, but a batch of + convulsively written reminiscences. Well, be it so. + </p> + <p> + They are but parts of the actual distraction, heat, smoke and excitement + of those times. The war itself, with the temper of society preceding it, + can indeed be best described by that very word <i>convulsiveness</i>. + </p> + <h3> + THREE YEARS SUMM'D UP + </h3> + <p> + During those three years in hospital, camp or field, I made over six + hundred visits or tours, and went, as I estimate, counting all, among from + eighty thousand to a hundred thousand of the wounded and sick, as + sustainer of spirit and body in some degree, in time of need. These visits + varied from an hour or two, to all day or night; for with dear or critical + cases I generally watch'd all night. Sometimes I took up my quarters in + the hospital, and slept or watch'd there several nights in succession. + Those three years I consider the greatest privilege and satisfaction, + (with all their feverish excitements and physical deprivations and + lamentable sights,) and, of course, the most profound lesson of my life. I + can say that in my ministerings I comprehended all, whoever came in my + way, northern or southern, and slighted none. It arous'd and brought out + and decided undream'd-of depths of emotion. It has given me my most + fervent views of the true <i>ensemble</i> and extent of the States. While + I was with wounded and sick in thousands of cases from the New England + States, and from New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania, and from + Michigan, Wisconsin, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and all the Western States, + I was with more or less from all the States, North and South, without + exception. I was with many from the border States, especially from + Maryland and Virginia, and found, during those lurid years 1862-63, far + more Union southerners, especially Tennesseans, than is supposed. I was + with many rebel officers and men among our wounded, and gave them always + what I had, and tried to cheer them the same as any. I was among the army + teamsters considerably, and, indeed, always found myself drawn to them. + Among the black soldiers, wounded or sick, and in the contraband camps, I + also took my way whenever in their neighborhood, and did what I could for + them. + </p> + <h3> + THE MILLION DEAD, TOO, SUMM'D UP + </h3> + <p> + The dead in this war—there they lie, strewing the fields and woods + and valleys and battle-fields of the south—Virginia, the Peninsula—Malvern + hill and Fair Oaks—the banks of the Chickahominy—the terraces + of Fredericksburgh—Antietam bridge—the grisly ravines of + Manassas—the bloody promenade of the Wilderness—the varieties + of the <i>strayed</i> dead, (the estimate of the War department is 25,000 + national soldiers kill'd in battle and never buried at all, 5,000 drown'd—15,000 + inhumed by strangers, or on the march in haste, in hitherto unfound + localities—2,000 graves cover'd by sand and mud by Mississippi + freshets, 3,000 carried away by caving-in of banks, &c.,)—Gettysburgh, + the West, Southwest—Vicksburgh—Chattanooga—the trenches + of Petersburgh—the numberless battles, camps, hospitals everywhere—the + crop reap'd by the mighty reapers, typhoid, dysentery, inflammations—and + blackest and loathesomest of all, the dead and living burial-pits, the + prison-pens of Andersonville, Salisbury, Belle-Isle, &c., (not Dante's + pictured hell and all its woes, its degradations, filthy torments, + excell'd those prisons)—the dead, the dead, the dead—<i>our</i> + dead—or South or North, ours all, (all, all, all, finally dear to + me)—or East or West—Atlantic coast or Mississippi valley—somewhere + they crawl'd to die, alone, in bushes, low gullies, or on the sides of + hills—(there, in secluded spots, their skeletons, bleach'd bones, + tufts of hair, buttons, fragments of clothing, are occasionally found yet)—our + young men once so handsome and so joyous, taken from us—the son from + the mother, the husband from the wife, the dear friend from the dear + friend—the clusters of camp graves, in Georgia, the Carolinas, and + in Tennessee—the single graves left in the woods or by the roadside, + (hundreds, thousands, obliterated)—the corpses floated down the + rivers, and caught and lodged, (dozens, scores, floated down the upper + Potomac, after the cavalry engagements, the pursuit of Lee, following + Gettysburgh)—some lie at the bottom of the sea—the general + million, and the special cemeteries in almost all the States—the + infinite dead—(the land entire saturated, perfumed with their + impalpable ashes' exhalation in Nature's chemistry distill'd, and shall be + so forever, in every future grain of wheat and ear of corn, and every + flower that grows, and every breath we draw)—not only Northern dead + leavening Southern soil—thousands, aye tens of thousands, of + Southerners, crumble to-day in Northern earth. + </p> + <p> + And everywhere among these countless graves—everywhere in the many + soldier Cemeteries of the Nation, (there are now, I believe, over seventy + of them)—as at the time in the vast trenches, the depositories of + slain, Northern and Southern, after the great battles—not only where + the scathing trail passed those years, but radiating since in all the + peaceful quarters of the land—we see, and ages yet may see, on + monuments and gravestones, singly or in masses, to thousands or tens of + thousands, the significant word UNKNOWN. + </p> + <p> + (In some of the cemeteries nearly all the dead are unknown. At Salisbury, + N. C., for instance, the known are only 85, while the unknown are 12,027, + and 11,700 of these are buried in trenches. A national monument has been + put up here, by order of Congress, to mark the spot—but what + visible, material monument can ever fittingly commemorate that spot?) + </p> + <h3> + THE REAL WAR WILL NEVER GET IN THE BOOKS + </h3> + <p> + And so good-bye to the war. I know not how it may have been, or may be, to + others—to me the main interest I found, (and still, on recollection, + find,) in the rank and file of the armies, both sides, and in those + specimens amid the hospitals, and even the dead on the field. To me the + points illustrating the latent personal character and eligibilities of + these States, in the two or three millions of American young and + middle-aged men, North and South, embodied in those armies—and + especially the one-third or one-fourth of their number, stricken by wounds + or disease at some time in the course of the contest—were of more + significance even than the political interests involved. (As so much of a + race depends on how it faces death, and how it stands personal anguish and + sickness. As, in the glints of emotions under emergencies, and the + indirect traits and asides in Plutarch, we get far profounder clues to the + antique world than all its more formal history.) + </p> + <p> + Future years will never know the seething hell and the black infernal + background of countless minor scenes and interiors, (not the official + surface-courteousness of the Generals, not the few great battles) of the + Secession war; and it is best they should not—the real war will + never get in the books. In the mushy influences of current times, too, the + fervid atmosphere and typical events of those years are in danger of being + totally forgotten. I have at night watch'd by the side of a sick man in + the hospital, one who could not live many hours. I have seen his eyes + flash and burn as he raised himself and recurr'd to the cruelties on his + surrender'd brother, and mutilations of the corpse afterward. (See in the + preceding pages, the incident at Upperville—the seventeen kill'd as + in the description, were left there on the ground. After they dropt dead, + no one touch'd them—all were made sure of, however. The carcasses + were left for the citizens to bury or not, as they chose.) + </p> + <p> + Such was the war. It was not a quadrille in a ball-room. Its interior + history will not only never be written—its practicality, minutia; of + deeds and passions, will never be even suggested. The actual soldier of + 1862-'65, North and South, with all his ways, his incredible + dauntlessness, habits, practices, tastes, language, his fierce friendship, + his appetite, rankness, his superb strength and animality, lawless gait, + and a hundred unnamed lights and shades of camp, I say, will never be + written—perhaps must not and should not be. + </p> + <p> + The preceding notes may furnish a few stray glimpses into that life, and + into those lurid interiors, never to be fully convey'd to the future. The + hospital part of the drama from '61 to '65, deserves indeed to be + recorded. Of that many-threaded drama, with its sudden and strange + surprises, its confounding of prophecies, its moments of despair, the + dread of foreign interference, the interminable campaigns, the bloody + battles, the mighty and cumbrous and green armies, the drafts and bounties—the + immense money expenditure, like a heavy-pouring constant rain—with, + over the whole land, the last three years of the struggle, an unending, + universal mourning-wail of women, parents, orphans—the marrow of the + tragedy concentrated in those Army Hospitals—(it seem'd sometimes as + if the whole interest of the land, North and South, was one vast central + hospital, and all the rest of the affair but flanges)—those forming + the untold and unwritten history of the war—infinitely greater (like + life's) than the few scraps and distortions that are ever told or written. + Think how much, and of importance, will be—how much, civic and + military, has already been—buried in the grave, in eternal darkness. + </p> + <h3> + AN INTERREGNUM PARAGRAPH + </h3> + <p> + Several years now elapse before I resume my diary. I continued at + Washington working in the Attorney-General's department through '66 and + '67, and some time afterward. In February '73 I was stricken down by + paralysis, gave up my desk, and migrated to Camden, New Jersey, where I + lived during '74 and '75, quite unwell—but after that began to grow + better; commenc'd going for weeks at a time, even for months, down in the + country, to a charmingly recluse and rural spot along Timber creek, twelve + or thirteen miles from where it enters the Delaware river. Domicil'd at + the farm-house of my friends, the Staffords, near by, I lived half the + time along this creek and its adjacent fields and lanes. And it is to my + life here that I, perhaps, owe partial recovery (a sort of second wind, or + semi-renewal of the lease of life) from the prostration of 1874-'75. If + the notes of that outdoor life could only prove as glowing to you, reader + dear, as the experience itself was to me. Doubtless in the course of the + following, the fact of invalidism will crop out, (I call myself <i>a + half-Paralytic</i> these days, and reverently bless the Lord it is no + worse,) between some of the lines—but I get my share of fun and + healthy hours, and shall try to indicate them. (The trick is, I find, to + tone your wants and tastes low down enough, and make much of negatives, + and of mere daylight and the skies.) + </p> + <h3> + NEW THEMES ENTERED UPON + </h3> + <p> + <i>1876, '77</i>.—I find the woods in mid-May and early June my best + places for composition.{9} Seated on logs or stumps there, or resting on + rails, nearly all the following memoranda have been jotted down. Wherever + I go, indeed, winter or summer, city or country, alone at home or + traveling, I must take notes—(the ruling passion strong in age and + disablement, and even the approach of—but I must not say it yet.) + Then underneath the following excerpta—crossing the <i>t's</i> and + dotting the <i>i's</i> of certain moderate movements of late years—I + am fain to fancy the foundations of quite a lesson learn'd. After you have + exhausted what there is in business, politics, conviviality, love, and so + on—have found that none of these finally satisfy, or permanently + wear—what remains? Nature remains; to bring out from their torpid + recesses, the affinities of a man or woman with the open air, the trees, + fields, the changes of seasons—the sun by day and the stars of + heaven by night. We will begin from these convictions. Literature flies so + high and is so hotly spiced, that our notes may seem hardly more than + breaths of common air, or draughts of water to drink. But that is part of + our lesson. + </p> + <p> + Dear, soothing, healthy, restoration-hours—after three confining + years of paralysis—after the long strain of the war, and its wounds + and death. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {9} Without apology for the abrupt change of field and atmosphere—after + what I have put in the preceding fifty or sixty pages—temporary + episodes, thank heaven!—I restore my book to the bracing and buoyant + equilibrium of concrete outdoor Nature, the only permanent reliance for + sanity of book or human life. + </p> + <p> + Who knows, (I have it in my fancy, my ambition,) but the pages now ensuing + may carry ray of sun, or smell of grass or corn, or call of bird, or gleam + of stars by night, or snow-flakes falling fresh and mystic, to denizen of + heated city house, or tired workman or workwoman?—or may-be in + sick-room or prison—to serve as cooling breeze, or Nature's aroma, + to some fever'd mouth or latent pulse. + </p> + <h3> + ENTERING A LONG FARM-LANE + </h3> + <p> + As every man has his hobby-liking, mine is for a real farm-lane fenced by + old chestnut-rails gray-green with dabs of moss and lichen, copious weeds + and briers growing in spots athwart the heaps of stray-pick' d stones at + the fence bases—irregular paths worn between, and horse and cow + tracks—all characteristic accompaniments marking and scenting the + neighborhood in their seasons—apple-tree blossoms in forward April—pigs, + poultry, a field of August buckwheat, and in another the long flapping + tassels of maize—and so to the pond, the expansion of the creek, the + secluded-beautiful, with young and old trees, and such recesses and + vistas. + </p> + <h3> + TO THE SPRING AND BROOK + </h3> + <p> + So, still sauntering on, to the spring under the willows—musical as + soft clinking glasses-pouring a sizeable stream, thick as my neck, pure + and clear, out from its vent where the bank arches over like a great brown + shaggy eyebrow or mouth-roof—gurgling, gurgling ceaselessly—meaning, + saying something, of course (if one could only translate it)—always + gurgling there, the whole year through—never giving out—oceans + of mint, blackberries in summer—choice of light and shade—just + the place for my July sun-baths and water-baths too—but mainly the + inimitable soft sound-gurgles of it, as I sit there hot afternoons. How + they and all grow into me, day after day—everything in keeping—the + wild, just-palpable perfume, and the dappled leaf-shadows, and all the + natural-medicinal, elemental-moral influences of the spot. + </p> + <p> + Babble on, O brook, with that utterance of thine! I too will express what + I have gather'd in my days and progress, native, subterranean, past—and + now thee. Spin and wind thy way—I with thee, a little while, at any + rate. As I haunt thee so often, season by season, thou knowest, reckest + not me, (yet why be so certain? who can tell?)—but I will learn from + thee, and dwell on thee—receive, copy, print from thee. + </p> + <h3> + AN EARLY SUMMER REVEILLE + </h3> + <p> + Away then to loosen, to unstring the divine bow, so tense, so long. Away, + from curtain, carpet, sofa, book—from "society"—from city + house, street, and modern improvements and luxuries—away to the + primitive winding, aforementioned wooded creek, with its untrimm'd bushes + and turfy banks—away from ligatures, tight boots, buttons, and the + whole cast-iron civilized life—from entourage of artificial store, + machine, studio, office, parlor—from tailordom and fashion's clothes—from + any clothes, perhaps, for the nonce, the summer heats advancing, there in + those watery, shaded solitudes. Away, thou soul, (let me pick thee out + singly, reader dear, and talk in perfect freedom, negligently, + confidentially,) for one day and night at least, returning to the naked + source-life of us all—to the breast of the great silent savage + all-acceptive Mother. Alas! how many of us are so sodden—how many + have wander'd so far away, that return is almost impossible. + </p> + <p> + But to my jottings, taking them as they come, from the heap, without + particular selection. There is little consecutiveness in dates. They run + any time within nearly five or six years. Each was carelessly pencilled in + the open air, at the time and place. The printers will learn this to some + vexation perhaps, as much of their copy is from those hastily-written + first notes. + </p> + <h3> + BIRDS MIGRATING AT MIDNIGHT + </h3> + <p> + Did you ever chance to hear the midnight flight of birds passing through + the air and darkness overhead, in countless armies, changing their early + or late summer habitat? It is something not to be forgotten. A friend + called me up just after 12 last night to mark the peculiar noise of + unusually immense flocks migrating north (rather late this year.) In the + silence, shadow and delicious odor of the hour, (the natural perfume + belonging to the night alone,) I thought it rare music. You could <i>hear</i> + the characteristic motion—once or twice "the rush of mighty wings," + but often a velvety rustle, long drawn out—sometimes quite near—with + continual calls and chirps, and some song-notes. It all lasted from 12 + till after 3. Once in a while the species was plainly distinguishable; I + could make out the bobolink, tanager, Wilson's thrush, white-crown'd + sparrow, and occasionally from high in the air came the notes of the + plover. + </p> + <h3> + BUMBLE-BEES + </h3> + <p> + May-month—month of swarming, singing, mating birds—the + bumble-bee month—month of the flowering lilac-(and then my own + birth-month.) As I jot this paragraph, I am out just after sunrise, and + down towards the creek. The lights, perfumes, melodies—the blue + birds, grass birds and robins, in every direction—the noisy, vocal, + natural concert. For undertones, a neighboring wood-pecker tapping his + tree, and the distant clarion of chanticleer. Then the fresh-earth smells—the + colors, the delicate drabs and thin blues of the perspective. The bright + green of the grass has receiv'd an added tinge from the last two days' + mildness and moisture. How the sun silently mounts in the broad clear sky, + on his day's journey! How the warm beams bathe all, and come streaming + kissingly and almost hot on my face. + </p> + <p> + A while since the croaking of the pond-frogs and the first white of the + dog-wood blossoms. Now the golden dandelions in endless profusion, + spotting the ground everywhere. The white cherry and pear-blows—the + wild violets, with their blue eyes looking up and saluting my feet, as I + saunter the wood-edge—the rosy blush of budding apple-trees—the + light-clear emerald hue of the wheat-fields—the darker green of the + rye—a warm elasticity pervading the air—the cedar-bushes + profusely deck'd with their little brown apples—the summer fully + awakening—the convocation of black birds, garrulous flocks of them, + gathering on some tree, and making the hour and place noisy as I sit near. + </p> + <p> + <i>Later.</i>—Nature marches in procession, in sections, like the + corps of an army. All have done much for me, and still do. But for the + last two days it has been the great wild bee, the humble-bee, or "bumble," + as the children call him. As I walk, or hobble, from the farm-house down + to the creek, I traverse the before-mention'd lane, fenced by old rails, + with many splits, splinters, breaks, holes, &c., the choice habitat of + those crooning, hairy insects. Up and down and by and between these rails, + they swarm and dart and fly in countless myriads. As I wend slowly along, + I am often accompanied with a moving cloud of them. They play a leading + part in my morning, midday or sunset rambles, and often dominate the + landscape in a way I never before thought of—fill the long lane, not + by scores or hundreds only, but by thousands. Large and vivacious and + swift, with wonderful momentum and a loud swelling, perpetual hum, varied + now and then by something almost like a shriek, they dart to and fro, in + rapid flashes, chasing each other, and (little things as they are,) + conveying to me a new and pronounc'd sense of strength, beauty, vitality + and movement. Are they in their mating season? or what is the meaning of + this plenitude, swiftness, eagerness, display? As I walk'd, I thought I + was follow'd by a particular swarm, but upon observation I saw that it was + a rapid succession of changing swarms, one after another. + </p> + <p> + As I write, I am seated under a big wild-cherry tree—the warm day + temper'd by partial clouds and a fresh breeze, neither too heavy nor light—and + here I sit long and long, envelop'd in the deep musical drone of these + bees, flitting, balancing, darting to and fro about me by hundreds—big + fellows with light yellow jackets, great glistening swelling bodies, + stumpy heads and gauzy wings—humming their perpetual rich mellow + boom. (Is there not a hint in it for a musical composition, of which it + should be the back-ground? some bumble-bee symphony?) How it all + nourishes, lulls me, in the way most needed; the open air, the rye-fields, + the apple orchards. The last two days have been faultless in sun, breeze, + temperature and everything; never two more perfect days, and I have + enjoy'd them wonderfully. My health is somewhat better, and my spirit at + peace. (Yet the anniversary of the saddest loss and sorrow of my life is + close at hand.) + </p> + <p> + Another jotting, another perfect day: forenoon, from 7 to 9, two hours + envelop'd in sound of bumble-bees and bird-music. Down in the apple-trees + and in a neighboring cedar were three or four russet-back'd thrushes, each + singing his best, and roulading in ways I never heard surpass'd. Two hours + I abandon myself to hearing them, and indolently absorbing the scene. + Almost every bird I notice has a special time in the year—sometimes + limited to a few days—when it sings its best; and now is the period + of these russet-backs. Meanwhile, up and down the lane, the darting, + droning, musical bumble-bees. A great swarm again for my entourage as I + return home, moving along with me as before. + </p> + <p> + As I write this, two or three weeks later, I am sitting near the brook + under a tulip tree, 70 feet high, thick with the fresh verdure of its + young maturity—a beautiful object—every branch, every leaf + perfect. From top to bottom, seeking the sweet juice in the blossoms, it + swarms with myriads of these wild bees, whose loud and steady humming + makes an undertone to the whole, and to my mood and the hour. All of which + I will bring to a close by extracting the following verses from Henry A. + Beers's little volume: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As I lay yonder in tall grass + A drunken bumble-bee went past + + Delirious with honey toddy. + The golden sash about his body + Scarce kept it in his swollen belly + Distent with honeysuckle jelly. + Rose liquor and the sweet-pea wine + Had fill' d his soul with song divine; + Deep had he drunk the warm night through, + His hairy thighs were wet with dew. + Full many an antic he had play'd + While the world went round through sleep and shade. + Oft had he lit with thirsty lip + Some flower-cup's nectar'd sweets to sip, + When on smooth petals he would slip, + Or over tangled stamens trip, + And headlong in the pollen roll'd, + Crawl out quite dusted o'er with gold; + Or else his heavy feet would stumble + Against some bud, and down he'd tumble + Amongst the grass; there lie and grumble + In low, soft bass—poor maudlin bumble! +</pre> + <h3> + CEDAR-APPLES + </h3> + <p> + As I journey'd to-day in a light wagon ten or twelve miles through the + country, nothing pleas'd me more, in their homely beauty and novelty (I + had either never seen the little things to such advantage, or had never + noticed them before) than that peculiar fruit, with its profuse + clear-yellow dangles of inch-long silk or yarn, in boundless profusion + spotting the dark green cedar bushes—contrasting well with their + bronze tufts—the flossy shreds covering the knobs all over, like a + shock of wild hair on elfin pates. On my ramble afterward down by the + creek I pluck'd one from its bush, and shall keep it. These cedar-apples + last only a little while however, and soon crumble and fade. + </p> + <h3> + SUMMER SIGHTS AND INDOLENCIES + </h3> + <p> + <i>June 10th</i>.—As I write, 5-1/2 P.M., here by the creek, nothing + can exceed the quiet splendor and freshness around me. We had a heavy + shower, with brief thunder and lightning, in the middle of the day; and + since, overhead, one of those not uncommon yet indescribable skies (in + quality, not details or forms) of limpid blue, with rolling silver-fringed + clouds, and a pure-dazzling sun. For underlay, trees in fulness of tender + foliage—liquid, reedy, long-drawn notes of birds—based by the + fretful mewing of a querulous cat-bird, and the pleasant chippering-shriek + of two kingfishers. I have been watching the latter the last half hour, on + their regular evening frolic over and in the stream; evidently a spree of + the liveliest kind. They pursue each other, whirling and wheeling around, + with many a jocund downward dip, splashing the spray in jets of diamonds—and + then off they swoop, with slanting wings and graceful flight, sometimes so + near me I can plainly see their dark-gray feather-bodies and milk-white + necks. + </p> + <h3> + SUNDOWN PERFUME—QUAILNOTES—THE HERMIT-THRUSH + </h3> + <p> + <i>June 19th, 4 to 6-1/2, P.M.</i>—Sitting alone by the creek—solitude + here, but the scene bright and vivid enough—the sun shining, and + quite a fresh wind blowing (some heavy showers last night,) the grass and + trees looking their best—the clare-obscure of different greens, + shadows, half-shadows, and the dappling glimpses of the water, through + recesses—the wild flageolet-note of a quail near by—the + just-heard fretting of some hylas down there in the pond—crows + cawing in the distance—a drove of young hogs rooting in soft ground + near the oak under which I sit—some come sniffing near me, and then + scamper away, with grunts. And still the clear notes of the quail—the + quiver of leaf-shadows over the paper as I write—the sky aloft, with + white clouds, and the sun well declining to the west—the swift + darting of many sand-swallows coming and going, their holes in a + neighboring marl-bank—the odor of the cedar and oak, so palpable, as + evening approaches—perfume, color, the bronze-and-gold of nearly + ripen'd wheat—clover-fields, with honey-scent—the well-up + maize, with long and rustling leaves—the great patches of thriving + potatoes, dusky green, fleck'd all over with white blossoms—the old, + warty, venerable oak above me—and ever, mix'd with the dual notes of + the quail, the soughing of the wind through some near-by pines. + </p> + <p> + As I rise for return, I linger long to a delicious song-epilogue (is it + the hermit-thrush?) from some bushy recess off there in the swamp, + repeated leisurely and pensively over and over again. This, to the + circle-gambols of the swallows flying by dozens in concentric rings in the + last rays of sunset, like flashes of some airy wheel. + </p> + <h3> + A JULY AFTER-NOON BY THE POND + </h3> + <p> + The fervent heat, but so much more endurable in this pure air—the + white and pink pond-blossoms, with great heart-shaped leaves; the glassy + waters of the creek, the banks, with dense bushery, and the picturesque + beeches and shade and turf; the tremulous, reedy call of some bird from + recesses, breaking the warm, indolent, half-voluptuous silence; an + occasional wasp, hornet, honey-bee or bumble (they hover near my hands or + face, yet annoy me not, nor I them, as they appear to examine, find + nothing, and away they go)—the vast space of the sky overhead so + clear, and the buzzard up there sailing his slow whirl in majestic spirals + and discs; just over the surface of the pond, two large slate-color'd + dragon-flies, with wings of lace, circling and darting and occasionally + balancing themselves quite still, their wings quivering all the time, (are + they not showing off for my amusement?)—the pond itself, with the + sword-shaped calamus; the water snakes—occasionally a flitting + blackbird, with red dabs on his shoulders, as he darts slantingly by—the + sounds that bring out the solitude, warmth, light and shade—the + quawk of some pond duck—(the crickets and grasshoppers are mute in + the noon heat, but I hear the song of the first cicadas;)—then at + some distance the rattle and whirr of a reaping machine as the horses draw + it on a rapid walk through a rye field on the opposite side of the creek—(what + was the yellow or light-brown bird, large as a young hen, with short neck + and long-stretch'd legs I just saw, in flapping and awkward flight over + there through the trees?)—the prevailing delicate, yet palpable, + spicy, grassy, clovery perfume to my nostrils; and over all, encircling + all, to my sight and soul, the free space of the sky, transparent and blue—and + hovering there in the west, a mass of white-gray fleecy clouds the sailors + call "shoals of mackerel"—the sky, with silver swirls like locks of + toss'd hair, spreading, expanding—a vast voiceless, formless + simulacrum—yet may-be the most real reality and formulator of + everything—who knows? + </p> + <h3> + LOCUSTS AND KATY-DIDS + </h3> + <p> + <i>Aug. 22</i>.—Reedy monotones of locust, or sounds of katydid—I + hear the latter at night, and the other both day and night. I thought the + morning and evening warble of birds delightful; but I find I can listen to + these strange insects with just as much pleasure. A single locust is now + heard near noon from a tree two hundred feet off, as I write—a long + whirring, continued, quite loud noise graded in distinct whirls, or + swinging circles, increasing in strength and rapidity up to a certain + point, and then a fluttering, quietly tapering fall. Each strain is + continued from one to two minutes. The locust-song is very appropriate to + the scene—gushes, has meaning, is masculine, is like some fine old + wine, not sweet, but far better than sweet. + </p> + <p> + But the katydid—how shall I describe its piquant utterances? One + sings from a willow-tree just outside my open bedroom window, twenty yards + distant; every clear night for a fortnight past has sooth'd me to sleep. I + rode through a piece of woods for a hundred rods the other evening, and + heard the katydids by myriads—very curious for once; but I like + better my single neighbor on the tree. Let me say more about the song of + the locust, even to repetition; a long, chromatic, tremulous crescendo, + like a brass disk whirling round and round, emitting wave after wave of + notes, beginning with a certain moderate beat or measure, rapidly + increasing in speed and emphasis, reaching a point of great energy and + significance, and then quickly and gracefully dropping down and out. Not + the melody of the singing-bird—far from it; the common musician + might think without melody, but surely having to the finer ear a harmony + of its own; monotonous—but what a swing there is in that brassy + drone, round and round, cymballine—or like the whirling of brass + quoits. + </p> + <h3> + THE LESSON OF A TREE + </h3> + <p> + <i>Sept. 1</i>.—I should not take either the biggest or the most + picturesque tree to illustrate it. Here is one of my favorites now before + me, a fine yellow poplar, quite straight, perhaps 90 feet high, and four + thick at the butt. How strong, vital, enduring! how dumbly eloquent! What + suggestions of imperturbability and <i>being</i>, as against the human + trait of mere <i>seeming</i>. Then the qualities, almost emotional, + palpably artistic, heroic, of a tree; so innocent and harmless, yet so + savage. It <i>is</i>, yet says nothing. How it rebukes by its tough and + equable serenity all weathers, this gusty-temper'd little whiffet, man, + that runs indoors at a mite of rain or snow. Science (or rather half-way + science) scoffs at reminiscence of dryad and hamadryad, and of trees + speaking. But, if they don't, they do as well as most speaking, writing, + poetry, sermons—or rather they do a great deal better. I should say + indeed that those old dryad-reminiscences are quite as true as any, and + profounder than most reminiscences we get. ("Cut this out," as the quack + mediciners say, and keep by you.) Go and sit in a grove or woods, with one + or more of those voiceless companions, and read the foregoing, and think. + </p> + <p> + One lesson from affiliating a tree—perhaps the greatest moral lesson + anyhow from earth, rocks, animals, is that same lesson of inherency, of <i>what + is</i>, without the least regard to what the looker-on (the critic) + supposes or says, or whether he likes or dislikes. What worse—what + more general malady pervades each and all of us, our literature, + education, attitude toward each other, (even toward ourselves,) than a + morbid trouble about <i>seems</i>, (generally temporarily seems too,) and + no trouble at all, or hardly any, about the sane, slow-growing, perennial, + real parts of character, books, friendship, marriage—humanity's + invisible foundations and hold-together? (As the all-basis, the nerve, the + great-sympathetic, the plenum within humanity, giving stamp to everything, + is necessarily invisible.) + </p> + <p> + <i>Aug. 4, 6 P.M.</i>—Lights and shades and rare effects on + tree-foliage and grass—transparent greens, grays, &c., all in + sunset pomp and dazzle. The clear beams are now thrown in many new places, + on the quilted, seam'd, bronze-drab, lower tree-trunks, shadow'd except at + this hour—now flooding their young and old columnar ruggedness with + strong light, unfolding to my sense new amazing features of silent, shaggy + charm, the solid bark, the expression of harmless impassiveness, with many + a bulge and gnarl unreck'd before. In the revealings of such light, such + exceptional hour, such mood, one does not wonder at the old story fables, + (indeed, why fables?) of people falling into love-sickness with trees, + seiz'd extatic with the mystic realism of the resistless silent strength + in them—<i>strength</i>, which after all is perhaps the last, + completest, highest beauty. + </p> + <p> + <i>Trees I am familiar with here</i>. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oaks, (many kinds—one sturdy Willows. + old fellow, vital, green, bushy, Catalpas. + five feet thick at the butt, I sit Persimmons. + under every day,) Mountain-ash. + Cedars plenty. Hickories. + Tulip trees, (<i>Liriodendron,</i>) is of Maples, many kinds. + the magnolia family—I have Locusts. + seen it in Michigan and southern Birches. + Illinois, 140 feet high and Dogwood. + 8 feet thick at the butt {A}; does Pine. + not transplant well; best rais'd the Elm. + from seeds—(the lumbermen Chesnut. + call it yellow poplar.) Linden. + Sycamores. Aspen. + Gum trees, both sweet and sour. Spruce. + Beeches. Hornbeam. + Black-walnuts. Laurel. + Sassafras. Holly. +</pre> + <h3> + AUTUMN SIDE-BITS + </h3> + <p> + <i>Sept. 20</i>.—Under an old black oak, glossy and green, exhaling + aroma—amid a grove the Albic druids might have chosen—envelop'd + in the warmth and light of the noonday sun, and swarms{10} of flitting + insects—with the harsh cawing of many crows a hundred rods away—here + I sit in solitude, absorbing, enjoying all. The corn, stack'd in its + cone-shaped stacks, russet-color'd and sere—a large field spotted + thick with scarlet-gold pumpkins—an adjoining one of cabbages, + showing well in their green and pearl, mottled by much light and shade—melon + patches, with their bulging ovals, and great silver-streak'd, ruffled, + broad-edged leaves—and many an autumn sight and sound beside—the + distant scream of a flock of guinea-hens—and pour'd over all the + September breeze, with pensive cadence through the tree tops. + </p> + <p> + <i>Another Day</i>.—The ground in all directions strew'd with <i>débris</i> + from a storm. Timber creek, as I slowly pace its banks, has ebb'd low, and + shows reaction from the turbulent swell of the late equinoctial. As I look + around, I take account of stock—weeds and shrubs, knolls, paths, + occasional stumps, some with smooth'd tops, (several I use as seats of + rest, from place to place, and from one I am now jotting these lines,)—frequent + wild-flowers, little white, star-shaped things, or the cardinal red of the + lobelia, or the cherry-ball seeds of the perennial rose, or the + many-threaded vines winding up and around trunks of trees. + </p> + <p> + <i>Oct. 1, 2 and 3</i>.—Down every day in the solitude of the creek. + A serene autumn sun and westerly breeze to-day (3d) as I sit here, the + water surface prettily moving in wind-ripples before me. On a stout old + beech at the edge, decayed and slanting, almost fallen to the stream, yet + with life and leaves in its mossy limbs, a gray squirrel, exploring, runs + up and down, flirts his tail, leaps to the ground, sits on his haunches + upright as he sees me, (a Darwinian hint?) and then races up the tree + again. + </p> + <p> + <i>Oct. 4</i>.—Cloudy and coolish; signs of incipient winter. Yet + pleasant here, the leaves thick-falling, the ground brown with them + already; rich coloring, yellows of all hues, pale and dark-green, shades + from lightest to richest red—all set in and toned down by the + prevailing brown of the earth and gray of the sky. So, winter is coming; + and I yet in my sickness. I sit here amid all these fair sights and vital + influences, and abandon myself to that thought, with its wandering trains + of speculation. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {10} There is a tulip poplar within sight of Woodstown, which is twenty + feet around, three feet from the ground, four feet across about eighteen + feet up the trunk, which is broken off about three or four feet higher up. + On the south side an arm has shot out from which rise two stems, each to + about ninety-one or ninety-two feet from the ground. Twenty-five (or more) + years since the cavity in the butt was large enough for, and nine men at + one time, ate dinner therein. It is supposed twelve to fifteen men could + now, at one time, stand within its trunk. The severe winds of 1877 and + 1878 did not seem to damage it, and the two stems send out yearly many + blossoms, scenting the air immediately about it with their sweet perfume. + It is entirely unprotected by other trees, on a hill.—<i>Woodstown, + N. J., "Register," April 15, '79</i>. + </p> + <h3> + THE SKY—DAYS AND NIGHTS—HAPPINESS + </h3> + <p> + <i>Oct. 20</i>.—A clear, crispy day—dry and breezy air, full + of oxygen. Out of the sane, silent, beauteous miracles that envelope and + fuse me—trees, water, grass, sunlight, and early frost—the one + I am looking at most to-day is the sky. It has that delicate, transparent + blue, peculiar to autumn, and the only clouds are little or larger white + ones, giving their still and spiritual motion to the great concave. All + through the earlier day (say from 7 to 11) it keeps a pure, yet vivid + blue. But as noon approaches the color gets lighter, quite gray for two or + three hours—then still paler for a spell, till sun-down—which + last I watch dazzling through the interstices of a knoll of big trees—darts + of fire and a gorgeous show of light-yellow, liver-color and red, with a + vast silver glaze askant on the water—the transparent shadows, + shafts, sparkle, and vivid colors beyond all the paintings ever made. + </p> + <p> + I don't know what or how, but it seems to me mostly owing to these skies, + (every now and then I think, while I have of course seen them every day of + my life, I never really saw the skies before,) have had this autumn some + wondrously contented hours—may I not say perfectly happy ones? As I + have read, Byron just before his death told a friend that he had known but + three happy hours during his whole existence. Then there is the old German + legend of the king's bell, to the same point. While I was out there by the + wood, that beautiful sunset through the trees, I thought of Byron's and + the bell story, and the notion started in me that I was having a happy + hour. (Though perhaps my best moments I never jot down; when they come I + cannot afford to break the charm by inditing memoranda. I just abandon + myself to the mood, and let it float on, carrying me in its placid + extasy.) + </p> + <p> + What is happiness, anyhow? Is this one of its hours, or the like of it?—so + impalpable—a mere breath, an evanescent tinge? I am not sure—so + let me give myself the benefit of the doubt. Hast Thou, pellucid, in Thy + azure depths, medicine for case like mine? (Ah, the physical shatter and + troubled spirit of me the last three years.) And dost Thou subtly + mystically now drip it through the air invisibly upon me? + </p> + <p> + <i>Night of Oct. 28.</i>—The heavens unusually transparent—the + stars out by myriads—the great path of the Milky Way, with its + branch, only seen of very clear nights—Jupiter, setting in the west, + looks like a huge hap-hazard splash, and has a little star for companion. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Clothed in his white garments, + Into the round and clear arena slowly entered the brahmin, + Holding a little child by the hand, + Like the moon with the planet Jupiter in a cloudless night-sky. + + <i>Old Hindu Poem.</i> +</pre> + <p> + <i>Early in November.</i>—At its farther end the lane already + described opens into a broad grassy upland field of over twenty acres, + slightly sloping to the south. Here I am accustom'd to walk for sky views + and effects, either morning or sundown. To-day from this field my soul is + calm'd and expanded beyond description, the whole forenoon by the clear + blue arching over all, cloudless, nothing particular, only sky and + daylight. Their soothing accompaniments, autumn leaves, the cool dry air, + the faint aroma—crows cawing in the distance—two great + buzzards wheeling gracefully and slowly far up there—the occasional + murmur of the wind, sometimes quite gently, then threatening through the + trees—a gang of farm-laborers loading cornstalks in a field in + sight, and the patient horses waiting. + </p> + <h3> + COLORS—A CONTRAST + </h3> + <p> + Such a play of colors and lights, different seasons, different hours of + the day—the lines of the far horizon where the faint-tinged edge of + the landscape loses itself in the sky. As I slowly hobble up the lane + toward day-close, an incomparable sunset shooting in molten sapphire and + gold, shaft after shaft, through the ranks of the long-leaved corn, + between me and the west. <i>Another day</i>—The rich dark green of + the tulip-trees and the oaks, the gray of the swamp-willows, the dull hues + of the sycamores and black-walnuts, the emerald of the cedars (after + rain,) and the light yellow of the beeches. + </p> + <h3> + NOVEMBER 8, '76 + </h3> + <p> + The forenoon leaden and cloudy, not cold or wet, but indicating both. As I + hobble down here and sit by the silent pond, how different from the + excitement amid which, in the cities, millions of people are now waiting + news of yesterday's Presidential election, or receiving and discussing the + result—in this secluded place uncared-for, unknown. + </p> + <h3> + CROWS AND CROWS + </h3> + <p> + <i>Nov. 14</i>.—As I sit here by the creek, resting after my walk, a + warm languor bathes me from the sun. No sound but a cawing of crows, and + no motion but their black flying figures from over-head, reflected in the + mirror of the pond below. Indeed a principal feature of the scene to-day + is these crows, their incessant cawing, far or near, and their countless + flocks and processions moving from place to place, and at times almost + darkening the air with their myriads. As I sit a moment writing this by + the bank, I see the black, clear-cut reflection of them far below, flying + through the watery looking-glass, by ones, twos, or long strings. All last + night I heard the noises from their great roost in a neighboring wood. + </p> + <h3> + A WINTER DAY ON THE SEA-BEACH + </h3> + <p> + One bright December mid-day lately I spent down on the New Jersey + sea-shore, reaching it by a little more than an hour's railroad trip over + the old Camden and Atlantic. I had started betimes, fortified by nice + strong coffee and a good breakfast (cook'd by the hands I love, my dear + sister Lou's—how much better it makes the victuals taste, and then + assimilate, strengthen you, perhaps make the whole day comfortable + afterwards.) Five or six miles at the last, our track enter'd a broad + region of salt grass meadows, intersected by lagoons, and cut up + everywhere by watery runs. The sedgy perfume, delightful to my nostrils, + reminded me of "the mash" and south bay of my native island. I could have + journey'd contentedly till night through these flat and odorous + sea-prairies. From half-past 11 till 2 I was nearly all the time along the + beach, or in sight of the ocean, listening to its hoarse murmur, and + inhaling the bracing and welcome breezes. First, a rapid five-mile drive + over the hard sand—our carriage wheels hardly made dents in it. Then + after dinner (as there were nearly two hours to spare) I walk'd off in + another direction, (hardly met or saw a person,) and taking possession of + what appear'd to have been the reception-room of an old bath-house range, + had a broad expanse of view all to myself—quaint, refreshing, + unimpeded—a dry area of sedge and Indian grass immediately before + and around me—space, simple, unornamented space. Distant vessels, + and the far-off, just visible trailing smoke of an inward bound steamer; + more plainly, ships, brigs, schooners, in sight, most of them with every + sail set to the firm and steady wind. + </p> + <p> + The attractions, fascinations there are in sea and shore! How one dwells + on their simplicity, even vacuity! What is it in us, arous'd by those + indirections and directions? That spread of waves and gray-white beach, + salt, monotonous, senseless—such an entire absence of art, books, + talk, elegance—so indescribably comforting, even this winter day—grim, + yet so delicate-looking, so spiritual—striking emotional, impalpable + depths, subtler than all the poems, paintings, music, I have ever read, + seen, heard. (Yet let me be fair, perhaps it is because I have read those + poems and heard that music.) + </p> + <h3> + SEA-SHORE FANCIES + </h3> + <p> + Even as a boy, I had the fancy, the wish, to write a piece, perhaps a + poem, about the sea-shore—that suggesting, dividing line, contact, + junction, the solid marrying the liquid—that curious, lurking + something, (as doubtless every objective form finally becomes to the + subjective spirit,) which means far more than its mere first sight, grand + as that is—blending the real and ideal, and each made portion of the + other. Hours, days, in my Long Island youth and early manhood, I haunted + the shores of Rockaway or Coney island, or away east to the Hamptons or + Montauk. Once, at the latter place, (by the old lighthouse, nothing but + sea-tossings in sight in every direction as far as the eye could reach,) I + remember well, I felt that I must one day write a book expressing this + liquid, mystic theme. Afterward, I recollect, how it came to me that + instead of any special lyrical or epical or literary attempt, the + sea-shore should be an invisible <i>influence</i>, a pervading gauge and + tally for me, in my composition. (Let me give a hint here to young + writers. I am not sure but I have unwittingly follow'd out the same rule + with other powers besides sea and shores—avoiding them, in the way + of any dead set at poetizing them, as too big for formal handling—quite + satisfied if I could indirectly show that we have met and fused, even if + only once, but enough—that we have really absorb'd each other and + understand each other.) + </p> + <p> + There is a dream, a picture, that for years at intervals, (sometimes quite + long ones, but surely again, in time,) has come noiselessly up before me, + and I really believe, fiction as it is, has enter'd largely into my + practical life—certainly into my writings, and shaped and color'd + them. It is nothing more or less than a stretch of interminable + white-brown sand, hard and smooth and broad, with the ocean perpetually, + grandly, rolling in upon it, with slow-measured sweep, with rustle and + hiss and foam, and many a thump as of low bass drums. This scene, this + picture, I say, has risen before me at times for years. Sometimes I wake + at night and can hear and see it plainly. + </p> + <h3> + IN MEMORY OF THOMAS PAINE. + </h3> + <p> + <i>Spoken at Lincoln Hall, Philadelphia, Sunday, Jan. 28, '77, for 140th + anniversary of T. P.'s birthday.</i> + </p> + <p> + Some thirty-five years ago, in New York city, at Tammany hall, of which + place I was then a frequenter, I happen'd to become quite well acquainted + with Thomas Paine's perhaps most intimate chum, and certainly his later + years' very frequent companion, a remarkably fine old man, Col. Fellows, + who may yet be remember'd by some stray relics of that period and spot. If + you will allow me, I will first give a description of the Colonel himself. + He was tall, of military bearing, aged about 78, I should think, hair + white as snow, clean-shaved on the face, dress'd very neatly, a tail-coat + of blue cloth with metal buttons, buff vest, pantaloons of drab color, and + his neck, breast and wrists showing the whitest of linen. Under all + circumstances, fine manners; a good but not profuse talker, his wits still + fully about him, balanced and live and undimm'd as ever. He kept pretty + fair health, though so old. For employment—for he was poor—he + had a post as constable of some of the upper courts. I used to think him + very picturesque on the fringe of a crowd holding a tall staff, with his + erect form, and his superb, bare, thick-hair'd, closely-cropt white head. + The judges and young lawyers, with whom he was ever a favorite, and the + subject of respect, used to call him Aristides. It was the general opinion + among them that if manly rectitude and the instincts of absolute justice + remain'd vital anywhere about New York City Hall, or Tammany, they were to + be found in Col. Fellows. He liked young men, and enjoy'd to leisurely + talk with them over a social glass of toddy, after his day's work, (he on + these occasions never drank but one glass,) and it was at reiterated + meetings of this kind in old Tammany's back parlor of those days, that he + told me much about Thomas Paine. At one of our interviews he gave me a + minute account of Paine's sickness and death. In short, from those talks, + I was and am satisfied that my old friend, with his mark'd advantages, had + mentally, morally and emotionally gauged the author of "Common Sense," and + besides giving me a good portrait of his appearance and manners, had taken + the true measure of his interior character. + </p> + <p> + Paine's practical demeanor, and much of his theoretical belief, was a + mixture of the French and English schools of a century ago, and the best + of both. Like most old-fashion'd people, he drank a glass or two every + day, but was no tippler, nor intemperate, let alone being a drunkard. He + lived simply and economically, but quite well—was always cheery and + courteous, perhaps occasionally a little blunt, having very positive + opinions upon politics, religion, and so forth. That he labor'd well and + wisely for the States in the trying period of their parturition, and in + the seeds of their character, there seems to me no question. I dare not + say how much of what our Union is owning and enjoying to-day—its + independence—its ardent belief in, and substantial practice of + radical human rights—and the severance of its government from all + ecclesiastical and superstitious dominion—I dare not say how much of + all this is owing to Thomas Paine, but I am inclined to think a good + portion of it decidedly is. + </p> + <p> + But I was not going either into an analysis or eulogium of the man. I + wanted to carry you back a generation or two, and give you by indirection + a moment's glance—and also to ventilate a very earnest and I believe + authentic opinion, nay conviction, of that time, the fruit of the + interviews I have mention'd, and of questioning and cross-questioning, + clench'd by my best information since, that Thomas Paine had a noble + personality, as exhibited in presence, face, voice, dress, manner, and + what may be call'd his atmosphere and magnetism, especially the later + years of his life. I am sure of it. Of the foul and foolish fictions yet + told about the circumstances of his decease, the absolute fact is that as + he lived a good life, after its kind, he died calmly and philosophically, + as became him. He served the embryo Union with most precious service—a + service that every man, woman and child in our thirty-eight States is to + some extent receiving the benefit of to-day—and I for one here + cheerfully, reverently throw my pebble on the cairn of his memory. As we + all know, the season demands—or rather, will it ever be out of + season?—that America learn to better dwell on her choicest + possession, the legacy of her good and faithful men—that she well + preserve their fame, if unquestion'd—or, if need be, that she fail + not to dissipate what clouds have intruded on that fame, and burnish it + newer, truer and brighter, continually. + </p> + <h3> + A TWO HOURS ICE-SAIL + </h3> + <p> + <i>Feb. 3, '77</i>—From 4 to 6 P. M. crossing the Delaware, (back + again at my Camden home,) unable to make our landing, through the ice; our + boat stanch and strong and skilfully piloted, but old and sulky, and + poorly minding her helm. (<i>Power</i>, so important in poetry and war, is + also first point of all in a winter steamboat, with long stretches of + ice-packs to tackle.) For over two hours we bump'd and beat about, the + invisible ebb, sluggish but irresistible, often carrying us long distances + against our will. In the first tinge of dusk, as I look'd around, I + thought there could not be presented a more chilling, arctic, + grim-extended, depressing scene. Everything was yet plainly visible; for + miles north and south, ice, ice, ice, mostly broken, but some big cakes, + and no clear water in sight. The shores, piers, surfaces, roofs, shipping, + mantled with snow. A faint winter vapor hung a fitting accompaniment + around and over the endless whitish spread, and gave it just a tinge of + steel and brown. + </p> + <p> + <i>Feb. 6</i>.—As I cross home in the 6 P. M. boat again, the + transparent shadows are filled everywhere with leisurely falling, slightly + slanting, curiously sparse but very large, flakes of snow. On the shores, + near and far, the glow of just-lit gas-clusters at intervals. The ice, + sometimes in hummocks, sometimes floating fields, through which our boat + goes crunching. The light permeated by that peculiar evening haze, right + after sunset, which sometimes renders quite distant objects so distinctly. + </p> + <h3> + SPRING OVERTURES—RECREATIONS + </h3> + <p> + <i>Feb. 10</i>.—The first chirping, almost singing, of a bird + to-day. Then I noticed a couple of honey-bees spirting and humming about + the open window in the sun. + </p> + <p> + <i>Feb. 11</i>.—In the soft rose and pale gold of the declining + light, this beautiful evening, I heard the first hum and preparation of + awakening spring—very faint—whether in the earth or roots, or + starting of insects, I know not—but it was audible, as I lean'd on a + rail (I am down in my country quarters awhile,) and look'd long at the + western horizon. Turning to the east, Sirius, as the shadows deepen'd, + came forth in dazzling splendor. And great Orion; and a little to the + north-east the big Dipper, standing on end. + </p> + <p> + <i>Feb. 20</i>.—A solitary and pleasant sundown hour at the pond, + exercising arms, chest, my whole body, by a tough oak sapling thick as my + wrist, twelve feet high—pulling and pushing, inspiring the good air. + After I wrestle with the tree awhile, I can feel its young sap and virtue + welling up out of the ground and tingling through me from crown to toe, + like health's wine. Then for addition and variety I launch forth in my + vocalism; shout declamatory pieces, sentiments, sorrow, anger, &c., + from the stock poets or plays—or inflate my lungs and sing the wild + tunes and refrains I heard of the blacks down south, or patriotic songs I + learn'd in the army. I make the echoes ring, I tell you! As the twilight + fell, in a pause of these ebullitions, an owl somewhere the other side of + the creek sounded <i>too-oo-oo-oo-oo</i>, soft and pensive (and I fancied + a little sarcastic) repeated four or five times. Either to applaud the + negro songs—or perhaps an ironical comment on the sorrow, anger, or + style of the stock poets. + </p> + <h3> + ONE OF THE HUMAN KINKS + </h3> + <p> + How is it that in all the serenity and lonesomeness of solitude, away off + here amid the hush of the forest, alone, or as I have found in prairie + wilds, or mountain stillness, one is never entirely without the instinct + of looking around, (I never am, and others tell me the same of themselves, + confidentially,) for somebody to appear, or start up out of the earth, or + from behind some tree or rock? Is it a lingering, inherited remains of + man's primitive wariness, from the wild animals? or from his savage + ancestry far back? It is not at all nervousness or fear. Seems as if + something unknown were possibly lurking in those bushes, or solitary + places. Nay, it is quite certain there is—some vital unseen + presence. + </p> + <h3> + AN AFTERNOON SCENE + </h3> + <p> + <i>Feb. 22</i>.—Last night and to-day rainy and thick, till + mid-afternoon, when the wind chopp'd round, the clouds swiftly drew off + like curtains, the clear appear'd, and with it the fairest, grandest, most + wondrous rainbow I ever saw, all complete, very vivid at its earth-ends, + spreading vast effusions of illuminated haze, violet, yellow, drab-green, + in all directions overhead, through which the sun beam'd—an + indescribable utterance of color and light, so gorgeous yet so soft, such + as I had never witness'd before. Then its continuance: a full hour pass'd + before the last of those earth-ends disappear'd. The sky behind was all + spread in translucent blue, with many little white clouds and edges. To + these a sunset, filling, dominating the esthetic and soul senses, + sumptuously, tenderly, full. I end this note by the pond, just light + enough to see, through the evening shadows, the western reflections in its + water-mirror surface, with inverted figures of trees. I hear now and then + the <i>flup</i> of a pike leaping out, and rippling the water. + </p> + <h3> + THE GATES OPENING + </h3> + <p> + <i>April 6</i>.—Palpable spring indeed, or the indications of it. I + am sitting in bright sunshine, at the edge of the creek, the surface just + rippled by the wind. All is solitude, morning freshness, negligence. For + companions my two kingfishers sailing, winding, darting, dipping, + sometimes capriciously separate, then flying together. I hear their + guttural twittering again and again; for awhile nothing but that peculiar + sound. As noon approaches other birds warm up. The reedy notes of the + robin, and a musical passage of two parts, one a clear delicious gurgle, + with several other birds I cannot place. To which is join'd, (yes, I just + hear it,) one low purr at intervals from some impatient hylas at the + pond-edge. The sibilant murmur of a pretty stiff breeze now and then + through the trees. Then a poor little dead leaf, long frost-bound, whirls + from somewhere up aloft in one wild escaped freedom-spree in space and + sunlight, and then dashes down to the waters, which hold it closely and + soon drown it out of sight. The bushes and trees are yet bare, but the + beeches have their wrinkled yellow leaves of last season's foliage largely + left, frequent cedars and pines yet green, and the grass not without + proofs of coming fullness. And over all a wonderfully fine dome of clear + blue, the play of light coming and going, and great fleeces of white + clouds swimming so silently. + </p> + <h3> + THE COMMON EARTH, THE SOIL + </h3> + <p> + The soil, too—let others pen-and-ink the sea, the air, (as I + sometimes try)—but now I feel to choose the common soil for theme—naught + else. The brown soil here, (just between winter-close and opening spring + and vegetation)—the rain-shower at night, and the fresh smell next + morning—the red worms wriggling out of the ground—the dead + leaves, the incipient grass, and the latent life underneath—the + effort to start something—already in shelter'd spots some little + flowers—the distant emerald show of winter wheat and the rye-fields—the + yet naked trees, with clear insterstices, giving prospects hidden in + summer—the tough fallow and the plow-team, and the stout boy + whistling to his horses for encouragement—and there the dark fat + earth in long slanting stripes upturn'd. + </p> + <h3> + BIRDS AND BIRDS AND BIRDS + </h3> + <p> + <i>A little later—bright weather</i>.—An unusual + melodiousness, these days, (last of April and first of May) from the + blackbirds; indeed all sorts of birds, darting, whistling, hopping or + perch'd on trees. Never before have I seen, heard, or been in the midst + of, and got so flooded and saturated with them and their performances, as + this current month. Such oceans, such successions of them. Let me make a + list of those I find here: + </p> + <p> + Black birds (plenty,) Meadow-larks (plenty,) Ring doves, Cat-birds + (plenty,) Owls, Cuckoos, Woodpeckers, Pond snipes (plenty,) King-birds, + Cheewinks, Crows (plenty,) Quawks, Wrens, Ground robins, Kingfishers, + Ravens, Quails, Gray snipes, Turkey-buzzards, Eagles, Hen-hawks, + High-holes, Yellow birds, Herons, Thrushes, Tits, Reed birds, Woodpigeons. + </p> + <p> + Early came the + </p> + <p> + Blue birds, Meadow-lark, Killdeer, White-bellied swallow, Plover, + Sandpiper, Robin, Wilson's thrush, Woodcock, Flicker. + </p> + <h3> + FULL-STARR'D NIGHTS + </h3> + <p> + <i>May 2l</i>.—Back in Camden. Again commencing one of those + unusually transparent, full-starr'd, blue-black nights, as if to show that + however lush and pompous the day may be, there is something left in the + not-day that can outvie it. The rarest, finest sample of long-drawn-out + clear-obscure, from sundown to 9 o'clock. I went down to the Delaware, and + cross'd and cross'd. Venus like blazing silver well up in the west. The + large pale thin crescent of the new moon, half an hour high, sinking + languidly under a bar-sinister of cloud, and then emerging. Arcturus right + overhead. A faint fragrant sea-odor wafted up from the south. The + gloaming, the temper'd coolness, with every feature of the scene, + indescribably soothing and tonic—one of those hours that give hints + to the soul, impossible to put in a statement. (Ah, where would be any + food for spirituality without night and the stars?) The vacant + spaciousness of the air, and the veil'd blue of the heavens, seem'd + miracles enough. + </p> + <p> + As the night advanc'd it changed its spirit and garments to ampler + stateliness. I was almost conscious of a definite presence, Nature + silently near. The great constellation of the Water-Serpent stretch'd its + coils over more than half the heavens. The Swan with outspread wings was + flying down the Milky Way. The northern Crown, the Eagle, Lyra, all up + there in their places. From the whole dome shot down points of light, + rapport with me, through the clear blue-black. All the usual sense of + motion, all animal life, seem'd discarded, seem'd a fiction; a curious + power, like the placid rest of Egyptian gods, took possession, none the + less potent for being impalpable. Earlier I had seen many bats, balancing + in the luminous twilight, darting their black forms hither and yon over + the river; but now they altogether disappear'd. The evening star and the + moon had gone. Alertness and peace lay camly couching together through the + fluid universal shadows. + </p> + <p> + <i>Aug. 26</i>.—Bright has the day been, and my spirits an equal <i>forzando</i>. + Then comes the night, different, inexpressibly pensive, with its own + tender and temper'd splendor. Venus lingers in the west with a voluptuous + dazzle unshown hitherto this summer. Mars rises early, and the red sulky + moon, two days past her full; Jupiter at night's meridian, and the long + curling-slanted Scorpion stretching full view in the south, Aretus-neck'd. + Mars walks the heavens lord-paramount now; all through this month I go out + after supper and watch for him; sometimes getting up at midnight to take + another look at his unparallel'd lustre. (I see lately an astronomer has + made out through the new Washington telescope that Mars has certainly one + moon, perhaps two.) Pale and distant, but near in the heavens, Saturn + precedes him. + </p> + <h3> + MULLEINS AND MULLEINS + </h3> + <p> + Large, placid mulleins, as summer advances, velvety in texture, of a light + greenish-drab color, growing everywhere in the fields—at first + earth's big rosettes in their broad-leav'd low cluster-plants, eight, ten, + twenty leaves to a plant—plentiful on the fallow twenty-acre lot, at + the end of the lane, and especially by the ridge-sides of the fences—then + close to the ground, but soon springing up—leaves as broad as my + hand, and the lower ones twice as long—so fresh and dewy in the + morning—stalks now four or five, even seven or eight feet high. The + farmers, I find, think the mullein a mean unworthy weed, but I have grown + to a fondness for it. Every object has its lesson, enclosing the + suggestion of everything else—and lately I sometimes think all is + concentrated for me in these hardy, yellow-flower'd weeds. As I come down + the lane early in the morning, I pause before their soft wool-like fleece + and stem and broad leaves, glittering with countless diamonds. Annually + for three summers now, they and I have silently return'd together; at such + long intervals I stand or sit among them, musing—and woven with the + rest, of so many hours and moods of partial rehabilitation—of my + sane or sick spirit, here as near at peace as it can be. + </p> + <h3> + DISTANT SOUNDS + </h3> + <p> + The axe of the wood-cutter, the measured thud of a single threshing-flail, + the crowing of chanticleer in the barn-yard, (with invariable responses + from other barn-yards,) and the lowing of cattle—but most of all, or + far or near, the wind—through the high tree-tops, or through low + bushes, laving one's face and hands so gently, this balmy-bright noon, the + coolest for a long time, (Sept. 2)—I will not call it <i>sighing</i>, + for to me it is always a firm, sane, cheery expression, through a + monotone, giving many varieties, or swift or slow, or dense or delicate. + The wind in the patch of pine woods off there—how sibilant. Or at + sea, I can imagine it this moment, tossing the waves, with spirits of foam + flying far, and the free whistle, and the scent of the salt—and that + vast paradox somehow with all its action and restlessness conveying a + sense of eternal rest. + </p> + <p> + <i>Other adjuncts.</i>—But the sun and the moon here and these + times. As never more wonderful by day, the gorgeous orb imperial, so vast, + so ardently, lovingly hot—so never a more glorious moon of nights, + especially the last three or four. The great planets too—Mars never + before so flaming bright, so flashing-large, with slight yellow tinge, + (the astronomers say—is it true?—nearer to us than any time + the past century)—and well up, lord Jupiter, (a little while since + close by the moon)—and in the west, after the sun sinks, voluptuous + Venus, now languid and shorn of her beams, as if from some divine excess. + </p> + <h3> + A SUN-BATH-NAKEDNESS + </h3> + <p> + <i>Sunday, Aug. 27</i>.—Another day quite free from mark'd + prostration and pain. It seems indeed as if peace and nutriment from + heaven subtly filter into me as I slowly hobble down these country lanes + and across fields, in the good air—as I sit here in solitude with + Nature—open, voiceless, mystic, far removed, yet palpable, eloquent + Nature. I merge myself in the scene, in the perfect day. Hovering over the + clear brook-water, I am sooth'd by its soft gurgle in one place, and the + hoarser murmurs of its three-foot fall in another. Come, ye disconsolate, + in whom any latent eligibility is left—come get the sure virtues of + creek-shore, and wood and field. Two months (July and August, '77,) have I + absorb'd them, and they begin to make a new man of me. Every day, + seclusion—every day at least two or three hours of freedom, bathing, + no talk, no bonds, no dress, no books, no <i>manners</i>. + </p> + <p> + Shall I tell you, reader, to what I attribute my already much-restored + health? That I have been almost two years, off and on, without drugs and + medicines, and daily in the open air. Last summer I found a particularly + secluded little dell off one side by my creek, originally a large dug-out + marl-pit, now abandon'd, fill'd, with bushes, trees, grass, a group of + willows, a straggling bank, and a spring of delicious water running right + through the middle of it, with two or three little cascades. Here I + retreated every hot day, and follow it up this summer. Here I realize the + meaning of that old fellow who said he was seldom less alone than when + alone. Never before did I get so close to Nature; never before did she + come so close to me. By old habit, I pencill'd down from time to time, + almost automatically, moods, sights, hours, tints and outlines, on the + spot. Let me specially record the satisfaction of this current forenoon, + so serene and primitive, so conventionally exceptional, natural. + </p> + <p> + An hour or so after breakfast I wended my way down to the recesses of the + aforesaid dell, which I and certain thrushes, cat-birds, &c., had all + to ourselves. A light south-west wind was blowing through the tree-tops. + It was just the place and time for my Adamic air-bath and flesh-brushing + from head to foot. So hanging clothes on a rail near by, keeping old + broadbrim straw on head and easy shoes on feet, havn't I had a good time + the last two hours! First with the stiff-elastic bristles rasping arms, + breast, sides, till they turn'd scarlet—then partially bathing in + the clear waters of the running brook—taking everything very + leisurely, with many rests and pauses—stepping about barefooted + every few minutes now and then in some neighboring black ooze, for + unctuous mud-bath to my feet—a brief second and third rinsing in the + crystal running waters—rubbing with the fragrant towel—slow + negligent promenades on the turf up and down in the sun, varied with + occasional rests, and further frictions of the bristle-brush—sometimes + carrying my portable chair with me from place to place, as my range is + quite extensive here, nearly a hundred rods, feeling quite secure from + intrusion, (and that indeed I am not at all nervous about, if it + accidentally happens.) + </p> + <p> + As I walk'd slowly over the grass, the sun shone out enough to show the + shadow moving with me. Somehow I seem'd to get identity with each and + every thing around me, in its condition. Nature was naked, and I was also. + It was too lazy, soothing, and joyous-equable to speculate about. Yet I + might have thought somehow in this vein: Perhaps the inner never-lost + rapport we hold with earth, light, air, trees, &c., is not to be + realized through eyes and mind only, but through the whole corporeal body, + which I will not have blinded or bandaged any more than the eyes. Sweet, + sane, still Nakedness in Nature!—ah if poor, sick, prurient humanity + in cities might really know you once more! Is not nakedness then indecent? + No, not inherently. It is your thought, your sophistication, your tear, + your respectability, that is indecent. There come moods when these clothes + of ours are not only too irksome to wear, but are themselves indecent. + Perhaps indeed he or she to whom the free exhilarating extasy of nakedness + in Nature has never been eligible (and how many thousands there are!) has + not really known what purity is—nor what faith or art or health + really is. (Probably the whole curriculum of first-class philosophy, + beauty, heroism, form, illustrated by the old Hellenic race—the + highest height and deepest depth known to civilization in those + departments—came from their natural and religious idea of + Nakedness.) + </p> + <p> + Many such hours, from time to time, the last two summers—I attribute + my partial rehabilitation largely to them. Some good people may think it a + feeble or half-crack'd way of spending one's time and thinking. May-be it + is. + </p> + <h3> + THE OAKS AND I + </h3> + <p> + <i>Sept. 5, '77.</i>—I write this, 11 A.M., shelter'd under a dense + oak by the bank, where I have taken refuge from a sudden rain. I came down + here, (we had sulky drizzles all the morning, but an hour ago a lull,) for + the before-mention'd daily and simple exercise I am fond of—to pull + on that young hickory sapling out there—to sway and yield to its + tough-limber upright stem—haply to get into my old sinews some of + its elastic fibre and clear sap. I stand on the turf and take these + health-pulls moderately and at intervals for nearly an hour, inhaling + great draughts of fresh air. Wandering by the creek, I have three or four + naturally favorable spots where I rest—besides a chair I lug with me + and use for more deliberate occasions. At other spots convenient I have + selected, besides the hickory just named, strong and limber boughs of + beech or holly, in easy-reaching distance, for my natural gymnasia, for + arms, chest, trunk-muscles. I can soon feel the sap and sinew rising + through me, like mercury to heat. I hold on boughs or slender trees + caressingly there in the sun and shade, wrestle with their innocent + stalwartness—and <i>know</i> the virtue thereof passes from them + into me. (Or may-be we interchange—may-be the trees are more aware + of it all than I ever thought.) + </p> + <p> + But now pleasantly imprison'd here under the big oak—the rain + dripping, and the sky cover'd with leaden clouds—nothing but the + pond on one side, and the other a spread of grass, spotted with the milky + blossoms of the wild carrot—the sound of an axe wielded at some + distant wood-pile—yet in this dull scene, (as most folks would call + it,) why am I so (almost) happy here and alone? Why would any intrusion, + even from people I like, spoil the charm? But am I alone? Doubtless there + comes a time—perhaps it has come to me—when one feels through + his whole being, and pronouncedly the emotional part, that identity + between himself subjectively and Nature objectively which Schelling and + Fichte are so fond of pressing. How it is I know not, but I often realize + a presence here—in clear moods I am certain of it, and neither + chemistry nor reasoning nor esthetics will give the least explanation. All + the past two summers it has been strengthening and nourishing my sick body + and soul, as never before. Thanks, invisible physician, for thy silent + delicious medicine, thy day and night, thy waters and thy airs, the banks, + the grass, the trees, and e'en the weeds! + </p> + <h3> + A QUINTETTE + </h3> + <p> + While I have been kept by the rain under the shelter of my great oak, + (perfectly dry and comfortable, to the rattle of the drops all around,) I + have pencill'd off the mood of the hour in a little quintette, which I + will give you: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + At vacancy with Nature, + Acceptive and at ease, + Distilling the present hour, + Whatever, wherever it is, + And over the past, oblivion. +</pre> + <p> + Can you get hold of it, reader dear? and how do you like it anyhow? + </p> + <h3> + THE FIRST FROST—MEMS + </h3> + <p> + Where I was stopping I saw the first palpable frost, on my sunrise walk, + October 6; all over the yet-green spread a light blue-gray veil, giving a + new show to the entire landscape. I had but little time to notice it, for + the sun rose cloudless and mellow-warm, and as I returned along the lane + it had turn'd to glittering patches of wet. As I walk I notice the + bursting pods of wild-cotton, (Indian hemp they call it here,) with + flossy-silky contents, and dark red-brown seeds—a startled rabbit—I + pull a handful of the balsamic life-ever-lasting and stuff it down in my + trowsers-pocket for scent. + </p> + <h3> + THREE YOUNG MEN'S DEATHS + </h3> + <p> + <i>December 20</i>.—Somehow I got thinking to-day of young men's + deaths—not at all sadly or sentimentally, but gravely, + realistically, perhaps a little artistically. Let me give the following + three cases from budgets of personal memoranda, which I have been turning + over, alone in my room, and resuming and dwelling on, this rainy + afternoon. Who is there to whom the theme does not come home? Then I don't + know how it may be to others, but to me not only is there nothing gloomy + or depressing in such cases—on the contrary, as reminiscences, I + find them soothing, bracing, tonic. + </p> + <p> + ERASTUS HASKELL.—{I just transcribe verbatim from a letter written + by myself in one of the army hospitals, 16 years ago, during the secession + war.} <i>Washington, July 28, 1863.</i>—Dear M.,—I am writing + this in the hospital, sitting by the side of a soldier, I do not expect to + last many hours. His fate has been a hard one—he seems to be only + about 19 or 20—Erastus Haskell, company K, 141st N. Y.—has + been out about a year, and sick or half-sick more than half that time—has + been down on the peninsula—was detail'd to go in the band as + fifer-boy. While sick, the surgeon told him to keep up with the rest—(probably + work'd and march'd too long.) He is a shy, and seems to me a very sensible + boy—has fine manners—never complains—was sick down on + the peninsula in an old storehouse—typhoid fever. The first week + this July was brought up here—journey very bad, no accommodations, + no nourishment, nothing but hard jolting, and exposure enough to make a + well man sick; (these fearful journeys do the job for many)—arrived + here July 11th—a silent dark-skinn'd Spanish-looking youth, with + large very dark blue eyes, peculiar looking. Doctor F. here made light of + his sickness—said he would recover soon, etc.; but I thought very + different, and told F. so repeatedly; (I came near quarreling with him + about it from the first)—but he laugh'd, and would not listen to me. + About four days ago, I told Doctor he would in my opinion lose the boy + without doubt—but F. again laugh'd at me. The next day he changed + his opinion—brought the head surgeon of the post—he said the + boy would probably die, but they would make a hard fight for him. + </p> + <p> + The last two days he has been lying panting for breath—a pitiful + sight. I have been with him some every day or night since he arrived. He + suffers a great deal with the heat—says little or nothing—is + flighty the last three days, at times—knows me always, however—calls + me "Walter"—(sometimes calls the name over and over and over again, + musingly, abstractedly, to himself.) His father lives at Breesport, + Chemung county, N. Y., is a mechanic with large family—is a steady, + religious man; his mother too is living. I have written to them, and shall + write again to-day—Erastus has not receiv'd a word from home for + months. + </p> + <p> + As I sit here writing to you, M., I wish you could see the whole scene. + This young man lies within reach of me, flat on his back, his hands + clasp'd across his breast, his thick black hair cut close; he is dozing, + breathing hard, every breath a spasm—it looks so cruel. He is a + noble youngster,—I consider him past all hope. Often there is no one + with him for a long while. I am here as much as possible. + </p> + <p> + WILLIAM ALCOTT, fireman. <i>Camden, Nov., 1874</i>.—Last Monday + afternoon his widow, mother, relatives, mates of the fire department, and + his other friends, (I was one, only lately it is true, but our love grew + fast and close, the days and nights of those eight weeks by the chair of + rapid decline, and the bed of death,) gather'd to the funeral of this + young man, who had grown up, and was well-known here. With nothing + special, perhaps, to record, I would give a word or two to his memory. He + seem'd to me not an inappropriate specimen in character and elements, of + that bulk of the average good American race that ebbs and flows + perennially beneath this scum of eructations on the surface. Always very + quiet in manner, neat in person and dress, good temper'd—punctual + and industrious at his work, till he could work no longer—he just + lived his steady, square, unobtrusive life, in its own humble sphere, + doubtless unconscious of itself. (Though I think there were currents of + emotion and intellect undevelop'd beneath, far deeper than his + acquaintances ever suspected—or than he himself ever did.) He was no + talker. His troubles, when he had any, he kept to himself. As there was + nothing querulous about him in life, he made no complaints during his last + sickness. He was one of those persons that while his associates never + thought of attributing any particular talent or grace to him, yet all + insensibly, really, liked Billy Alcott. + </p> + <p> + I, too, loved him. At last, after being with him quite a good deal—after + hours and days of panting for breath, much of the time unconscious, (for + though the consumption that had been lurking in his system, once + thoroughly started, made rapid progress, there was still great vitality in + him, and indeed for four or five days he lay dying, before the close,) + late on Wednesday night, Nov. 4th, where we surrounded his bed in silence, + there came a lull—a longer drawn breath, a pause, a faint sigh—another—a + weaker breath, another sigh—a pause again and just a tremble—and + the face of the poor wasted young man (he was just 26,) fell gently over, + in death, on my hand, on the pillow. + </p> + <p> + CHARLES CASWELL.—{I extract the following, verbatim, from a letter + to me dated September 29, from my friend John Burroughs, at + Esopus-on-Hudson, New York State.} S. was away when your picture came, + attending his sick brother, Charles—who has since died—an + event that has sadden'd me much. Charlie was younger than S., and a most + attractive young fellow. He work'd at my father's and had done so for two + years. He was about the best specimen of a young country farm-hand I ever + knew. You would have loved him. He was like one of your poems. With his + great strength, his blond hair, his cheerfulness and contentment, his + universal good will, and his silent manly ways, he was a youth hard to + match. He was murder'd by an old doctor. He had typhoid fever, and the old + fool bled him twice. He lived to wear out the fever, but had not strength + to rally. He was out of his head nearly all the time. In the morning, as + he died in the afternoon, S. was standing over him, when Charlie put up + his arms around S.'s neck, and pull'd his face down and kiss'd him. S. + said he knew then the end was near. (S. stuck to him day and night to the + last.) When I was home in August, Charlie was cradling on the hill, and it + was a picture to see him walk through the grain. All work seem'd play to + him. He had no vices, any more than Nature has, and was belov'd by all who + knew him. + </p> + <p> + I have written thus to you about him, for such young men belong to you; he + was of your kind. I wish you could have known him. He had the sweetness of + a child, and the strength and courage and readiness of a young Viking. His + mother and father are poor; they have a rough, hard farm. His mother works + in the field with her husband when the work presses. She has had twelve + children. + </p> + <h3> + FEBRUARY DAYS + </h3> + <p> + <i>February 7, 1878</i>.—Glistening sun today, with slight haze, + warm enough, and yet tart, as I sit here in the open air, down in my + country retreat, under an old cedar. For two hours I have been idly + wandering around the woods and pond, lugging my chair, picking out choice + spots to sit awhile—then up and slowly on again. All is peace here. + Of course, none of the summer noises or vitality; to-day hardly even the + winter ones. I amuse myself by exercising my voice in recitations, and in + ringing the changes on all the vocal and alphabetical sounds. Not even an + echo; only the cawing of a solitary crow, flying at some distance. The + pond is one bright, flat spread, without a ripple—a vast Claude + Lorraine glass, in which I study the sky, the light, the leafless trees, + and an occasional crow, with flapping wings, flying overhead. The brown + fields have a few white patches of snow left. + </p> + <p> + <i>Feb. 9</i>.—After an hour's ramble, now retreating, resting, + sitting close by the pond, in a warm nook, writing this, shelter'd from + the breeze, just before noon. The <i>emotional</i> aspects and influences + of Nature! I, too, like the rest, feel these modern tendencies (from all + the prevailing intellections, literature and poems,) to turn everything to + pathos, ennui, morbidity, dissatisfaction, death. Yet how clear it is to + me that those are not the born results, influences of Nature at all, but + of one's own distorted, sick or silly soul. Here, amid this wild, free + scene, how healthy, how joyous, how clean and vigorous and sweet! + </p> + <p> + <i>Mid-afternoon</i>.—One of my nooks is south of the barn, and here + I am sitting now, on a log, still basking in the sun, shielded from the + wind. Near me are the cattle, feeding on corn-stalks. Occasionally a cow + or the young bull (how handsome and bold he is!) scratches and munches the + far end of the log on which I sit. The fresh milky odor is quite + perceptible, also the perfume of hay from the barn. The perpetual rustle + of dry corn-stalks, the low sough of the wind round the barn gables, the + grunting of pigs, the distant whistle of a locomotive, and occasional + crowing of chanticleers, are the sounds. + </p> + <p> + <i>Feb. 19.</i>—Cold and sharp last night—clear and not much + wind—the full moon shining, and a fine spread of constellations and + little and big stars—Sirius very bright, rising early, preceded by + many-orb'd Orion, glittering, vast, sworded, and chasing with his dog. The + earth hard frozen, and a stiff glare of ice over the pond. Attracted by + the calm splendor of the night, I attempted a short walk, but was driven + back by the cold. Too severe for me also at 9 o'clock, when I came out + this morning, so I turn'd back again. But now, near noon, I have walk'd + down the lane, basking all the way in the sun (this farm has a pleasant + southerly exposure,) and here I am, seated under the lee of a bank, close + by the water. There are bluebirds already flying about, and I hear much + chirping and twittering and two or three real songs, sustain'd quite + awhile, in the mid-day brilliance and warmth. (There! that is a true + carol, coming out boldly and repeatedly, as if the singer meant it.) Then + as the noon strengthens, the reedy trill of the robin—to my ear the + most cheering of bird-notes. At intervals, like bars and breaks (out of + the low murmur that in any scene, however quiet, is never entirely absent + to a delicate ear,) the occasional crunch and cracking of the ice-glare + congeal'd over the creek, as it gives way to the sunbeams—sometimes + with low sigh—sometimes with indignant, obstinate tug and snort. + </p> + <p> + (Robert Burns says in one of his letters: "There is scarcely any earthly + object gives me more—I do not know if I should call it pleasure—but + something which exalts me—something which enraptures me—than + to walk in the shelter' d side of a wood in a cloudy winter day, and hear + the stormy wind howling among the trees, and raving over the plain. It is + my best season of devotion." Some of his most characteristic poems were + composed in such scenes and seasons.) + </p> + <h3> + A MEADOW LARK + </h3> + <p> + <i>March 16</i>.—Fine, clear, dazzling morning, the sun an hour + high, the air just tart enough. What a stamp in advance my whole day + receives from the song of that meadow lark perch'd on a fence-stake twenty + rods distant! Two or three liquid-simple notes, repeated at intervals, + full of careless happiness and hope. With its peculiar shimmering slow + progress and rapid-noiseless action of the wings, it flies on a way, + lights on another stake, and so on to another, shimmering and singing many + minutes. + </p> + <h3> + SUNDOWN LIGHTS + </h3> + <p> + <i>May 6, 5 P. M.</i>—This is the hour for strange effects in light + and shade-enough to make a colorist go delirious—long spokes of + molten silver sent horizontally through the trees (now in their brightest + tenderest green,) each leaf and branch of endless foliage a lit-up + miracle, then lying all prone on the youthful-ripe, interminable grass, + and giving the blades not only aggregate but individual splendor, in ways + unknown to any other hour. I have particular spots where I get these + effects in their perfection. One broad splash lies on the water, with many + a rippling twinkle, offset by the rapidly deepening black-green + murky-transparent shadows behind, and at intervals all along the banks. + These, with great shafts of horizontal fire thrown among the trees and + along the grass as the sun lowers, give effects more and more peculiar, + more and more superb, unearthly, rich and dazzling. + </p> + <h3> + THOUGHTS UNDER AN OAK—A DREAM + </h3> + <p> + <i>June 2</i>.—This is the fourth day of a dark northeast storm, + wind and rain. Day before yesterday was my birthday. I have now enter'd on + my 60th year. Every day of the storm, protected by overshoes and a + waterproof blanket, I regularly come down to the pond, and ensconce myself + under the lee of the great oak; I am here now writing these lines. The + dark smoke-color'd clouds roll in furious silence athwart the sky; the + soft green leaves dangle all around me; the wind steadily keeps up its + hoarse, soothing music over my head—Nature's mighty whisper. Seated + here in solitude I have been musing over my life—connecting events, + dates, as links of a chain, neither sadly nor cheerily, but somehow, + to-day here under the oak, in the rain, in an unusually matter-of-fact + spirit. + </p> + <p> + But my great oak—sturdy, vital, green-five feet thick at the butt. I + sit a great deal near or under him. Then the tulip tree near by—the + Apollo of the woods—tall and graceful, yet robust and sinewy, + inimitable in hang of foliage and throwing-out of limb; as if the + beauteous, vital, leafy creature could walk, if it only would. (I had a + sort of dream-trance the other day, in which I saw my favorite trees step + out and promenade up, down and around, very curiously—with a whisper + from one, leaning down as he pass'd me, <i>We do all this on the present + occasion, exceptionally, just for you</i>.) + </p> + <h3> + CLOVER AND HAY PERFUME + </h3> + <p> + <i>July 3d, 4th, 5th.</i>—Clear, hot, favorable weather—has + been a good summer—the growth of clover and grass now generally + mow'd. The familiar delicious perfume fills the barns and lanes. As you go + along you see the fields of grayish white slightly tinged with yellow, the + loosely stack'd grain, the slow-moving wagons passing, and farmers in the + fields with stout boys pitching and loading the sheaves. The corn is about + beginning to tassel. All over the middle and southern states the + spear-shaped battalia, multitudinous, curving, flaunting—long, + glossy, dark-green plumes for the great horseman, earth. I hear the cheery + notes of my old acquaintance Tommy quail; but too late for the + whip-poor-will, (though I heard one solitary lingerer night before last.) + I watch the broad majestic flight of a turkey-buzzard, sometimes high up, + sometimes low enough to see the lines of his form, even his spread quills, + in relief against the sky. Once or twice lately I have seen an eagle here + at early candle-light flying low. + </p> + <h3> + AN UNKNOWN + </h3> + <p> + <i>June 15</i>.—To-day I noticed a new large bird, size of a nearly + grown hen—a haughty, white-bodied dark-wing'd hawk—I suppose a + hawk from his bill and general look—only he had a clear, loud, quite + musical, sort of bell-like call, which he repeated again and again, at + intervals, from a lofty dead tree-top, overhanging the water. Sat there a + long time, and I on the opposite bank watching him. Then he darted down, + skimming pretty close to the stream—rose slowly, a magnificent + sight, and sail'd with steady wide-spread wings, no flapping at all, up + and down the pond two or three times, near me, in circles in clear sight, + as if for my delectation. Once he came quite close over my head; I saw + plainly his hook'd bill and hard restless eyes. + </p> + <h3> + BIRD-WHISTLING + </h3> + <p> + How much music (wild, simple, savage, doubtless, but so tart-sweet,) there + is in mere whistling. It is four-fifths of the utterance of birds. There + are all sorts and styles. For the last half-hour, now, while I have been + sitting here, some feather'd fellow away off in the bushes has been + repeating over and over again what I may call a kind of throbbing whistle. + And now a bird about the robin size has just appear'd, all mulberry red, + flitting among the bushes—head, wings, body, deep red, not very + bright—no song, as I have heard. <i>4. o'clock</i>: There is a real + concert going on around me—a dozen different birds pitching in with + a will. There have been occasional rains, and the growths all show its + vivifying influences. As I finish this, seated on a log close by the + pond-edge, much chirping and trilling in the distance, and a feather'd + recluse in the woods near by is singing deliciously—not many notes, + but full of music of almost human sympathy—continuing for a long, + long while. + </p> + <h3> + HORSE-MINT + </h3> + <p> + <i>Aug. 22</i>.—Not a human being, and hardly the evidence of one, + in sight. After my brief semi-daily bath, I sit here for a bit, the brook + musically brawling, to the chromatic tones of a fretful cat-bird somewhere + off in the bushes. On my walk hither two hours since, through fields and + the old lane, I stopt to view, now the sky, now the mile-off woods on the + hill, and now the apple orchards. What a contrast from New York's or + Philadelphia's streets! Everywhere great patches of dingy-blossom'd + horse-mint wafting a spicy odor through the air, (especially evenings.) + Everywhere the flowering boneset, and the rose-bloom of the wild bean. + </p> + <h3> + THREE OF US + </h3> + <p> + <i>July 14</i>.—My two kingfishers still haunt the pond. In the + bright sun and breeze and perfect temperature of to-day, noon, I am + sitting here by one of the gurgling brooks, dipping a French water-pen in + the limpid crystal, and using it to write these lines, again watching the + feather'd twain, as they fly and sport athwart the water, so close, almost + touching into its surface. Indeed there seem to be three of us. For nearly + an hour I indolently look and join them while they dart and turn and take + their airy gambols, sometimes far up the creek disappearing for a few + moments, and then surely returning again, and performing most of their + flight within sight of me, as if they knew I appreciated and absorb'd + their vitality, spirituality, faithfulness, and the rapid, vanishing, + delicate lines of moving yet quiet electricity they draw for me across the + spread of the grass, the trees, and the blue sky. While the brook babbles, + babbles, and the shadows of the boughs dapple in the sunshine around me, + and the cool west-by-nor'-west wind faintly soughs in the thick bushes and + tree tops. + </p> + <p> + Among the objects of beauty and interest now beginning to appear quite + plentifully in this secluded spot, I notice the humming-bird, the + dragon-fly with its wings of slate-color'd guaze, and many varieties of + beautiful and plain butterflies, idly flapping among the plants and wild + posies. The mullein has shot up out of its nest of broad leaves, to a tall + stalk towering sometimes five or six feet high, now studded with knobs of + golden blossoms. The milk-weed, (I see a great gorgeous creature of + gamboge and black lighting on one as I write,) is in flower, with its + delicate red fringe; and there are profuse clusters of a feathery blossom + waving in the wind on taper stems. I see lots of these and much else in + every direction, as I saunter or sit. For the last half hour a bird has + persistently kept up a simple, sweet, melodious song, from the bushes. (I + have a positive conviction that some of these birds sing, and others fly + and flirt about here for my special benefit.) + </p> + <h3> + DEATH OF WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT + </h3> + <p> + <i>New York City</i>.—Came on from West Philadelphia, June 13, in + the 2 P. M. train to Jersey City, and so across and to my friends, Mr. and + Mrs. J. H. J., and their large house, large family (and large hearts,) + amid which I feel at home, at peace—away up on Fifth avenue, near + Eighty-sixth street, quiet, breezy, overlooking the dense woody fringe of + the park—plenty of space and sky, birds chirping, and air + comparatively fresh and odorless. Two hours before starting, saw the + announcement of William Cullen Bryant's funeral, and felt a strong desire + to attend. I had known Mr. Bryant over thirty years ago, and he had been + markedly kind to me. Off and on, along that time for years as they pass'd, + we met and chatted together. I thought him very sociable in his way, and a + man to become attach'd to. We were both walkers, and when I work'd in + Brooklyn he several times came over, middle of afternoons, and we took + rambles miles long, till dark, out towards Bedford or Flatbush, in + company. On these occasions he gave me clear accounts of scenes in Europe—the + cities, looks, architecture, art, especially Italy—where he had + travel'd a good deal. + </p> + <p> + <i>June 14.—The Funeral</i>.—And so the good, stainless, noble + old citizen and poet lies in the closed coffin there—and this is his + funeral. A solemn, impressive, simple scene, to spirit and senses. The + remarkable gathering of gray heads, celebrities—the finely render'd + anthem, and other music—the church, dim even now at approaching + noon, in its light from the mellow-stain'd windows-the pronounc'd eulogy + on the bard who loved Nature so fondly, and sung so well her shows and + seasons—ending with these appropriate well-known lines: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I gazed upon the glorious sky, + And the green mountains round, + And thought that when I came to lie + At rest within the ground, + 'Twere pleasant that in flowery June, + When brooks send up a joyous tune, + And groves a cheerful sound, + The sexton's hand, my grave to make, + The rich green mountain turf should break. +</pre> + <h3> + JAUNT UP THE HUDSON + </h3> + <p> + <i>June 20th</i>.—On the "Mary Powell," enjoy'd everything beyond + precedent. The delicious tender summer day, just warm enough—the + constantly changing but ever beautiful panorama on both sides of the river—(went + up near a hundred miles)—the high straight walls of the stony + Palisades—beautiful Yonkers, and beautiful Irvington—the + never-ending hills, mostly in rounded lines, swathed with verdure,—the + distant turns, like great shoulders in blue veils—the frequent gray + and brown of the tall-rising rocks—the river itself, now narrowing, + now expanding—the white sails of the many sloops, yachts, &c., + some near, some in the distance—the rapid succession of handsome + villages and cities, (our boat is a swift traveler, and makes few stops)—the + Race—picturesque West Point, and indeed all along—the costly + and often turreted mansions forever showing in some cheery light color, + through the woods—make up the scene. + </p> + <h3> + HAPPINESS AND RASPBERRIES + </h3> + <p> + <i>June 21</i>.—Here I am, on the west bank of the Hudson, 80 miles + north of New York, near Esopus, at the handsome, roomy, + honeysuckle-and-rose-enbower'd cottage of John Burroughs. The place, the + perfect June days and nights, (leaning toward crisp and cool,) the + hospitality of J. and Mrs. B., the air, the fruit, (especially my favorite + dish, currants and raspberries, mixed, sugar'd, fresh and ripe from the + bushes—I pick 'em myself)—the room I occupy at night, the + perfect bed, the window giving an ample view of the Hudson and the + opposite shores, so wonderful toward sunset, and the rolling music of the + RR. trains, far over there—the peaceful rest—the early + Venus-heralded dawn—the noiseless splash of sunrise, the light and + warmth indescribably glorious, in which, (soon as the sun is well up,) I + have a capital rubbing and rasping with the flesh-brush—with an + extra scour on the back by Al. J., who is here with us—all + inspiriting my invalid frame with new life, for the day. Then, after some + whiffs of morning air, the delicious coffee of Mrs. B., with the cream, + strawberries, and many substantials, for breakfast. + </p> + <h3> + A SPECIMEN TRAMP FAMILY + </h3> + <p> + <i>June 22</i>.—This afternoon we went out (J. B., Al. and I) on + quite a drive around the country. The scenery, the perpetual stone fences, + (some venerable old fellows, dark-spotted with lichens)—the many + fine locust-trees—the runs of brawling water, often over descents of + rock—these, and lots else. It is lucky the roads are first-rate + here, (as they are,) for it is up or down hill everywhere, and sometimes + steep enough. B. has a tip-top horse, strong, young, and both gentle and + fast. There is a great deal of waste land and hills on the river edge of + Ulster county, with a wonderful luxuriance of wild flowers and bushes—and + it seems to me I never saw more vitality of trees—eloquent hemlocks, + plenty of locusts and fine maples, and the balm of Gilead, giving out + aroma. In the fields and along the road-sides unusual crops of the + tall-stemm'd wild daisy, white as milk and yellow as gold. + </p> + <p> + We pass'd quite a number of tramps, singly or in couples—one squad, + a family in a rickety one-horse wagon, with some baskets evidently their + work and trade—the man seated on a low board, in front, driving—the + gauntish woman by his side, with a baby well bundled in her arms, its + little red feet and lower legs sticking out right towards us as we pass'd—and + in the wagon behind, we saw two (or three) crouching little children. It + was a queer, taking, rather sad picture. If I had been alone and on foot, + I should have stopp'd and held confab. But on our return nearly two hours + afterward, we found them a ways further along the same road, in a lonesome + open spot, haul'd aside, unhitch'd, and evidently going to camp for the + night. The freed horse was not far off, quietly cropping the grass. The + man was busy at the wagon, the boy had gather'd some dry wood, and was + making a fire—and as we went a little further we met the woman + afoot. I could not see her face, in its great sun-bonnet, but somehow her + figure and gait told misery, terror, destitution. She had the rag-bundled, + half-starv'd infant still in her arms, and in her hands held two or three + baskets, which she had evidently taken to the next house for sale. A + little barefoot five-year old girl-child, with fine eyes, trotted behind + her, clutching her gown. We stopp'd, asking about the baskets, which we + bought. As we paid the money, she kept her face hidden in the recesses of + her bonnet. Then as we started, and stopp'd again, Al., (whose sympathies + were evidently arous'd,) went back to the camping group to get another + basket. He caught a look of her face, and talk'd with her a little. Eyes, + voice and manner were those of a corpse, animated by electricity. She was + quite young—the man she was traveling with, middle-aged. Poor woman—what + story was it, out of her fortunes, to account for that inexpressibly + scared way, those glassy eyes, and that hollow voice? + </p> + <h3> + MANHATTAN FROM THE BAY + </h3> + <p> + <i>June 25</i>.—Returned to New York last night. Out to-day on the + waters for a sail in the wide bay, southeast of Staten island—a + rough, tossing ride, and a free sight—the long stretch of Sandy + Hook, the highlands of Navesink, and the many vessels outward and inward + bound. We came up through the midst of all, in the full sun. I especially + enjoy'd the last hour or two. A moderate sea-breeze had set in; yet over + the city, and the waters adjacent, was a thin haze, concealing nothing, + only adding to the beauty. From my point of view, as I write amid the soft + breeze, with a sea-temperature, surely nothing on earth of its kind can go + beyond this show. To the left the North river with its far vista—nearer, + three or four war-ships, anchor'd peacefully—the Jersey side, the + banks of Weehawken, the Palisades, and the gradually receding blue, lost + in the distance—to the right the East river—the mast-hemm'd + shores—the grand obelisk-like towers of the bridge, one on either + side, in haze, yet plainly defin'd, giant brothers twain, throwing free + graceful interlinking loops high across the tumbled tumultuous current + below—(the tide is just changing to its ebb)—the broad + water-spread everywhere crowded—no, not crowded, but thick as stars + in the sky—with all sorts and sizes of sail and steam vessels, + plying ferry-boats, arriving and departing coasters, great ocean Dons, + iron-black, modern, magnificent in size and power, fill'd with their + incalculable value of human life and precious merchandise—with here + and there, above all, those daring, careening things of grace and wonder, + those white and shaded swift-darting fish-birds, (I wonder if shore or sea + elsewhere can outvie them,) ever with their slanting spars, and fierce, + pure, hawk-like beauty and motion—first-class New York sloop or + schooner yachts, sailing, this fine day, the free sea in a good wind. And + rising out of the midst, tall-topt, ship-hemm'd, modern, American, yet + strangely oriental, V-shaped Manhattan, with its compact mass, its spires, + its cloud-touching edifices group'd at the centre—the green of the + trees, and all the white, brown and gray of the architecture well blended, + as I see it, under a miracle of limpid sky, delicious light of heaven + above, and June haze on the surface below. + </p> + <h3> + HUMAN AND HEROIC NEW YORK + </h3> + <p> + The general subjective view of New York and Brooklyn—(will not the + time hasten when the two shall be municipally united in one, and named + Manhattan?)—what I may call the human interior and exterior of these + great seething oceanic populations, as I get it in this visit, is to me + best of all. After an absence of many years, (I went away at the outbreak + of the secession war, and have never been back to stay since,) again I + resume with curiosity the crowds, the streets, I knew so well, Broadway, + the ferries, the west side of the city, democratic Bowery—human + appearances and manners as seen in all these, and along the wharves, and + in the perpetual travel of the horse-cars, or the crowded excursion + steamers, or in Wall and Nassau streets by day—in the places of + amusement at night—bubbling and whirling and moving like its own + environment of waters—endless humanity in all phases—Brooklyn + also—taken in for the last three weeks. No need to specify minutely—enough + to say that (making all allowances for the shadows and side-streaks of a + million-headed-city) the brief total of the impressions, the human + qualities, of these vast cities, is to me comforting, even heroic, beyond + statement. Alertness, generally fine physique, clear eyes that look + straight at you, a singular combination of reticence and self-possession, + with good nature and friendliness—a prevailing range of according + manners, taste and intellect, surely beyond any elsewhere upon earth—and + a palpable outcropping of that personal comradeship I look forward to as + the subtlest, strongest future hold of this many-item'd Union—are + not only constantly visible here in these mighty channels of men, but they + form the rule and average. To-day, I should say—defiant of cynics + and pessimists, and with a full knowledge of all their exceptions—an + appreciative and perceptive study of the current humanity of New York + gives the directest proof yet of successful Democracy, and of the solution + of that paradox, the eligibility of the free and fully developed + individual with the paramount aggregate. In old age, lame and sick, + pondering for years on many a doubt and danger for this republic of ours—fully + aware of all that can be said on the other side—I find in this visit + to New York, and the daily contact and rapport with its myriad people, on + the scale of the oceans and tides, the best, most effective medicine my + soul has yet partaken—the grandest physical habitat and surroundings + of land and water the globe affords—namely, Manhattan island and + Brooklyn, which the future shall join in one city—city of superb + democracy, amid superb surroundings. + </p> + <h3> + HOURS FOR THE SOUL + </h3> + <p> + <i>July 22d, 1878</i>.—Living down in the country again. A wonderful + conjunction of all that goes to make those sometime miracle-hours after + sunset—so near and yet so far. Perfect, or nearly perfect days, I + notice, are not so very uncommon; but the combinations that make perfect + nights are few, even in a life time. We have one of those perfections + to-night. Sunset left things pretty clear; the larger stars were visible + soon as the shades allow'd. A while after 8, three or four great black + clouds suddenly rose, seemingly from different points, and sweeping with + broad swirls of wind but no thunder, underspread the orbs from view + everywhere, and indicated a violent heatstorm. But without storm, clouds, + blackness and all, sped and vanish'd as suddenly as they had risen; and + from a little after 9 till 11 the atmosphere and the whole show above were + in that state of exceptional clearness and glory just alluded to. In the + northwest turned the Great Dipper with its pointers round the Cynosure. A + little south of east the constellation of the Scorpion was fully up, with + red Antares glowing in its neck; while dominating, majestic Jupiter swam, + an hour and a half risen, in the east—(no moon till after 11.) A + large part of the sky seem'd just laid in great splashes of phosphorus. + You could look deeper in, farther through, than usual; the orbs thick as + heads of wheat in a field. Not that there was any special brilliancy + either—nothing near as sharp as I have seen of keen winter nights, + but a curious general luminousness throughout to sight, sense, and soul. + The latter had much to do with it. (I am convinced there are hours of + Nature, especially of the atmosphere, mornings and evenings, address'd to + the soul. Night transcends, for that purpose, what the proudest day can + do.) Now, indeed, if never before, the heavens declared the glory of God. + It was to the full sky of the Bible, of Arabia, of the prophets, and of + the oldest poems. There, in abstraction and stillness, (I had gone off by + myself to absorb the scene, to have the spell unbroken,) the copiousness, + the removedness, vitality, loose-clear-crowdedness, of that stellar + concave spreading overhead, softly absorb'd into me, rising so free, + interminably high, stretching east, west, north, south—and I, though + but a point in the centre below, embodying all. + </p> + <p> + As if for the first time, indeed, creation noiselessly sank into and + through me its placid and untellable lesson, beyond—O, so infinitely + beyond!—anything from art, books, sermons, or from science, old or + new. The spirit's hour—religion's hour—the visible suggestion + of God in space and time—now once definitely indicated, if never + again. The untold pointed at—the heavens all paved with it. The + Milky Way, as if some superhuman symphony, some ode of universal + vagueness, disdaining syllable and sound—a flashing glance of Deity, + address'd to the soul. All silently—the indescribable night and + stars—far off and silently. + </p> + <p> + THE DAWN.—<i>July 23</i>.—This morning, between one and two + hours before sunrise, a spectacle wrought on the same background, yet of + quite different beauty and meaning. The moon well up in the heavens, and + past her half, is shining brightly—the air and sky of that + cynical-clear, Minerva-like quality, virgin cool—not the weight of + sentiment or mystery, or passion's ecstasy indefinable—not the + religious sense, the varied All, distill'd and sublimated into one, of the + night just described. Every star now clear-cut, showing for just what it + is, there in the colorless ether. The character of the heralded morning, + ineffably sweet and fresh and limpid, but for the esthetic sense alone, + and for purity without sentiment. I have itemized the night—but dare + I attempt the cloudless dawn? (What subtle tie is this between one's soul + and the break of day? Alike, and yet no two nights or morning shows ever + exactly alike.) Preceded by an immense star, almost unearthly in its + effusion of white splendor, with two or three long unequal spoke-rays of + diamond radiance, shedding down through the fresh morning air below—an + hour of this, and then the sunrise. + </p> + <p> + THE EAST.—What a subject for a poem! Indeed, where else a more + pregnant, more splendid one? Where one more idealistic-real, more subtle, + more sensuous-delicate? The East, answering all lands, all ages, peoples; + touching all senses, here, immediate, now—and yet so indescribably + far off—such retrospect! The East—long-stretching—so + losing itself—the orient, the gardens of Asia, the womb of history + and song—forth-issuing all those strange, dim cavalcades—Florid + with blood, pensive, rapt with musings, hot with passion. Sultry with + perfume, with ample and flowing garment. With sunburnt visage, intense + soul and glittering eyes. Always the East—old, how incalculably old! + And yet here the same—ours yet, fresh as a rose, to every morning, + every life, to-day—and always will be. + </p> + <p> + <i>Sept. 17</i>. Another presentation—same theme—just before + sunrise again, (a favorite hour with me.) The clear gray sky, a faint glow + in the dull liver-color of the east, the cool fresh odor and the moisture—the + cattle and horses off there grazing in the fields—the star Venus + again, two hours high. For sounds, the chirping of crickets in the grass, + the clarion of chanticleer, and the distant cawing of an early crow. + Quietly over the dense fringe of cedars and pines rises that dazzling, + red, transparent disk of flame, and the low sheets of white vapor roll and + roll into dissolution. + </p> + <p> + THE MOON.—<i>May 18</i>.—I went to bed early last night, but + found myself waked shortly after 12, and, turning awhile, sleepless and + mentally feverish, I rose, dress'd myself, sallied forth and walk'd down + the lane. The full moon, some three or four hours up—a sprinkle of + light and less-light clouds just lazily moving—Jupiter an hour high + in the east, and here and there throughout the heavens a random star + appearing and disappearing. So beautifully veiled and varied—the + air, with that early-summer perfume, not at all damp or raw—at times + Luna languidly emerging in richest brightness for minutes, and then + partially envelop'd again. Far off a poor whip-poor-will plied his notes + incessantly. It was that silent time between 1 and 3. + </p> + <p> + The rare nocturnal scene, how soon it sooth'd and pacified me! Is there + not something about the moon, some relation or reminder, which no poem or + literature has yet caught? (In very old and primitive ballads I have come + across lines or asides that suggest it.) After a while the clouds mostly + clear'd, and as the moon swam on, she carried, shimmering and shifting, + delicate color-effects of pellucid green and tawny vapor. Let me conclude + this part with an extract, (some writer in the "Tribune," May 16, 1878): + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + No one ever gets tired of the moon. Goddess that she is by dower of + her eternal beauty, she is a true woman by her tact—knows the charm + of being seldom seen, of coming by surprise and staying but a little + while; never wears the same dress two nights running, nor all night + the same way; commends herself to the matter-of-fact people by her + usefulness, and makes her uselessness adored by poets, artists, and + all lovers in all lands; lends herself to every symbolism and to + every emblem; is Diana's bow and Venus's mirror and Mary's throne; + is a sickle, a scarf, an eyebrow, his face or her face, and look'd + at by her or by him; is the madman's hell, the poet's heaven, the + baby's toy, the philosopher's study; and while her admirers follow + her footsteps, and hang on her lovely looks, she knows how to keep + her woman's secret—her other side—unguess'd and unguessable. +</pre> + <p> + <i>Furthermore. February 19, 1880</i>.—Just before 10 P.M. cold and + entirely clear again, the show overhead, bearing southwest, of wonderful + and crowded magnificence. The moon in her third quarter—the clusters + of the Hyades and Pleiades, with the planet Mars between—in full + crossing sprawl in the sky the great Egyptian X, (Sirius, Procyon, and the + main stars in the constellations of the Ship, the Dove, and of Orion;) + just north of east Bootes, and in his knee Arcturus, an hour high, + mounting the heaven, ambitiously large and sparkling, as if he meant to + challenge with Sirius the stellar supremacy. + </p> + <p> + With the sentiment of the stars and moon such nights I get all the free + margins and indefiniteness of music or poetry, fused in geometry's utmost + exactness. + </p> + <h3> + STRAW-COLOR'D AND OTHER PSYCHES + </h3> + <p> + <i>Aug. 4</i>.—A pretty sight! Where I sit in the shade—a warm + day, the sun shining from cloudless skies, the forenoon well advanc'd—I + look over a ten-acre field of luxuriant clover-hay, (the second crop)—the + livid-ripe red blossoms and dabs of August brown thickly spotting the + prevailing dark-green. Over all flutter myriads of light-yellow + butterflies, mostly skimming along the surface, dipping and oscillating, + giving a curious animation to the scene. The beautiful, spiritual insects! + straw-color'd Psyches! Occasionally one of them leaves his mates, and + mounts, perhaps spirally, perhaps in a straight line in the air, + fluttering up, up, till literally out of sight. In the lane as I came + along just now I noticed one spot, ten feet square or so, where more than + a hundred had collected, holding a revel, a gyration-dance, or butterfly + good-time, winding and circling, down and across, but always keeping + within the limits. The little creatures have come out all of a sudden the + last few days, and are now very plentiful. As I sit outdoors, or walk, I + hardly look around without somewhere seeing two (always two) fluttering + through the air in amorous dalliance. Then their inimitable color, their + fragility, peculiar motion—and that strange, frequent way of one + leaving the crowd and mounting up, up in the free ether, and apparently + never returning. As I look over the field, these yellow-wings everywhere + mildly sparkling, many snowy blossoms of the wild carrot gracefully + bending on their tall and taper stems—while for sounds, the distant + guttural screech of a flock of guinea-hens comes shrilly yet somehow + musically to my ears. And now a faint growl of heat-thunder in the north—and + ever the low rising and falling wind-purr from the tops of the maples and + willows. + </p> + <p> + <i>Aug. 20</i>.—Butterflies and butterflies, (taking the place of + the bumble-bees of three months since, who have quite disappear'd,) + continue to flit to and fro, all sorts, white, yellow, brown, purple—now + and then some gorgeous fellow flashing lazily by on wings like artists' + palettes dabb'd with every color. Over the breast of the pond I notice + many white ones, crossing, pursuing their idle capricious flight. Near + where I sit grows a tall-stemm'd weed topt with a profusion of rich + scarlet blossoms, on which the snowy insects alight and dally, sometimes + four or five of them at a time. By-and-by a humming-bird visits the same, + and I watch him coming and going, daintily balancing and shimmering about. + These white butterflies give new beautiful contrasts to the pure greens of + the August foliage, (we have had some copious rains lately,) and over the + glistening bronze of the pond-surface. You can tame even such insects; I + have one big and handsome moth down here, knows and comes to me, likes me + to hold him up on my extended hand. + </p> + <p> + <i>Another Day, later</i>.—A grand twelve-acre field of ripe + cabbages with their prevailing hue of malachite green, and floating-flying + over and among them in all directions myriads of these same white + butterflies. As I came up the lane to-day I saw a living globe of the + same, two or three feet in diameter, many scores cluster'd together and + rolling along in the air, adhering to their ball-shape, six or eight feet + above the ground. + </p> + <h3> + A NIGHT REMEMBRANCE + </h3> + <p> + <i>Aug. 23, 9-10 A.M.</i>—I sit by the pond, everything quiet, the + broad polish'd surface spread before me—the blue of the heavens and + the white clouds reflected from it—and flitting across, now and + then, the reflection of some flying bird. Last night I was down here with + a friend till after midnight; everything a miracle of splendor—the + glory of the stars, and the completely rounded moon—the passing + clouds, silver and luminous-tawny—now and then masses of vapory + illuminated scud—and silently by my side my dear friend. The shades + of the trees, and patches of moonlight on the grass—the softly + blowing breeze, and just-palpable odor of the neighboring ripening corn—the + indolent and spiritual night, inexpressibly rich, tender, suggestive—something + altogether to filter through one's soul, and nourish and feed and soothe + the memory long afterwards. + </p> + <h3> + WILD FLOWERS + </h3> + <p> + This has been and is yet a great season for wild flowers; oceans of them + line the roads through the woods, border the edges of the water-runlets, + grow all along the old fences, and are scatter'd in profusion over the + fields. An eight-petal'd blossom of gold-yellow, clear and bright, with a + brown tuft in the middle, nearly as large as a silver half-dollar, is very + common; yesterday on a long drive I noticed it thickly lining the borders + of the brooks everywhere. Then there is a beautiful weed cover'd with blue + flowers, (the blue of the old Chinese teacups treasur'd by our + grand-aunts,) I am continually stopping to admire—a little larger + than a dime, and very plentiful. White, however, is the prevailing color. + The wild carrot I have spoken of; also the fragrant life-everlasting. But + there are all hues and beauties, especially on the frequent tracts of + half-opened scrub-oak and dwarf cedar hereabout—wild asters of all + colors. Notwithstanding the frost-touch the hardy little chaps maintain + themselves in all their bloom. The tree-leaves, too, some of them are + beginning to turn yellow or drab or dull green. The deep wine-color of the + sumachs and gum-treesis already visible, and the straw-color of the + dog-wood and beech. Let me give the names of some of these perennial + blossoms and friendly weeds I have made acquaintance with hereabout one + season or another in my walks: + </p> + <p> + Wild azalea, dandelions wild honeysuckle, yarrow, wild roses, coreopsis, + golden rod, wild pea, larkspur, woodbine, early crocus, elderberry, sweet + flag, (great patches of it,) poke-weed, creeper, trumpet-flower, + sun-flower, scented marjoram, chamomile, snakeroot, violets, Solomon's + seal, clematis, sweet balm, bloodroot mint, (great plenty,) swamp + magnolia, wild geranium, milk-weed, wild heliotrope, wild daisy, (plenty,) + burdock, wild chrysanthemum. + </p> + <h3> + A CIVILITY TOO LONG NEGLECTED + </h3> + <p> + The foregoing reminds me of something. + </p> + <p> + As the individualities I would mainly portray have certainly been slighted + by folks who make pictures, volumes, poems, out of them—as a faint + testimonial of my own gratitude for many hours of peace and comfort in + half-sickness, (and not by any means sure but they will somehow get wind + of the compliment,) I hereby dedicate the last half of these Specimen Days + to the + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + bees, glow-worms, (swarming millions + black-birds, of them indescribably + dragon-flies, strange and beautiful at night + pond-turtles, over the pond and creek,) + mulleins, tansy, peppermint, water-snakes, + moths, (great and little, some crows, + splendid fellows,) millers, + mosquitoes, cedars, + butterflies, tulip-trees, (and all other trees,) + wasps and hornets, and to the spots and memories + cat-birds, (and all other birds,) of those days, and the creek. +</pre> + <h3> + DELAWARE RIVER—DAYS AND NIGHTS + </h3> + <p> + <i>April 5, 1879</i>.-With the return of spring to the skies, airs, waters + of the Delaware, return the sea-gulls. I never tire of watching their + broad and easy flight, in spirals, or as they oscillate with slow + unflapping wings, or look down with curved beak, or dipping to the water + after food. The crows, plenty enough all through the winter, have vanish'd + with the ice. Not one of them now to be seen. The steamboats have again + come forth—bustling up, handsome, freshly painted, for summer work—the + Columbia, the Edwin Forrest, (the Republic not yet out,) the Reybold, + Nelly White, the Twilight, the Ariel, the Warner, the Perry, the Taggart, + the Jersey Blue—even the hulky old Trenton—not forgetting + those saucy little bull-pups of the current, the steamtugs. + </p> + <p> + But let me bunch and catalogue the affair—the river itself, all the + way from the sea—Cape island on one side and Henlopen light on the + other—up the broad bay north, and so to Philadelphia, and on further + to Trenton;—the sights I am most familiar with, (as I live a good + part of the time in Camden, I view matters from that outlook)—the + great arrogant, black, full-freighted ocean steamers, inward or outward + bound—the ample width here between the two cities, intersected by + Windmill island—an occasional man-of-war, sometimes a foreigner, at + anchor, with her guns and port-holes, and the boats, and the brown-faced + sailors, and the regular oar-strokes, and the gay crowds of "visiting day"—the + frequent large and handsome three-masted schooners, (a favorite style of + marine build, hereabout of late years,) some of them new and very jaunty, + with their white-gray sails and yellow pine spars—the sloops dashing + along in a fair wind—(I see one now, coming up, under broad canvas, + her gaff-topsail shining in the sun, high and picturesque—what a + thing of beauty amid the sky and waters!)—the crowded wharf-slips + along the city—the flags of different nationalities, the sturdy + English cross on its ground of blood, the French tricolor, the banner of + the great North German empire, and the Italian and the Spanish colors—sometimes, + of an afternoon, the whole scene enliven'd by a fleet of yachts, in a half + calm, lazily returning from a race down at Gloucester;—the neat, + rakish, revenue steamer "Hamilton" in mid-stream, with her perpendicular + stripes flaunting aft—and, turning the eyes north, the long ribands + of fleecy-white steam, or dingy-black smoke, stretching far, fan-shaped, + slanting diagonally across from the Kensington or Richmond shores, in the + west-by-south-west wind. + </p> + <h3> + SCENES ON FERRY AND RIVER—LAST WINTER'S NIGHTS + </h3> + <p> + Then the Camden ferry. What exhilaration, change, people, business, by + day. What soothing, silent, wondrous hours, at night, crossing on the + boat, most all to myself—pacing the deck, alone, forward or aft. + What communion with the waters, the air, the exquisite <i>chiaroscuro</i>—the + sky and stars, that speak no word, nothing to the intellect, yet so + eloquent, so communicative to the soul. And the ferry men—little + they know how much they have been to me, day and night—how many + spells of listlessness, ennui, debility, they and their hardy ways have + dispell'd. And the pilots—captains Hand, Walton, and Giberson by + day, and captain Olive at night; Eugene Crosby, with his strong young arm + so often supporting, circling, convoying me over the gaps of the bridge, + through impediments, safely aboard. Indeed all my ferry friends—captain + Frazee the superintendent, Lindell, Hiskey, Fred Rauch, Price, Watson, and + a dozen more. And the ferry itself, with its queer scenes—sometimes + children suddenly born in the waiting-houses (an actual fact—and + more than once)—sometimes a masquerade party, going over at night, + with a band of music, dancing and whirling like mad on the broad deck, in + their fantastic dresses; sometimes the astronomer, Mr. Whitall, (who posts + me up in points about the stars by a living lesson there and then, and + answering every question)—sometimes a prolific family group, eight, + nine, ten, even twelve! (Yesterday, as I cross'd, a mother, father, and + eight children, waiting in the ferry-house, bound westward somewhere.) + </p> + <p> + I have mention'd the crows. I always watch them from the boats. They play + quite a part in the winter scenes on the river, by day. Their black + splatches are seen in relief against the snow and ice everywhere at that + season—sometimes flying and flapping—sometimes on little or + larger cakes, sailing up or down the stream. One day the river was mostly + clear—only a single long ridge of broken ice making a narrow stripe + by itself, running along down the current for over a mile, quite rapidly. + On this white stripe the crows were congregated, hundreds of them—a + funny procession—("half mourning" was the comment of some one.) + </p> + <p> + Then the reception room, for passengers waiting—life illustrated + thoroughly. Take a March picture I jotted there two or three weeks since. + Afternoon, about 3-1/2 o'clock, it begins to snow. There has been a + matinee performance at the theater—from 4-1/2 to 5 comes a stream of + homeward bound ladies. I never knew the spacious room to present a gayer, + more lively scene—handsome, well-drest Jersey women and girls, + scores of them, streaming in for nearly an hour—the bright eyes and + glowing faces, coming in from the air—a sprinkling of snow on + bonnets or dresses as they enter—the five or ten minutes' waiting—the + chatting and laughing—(women can have capital times among + themselves, with plenty of wit, lunches, jovial abandon)—Lizzie, the + pleasant-manner'd waiting-room woman—for sound, the bell-taps and + steam-signals of the departing boats with their rhythmic break and + undertone—the domestic pictures, mothers with bevies of daughters, + (a charming sight)—children, countrymen—the railroad men in + their blue clothes and caps—all the various characters of city and + country represented or suggested. Then outside some belated passenger + frantically running, jumping after the boat. Towards six o' clock the + human stream gradually thickening—now a pressure of vehicles, drays, + piled railroad crates—now a drove of cattle, making quite an + excitement, the drovers with heavy sticks, belaboring the steaming sides + of the frighten'd brutes. Inside the reception room, business bargains, + flirting, love-making, <i>eclaircissements</i>, proposals—pleasant, + sober-faced Phil coming in with his burden of afternoon papers—or + Jo, or Charley (who jump'd in the dock last week, and saved a stout lady + from drowning,) to replenish the stove, and clearing it with long crow-bar + poker. + </p> + <p> + Besides all this "comedy human," the river affords nutriment of a higher + order. Here are some of my memoranda of the past winter, just as pencill'd + down on the spot. + </p> + <p> + <i>A January Night</i>.—Fine trips across the wide Delaware + to-night. Tide pretty high, and a strong ebb. River, a little after 8, + full of ice, mostly broken, but some large cakes making our + strong-timber'd steamboat hum and quiver as she strikes them. In the clear + moonlight they spread, strange, unearthly, silvery, faintly glistening, as + far as I can see. Bumping, trembling, sometimes hissing like a thousand + snakes, the tide-procession, as we wend with or through it, affording a + grand undertone, in keeping with the scene. Overhead, the splendor + indescribable; yet something haughty, almost supercilious, in the night. + Never did I realize more latent sentiment, almost <i>passion</i>, in those + silent interminable stars up there. One can understand, such a night, why, + from the days of the Pharaohs or Job, the dome of heaven, sprinkled with + planets, has supplied the subtlest, deepest criticism on human pride, + glory, ambition. + </p> + <p> + <i>Another Winter Night</i>.—I don't know anything more <i>filling</i> + than to be on the wide firm deck of a powerful boat, a clear, cool, + extra-moonlight night, crushing proudly and resistlessly through this + thick, marbly, glistening ice. The whole river is now spread with it—some + immense cakes. There is such weirdness about the scene—partly the + quality of the light, with its tinge of blue, the lunar twilight—only + the large stars holding their own in the radiance of the moon. Temperature + sharp, comfortable for motion, dry, full of oxygen. But the sense of power—the + steady, scornful, imperious urge of our strong new engine, as she ploughs + her way through the big and little cakes. + </p> + <p> + <i>Another</i>.—For two hours I cross'd and recross'd, merely for + pleasure—for a still excitement. Both sky and river went through + several changes. The first for awhile held two vast fan-shaped echelons of + light clouds, through which the moon waded, now radiating, carrying with + her an aureole of tawny transparent brown, and now flooding the whole vast + with clear vapory light-green, through which, as through an illuminated + veil, she moved with measur'd womanly motion. Then, another trip, the + heavens would be absolutely clear, and Luna in all her effulgence. The big + Dipper in the north, with the double star in the handle much plainer than + common. Then the sheeny track of light in the water, dancing and rippling. + Such transformations; such pictures and poems, inimitable. + </p> + <p> + <i>Another</i>.—I am studying the stars, under advantages, as I + cross tonight. (It is late in February, and again extra clear.) High + toward the west, the Pleiades, tremulous with delicate sparkle, in the + soft heavens,—Aldebaran, leading the V-shaped Hyades—and + overhead Capella and her kids. Most majestic of all, in full display in + the high south, Orion, vast-spread, roomy, chief historian of the stage, + with his shiny yellow rosette on his shoulder, and his three kings—and + a little to the east, Sirius, calmly arrogant, most wondrous single star. + Going late ashore, (I couldn't give up the beauty, and soothingness of the + night,) as I staid around, or slowly wander'd I heard the echoing calls of + the railroad men in the West Jersey depot yard, shifting and switching + trains, engines, etc.; amid the general silence otherways, and something + in the acoustic quality of the air, musical, emotional effects, never + thought of before. I linger'd long and long, listening to them. + </p> + <p> + <i>Night of March 18, '79</i>.—One of the calm, pleasantly cool, + exquisitely clear and cloudless, early spring nights—the atmosphere + again that rare vitreous blue-black, welcom'd by astronomers. Just at 8, + evening, the scene overhead of certainly solemnest beauty, never + surpass'd. Venus nearly down in the west, of a size and lustre as if + trying to outshow herself, before departing. Teeming, maternal orb—I + take you again to myself. I am reminded of that spring preceding Abraham + Lincoln's murder, when I, restlessly haunting the Potomac banks, around + Washington city, watch'd you, off there, aloof, moody as myself: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As we walk'd up and down in the dark blue so mystic, + As we walk'd in silence the transparent shadowy night, + As I saw you had something to tell, as you bent to me night after + night, + As you droop from the sky low down, as if to my side, (while the + other stars all look'd on,) + As we wander'd together the solemn night. +</pre> + <p> + With departing Venus, large to the last, and shining even to the edge of + the horizon, the vast dome presents at this moment, such a spectacle! + Mercury was visible just after sunset—a rare sight. Arcturus is now + risen, just north of east. In calm glory all the stars of Orion hold the + place of honor, in meridian, to the south,—with the Dog-star a + little to the left. And now, just rising, Spica, late, low, and slightly + veil'd. Castor, Regulus and the rest, all shining unusually clear, (no + Mars or Jupiter or moon till morning.) On the edge of the river, many + lamps twinkling—with two or three huge chimneys, a couple of miles + up, belching forth molten, steady flames, volcano-like, illuminating all + around—and sometimes an electric or calcium, its Dante-Inferno + gleams, in far shafts, terrible, ghastly-powerful. Of later May nights, + crossing, I like to watch the fishermen's little buoy-lights—so + pretty, so dreamy—like corpse candles—undulating delicate and + lonesome on the surface of the shadowy waters, floating with the current. + </p> + <h3> + THE FIRST SPRING DAY ON CHESTNUT STREET + </h3> + <p> + Winter relaxing its hold, has already allow'd us a foretaste of spring. As + I write, yesterday afternoon's softness and brightness, (after the morning + fog, which gave it a better setting, by contrast,) show'd Chestnut street—say + between Broad and Fourth—to more advantage in its various asides, + and all its stores, and gay-dress'd crowds generally, than for three + months past. I took a walk there between one and two. Doubtless, there + were plenty of hard-up folks along the pavements, but nine-tenths of the + myriad-moving human panorama to all appearance seem'd flush, well-fed, and + fully-provided. At all events it was good to be on Chestnut street + yesterday. The peddlers on the sidewalk—("sleeve-buttons, three for + five cents")—the handsome little fellow with canary-bird whistles—the + cane men, toy men, toothpick men—the old woman squatted in a heap on + the cold stone flags, with her basket of matches, pins and tape—the + young negro mother, sitting, begging, with her two little coffee-color'd + twins on her lap—the beauty of the cramm'd conservatory of rare + flowers, flaunting reds, yellows, snowy lilies, incredible orchids, at the + Baldwin mansion near Twelfth street—the show of fine poultry, beef, + fish, at the restaurants—the china stores, with glass and statuettes—the + luscious tropical fruits—the street cars plodding along, with their + tintinnabulating bells—the fat, cab-looking, rapidly driven + one-horse vehicles of the post-office, squeez'd full of coming or going + letter-carriers, so healthy and handsome and manly-looking, in their gray + uniforms—the costly books, pictures, curiosities, in the windows—the + gigantic policemen at most of the corners will all be readily remember'd + and recognized as features of this principal avenue of Philadelphia. + Chestnut street, I have discover'd, is not without individuality, and its + own points, even when compared with the great promenade-streets of other + cities. I have never been in Europe, but acquired years' familiar + experience with New York's, (perhaps the world's) great thoroughfare, + Broadway, and possess to some extent a personal and saunterer's knowledge + of St. Charles street in New Orleans, Tremont street in Boston, and the + broad trottoirs of Pennsylvania avenue in Washington. Of course it is a + pity that Chestnut were not two or three times wider; but the street, any + fine day, shows vividness, motion, variety, not easily to be surpass'd. + (Sparkling eyes, human faces, magnetism, well-dress'd women, ambulating to + and fro—with lots o fine things in the windows—are they not + about the same, the civilized world over?) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How fast the flitting figures come! + The mild, the fierce, the stony face; + Some bright with thoughtless smiles—and some + Where secret tears have left their trace. +</pre> + <p> + A few days ago one of the six-story clothing stores along here had the + space inside its plate-glass show-window partition'd into a little corral, + and litter'd deeply with rich clover and hay, (I could smell the odor + outside,) on which reposed two magnificent fat sheep, full-sized but young—the + handsomest creatures of the kind I ever saw. I stop's long and long, with + the crowd, to view them—one lying down chewing the cud, and one + standing up, looking out, with dense-fringed patient eyes. Their wool, of + a clear tawny color, with streaks of glistening black—altogether a + queer sight amidst that crowded promenade of dandies, dollars and + dry-goods. + </p> + <h3> + UP THE HUDSON TO ULSTER COUNTY + </h3> + <p> + <i>April 23.</i>—Off to New York on a little tour and visit. Leaving + the hospitable, home-like quarters of my valued friends, Mr. and Mrs. J. + H. Johnston—took the 4 P. M. boat, bound up the Hudson, 100 miles or + so. Sunset and evening fine. Especially enjoy'd the hour after we passed + Cozzens's landing—the night lit by the crescent moon and Venus, now + swimming in tender glory, and now hid by the high rocks and hills of the + western shore, which we hugg'd close. (Where I spend the next ten days is + in Ulster county and its neighborhood, with frequent morning and evening + drives, observations of the river, and short rambles.) + </p> + <p> + <i>April 24—Noon.</i>—A little more and the sun would be + oppressive. The bees are out gathering their bread from willows and other + trees. I watch them returning, darting through the air or lighting on the + hives, their thighs covered with the yellow forage. A solitary robin sings + near. I sit in my shirt sleeves and gaze from an open bay-window on the + indolent scene—the thin haze, the Fishkill hills in the distance—off + on the river, a sloop with slanting mainsail, and two or three little + shad-boats. Over on the railroad opposite, long freight trains, sometimes + weighted by cylinder-tanks of petroleum, thirty, forty, fifty cars in a + string, panting and rumbling along in full view, but the sound soften'd by + distance. + </p> + <h3> + DAYS AT J. B.'S TURF-FIRES—SPRING SONGS + </h3> + <p> + <i>April 26</i>.—At sunrise, the pure clear sound of the meadow + lark. An hour later, some notes, few and simple, yet delicious and + perfect, from the bush-sparrow-towards noon the reedy trill of the robin. + To-day is the fairest, sweetest yet—penetrating warmth—a + lovely veil in the air, partly heat-vapor and partly from the turf-fires + everywhere in patches on the farms. A group of soft maples near by + silently bursts out in crimson tips, buzzing all day with busy bees. The + white sails of sloops and schooners glide up and down the river; and long + trains of cars, with ponderous roll, or faint bell notes, almost + constantly on the opposite shore. The earliest wild flowers in the woods + and fields, spicy arbutus, blue liverwort, frail anemone, and the pretty + white blossoms of the bloodroot. I launch out in slow rambles, discovering + them. As I go along the roads I like to see the farmers' fires in patches, + burning the dry brush, turf, debris. How the smoke crawls along, flat to + the ground, slanting, slowly rising, reaching away, and at last + dissipating. I like its acrid smell—whiffs just reaching me—welcomer + than French perfume. + </p> + <p> + The birds are plenty; of any sort, or of two or three sorts, curiously, + not a sign, till suddenly some warm, gushing, sunny April (or even March) + day—lo! there they are, from twig to twig, or fence to fence, + flirting, singing, some mating, preparing to build. But most of them <i>en + passant</i>—a fortnight, a month in these parts, and then away. As + in all phases, Nature keeps up her vital, copious, eternal procession. + Still, plenty of the birds hang around all or most of the season—now + their love-time, and era of nest-building. I find flying over the river, + crows, gulls and hawks. I hear the afternoon shriek of the latter, darting + about, preparing to nest. The oriole will soon be heard here, and the + twanging <i>meoeow</i> of the cat-bird; also the king-bird, cuckoo and the + warblers. All along, there are three peculiarly characteristic spring + songs—the meadow-lark's, so sweet, so alert and remonstrating (as if + he said, "don't you see?" or, "can't you understand?")—the cheery, + mellow, human tones of the robin—(I have been trying for years to + get a brief term, or phrase, that would identify and describe that robin + call)—and the amorous whistle of the high-hole. Insects are out + plentifully at midday. + </p> + <p> + <i>April 29</i>.—As we drove lingering along the road we heard, just + after sundown, the song of the wood-thrush. We stopp'd without a word, and + listen'd long. The delicious notes—a sweet, artless, voluntary, + simple anthem, as from the flute-stops of some organ, wafted through the + twilight—echoing well to us from the perpendicular high rock, where, + in some thick young trees' recesses at the base, sat the bird—fill'd + our senses, our souls. + </p> + <h3> + MEETING A HERMIT + </h3> + <p> + I found in one of my rambles up the hills a real hermit, living in a + lonesome spot, hard to get at, rocky, the view fine, with a little patch + of land two rods square. A man of youngish middle age, city born and + raised, had been to school, had travel'd in Europe and California. I first + met him once or twice on the road, and pass'd the time of day, with some + small talk; then, the third time, he ask'd me to go along a bit and rest + in his hut (an almost unprecedented compliment, as I heard from others + afterwards.) He was of Quaker stock, I think; talk'd with ease and + moderate freedom, but did not unbosom his life, or story, or tragedy, or + whatever it was. + </p> + <h3> + AN ULSTER COUNTY WATERFALL + </h3> + <p> + I jot this mem, in a wild scene of woods and hills, where we have come to + visit a waterfall. I never saw finer or more copious hemlocks, many of + them large, some old and hoary. Such a sentiment to them, secretive, + shaggy—what I call weather-beaten and let-alone—a rich + underlay of ferns, yew sprouts and mosses, beginning to be spotted with + the early summer wild-flowers. Enveloping all, the monotone and liquid + gurgle from the hoarse impetuous copious fall—the greenish-tawny, + darkly transparent waters, plunging with velocity down the rocks, with + patches of milk-white foam—a stream of hurrying amber, thirty feet + wide, risen far back in the hills and woods, now rushing with volume—every + hundred rods a fall, and sometimes three or four in that distance. A + primitive forest, druidical, solitary and savage—not ten visitors a + year—broken rocks everywhere—shade overhead, thick underfoot + with leaves—a just palpable wild and delicate aroma. + </p> + <h3> + WALTER DUMONT AND HIS MEDAL + </h3> + <p> + As I saunter'd along the high road yesterday, I stopp'd to watch a man + near by, ploughing a rough stony field with a yoke of oxen. Usually there + is much geeing and hawing, excitement, and continual noise and expletives, + about a job of this kind. But I noticed how different, how easy and + wordless, yet firm and sufficient, the work of this young ploughman. His + name was Walter Dumont, a farmer, and son of a farmer, working for their + living. Three years ago, when the steamer "Sunnyside" was wreck'd of a + bitter icy night on the west bank here, Walter went out in his boat—was + the first man on hand with assistance—made a way through the ice to + shore, connected a line, perform'd work of first-class readiness, daring, + danger, and saved numerous lives. Some weeks after, one evening when he + was up at Esopus, among the usual loafing crowd at the country store and + post-office, there arrived the gift of an unexpected official gold medal + for the quiet hero. The impromptu presentation was made to him on the + spot, but he blush'd, hesitated as he took it, and had nothing to say. + </p> + <h3> + HUDSON RIVER SIGHTS + </h3> + <p> + It was a happy thought to build the Hudson river railroad right along the + shore. The grade is already made by nature; you are sure of ventilation + one side—and you are in nobody's way. I see, hear, the locomotives + and cars, rumbling, roaring, flaming, smoking, constantly, away off there, + night and day—less than a mile distant, and in full view by day. I + like both sight and sound. Express trains thunder and lighten along; of + freight trains, most of them very long, there cannot be less than a + hundred a day. At night far down you see the headlight approaching, coming + steadily on like a meteor. The river at night has its special + character-beauties. The shad fishermen go forth in their boats and pay out + their nets—one sitting forward, rowing, and one standing up aft + dropping it properly-marking the line with little floats bearing candles, + conveying, as they glide over the water, an indescribable sentiment and + doubled brightness. I like to watch the tows at night, too, with their + twinkling lamps, and hear the husky panting of the steamers; or catch the + sloops' and schooners' shadowy forms, like phantoms, white, silent, + indefinite, out there. Then the Hudson of a clear moonlight night. + </p> + <p> + But there is one sight the very grandest. Sometimes in the fiercest + driving storm of wind, rain, hail or snow, a great eagle will appear over + the river, now soaring with steady and now overbended wings—always + confronting the gale, or perhaps cleaving into, or at times literally <i>sitting</i> + upon it. It is like reading some first-class natural tragedy or epic, or + hearing martial trumpets. The splendid bird enjoys the hubbub—is + adjusted and equal to it—finishes it so artistically. His pinions + just oscillating—the position of his head and neck—his + resistless, occasionally varied flight—now a swirl, now an upward + movement—the black clouds driving—the angry wash below—the + hiss of rain, the wind's piping (perhaps the ice colliding, grunting)—he + tacking or jibing—now, as it were, for a change, abandoning himself + to the gale, moving with it with such velocity—and now, resuming + control, he comes up against it, lord of the situation and the storm—lord, + amid it, of power and savage joy. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes (as at present writing,) middle of sunny afternoon, the old + "Vanderbilt" steamer stalking ahead—I plainly hear her rhythmic, + slushing paddles—drawing by long hawsers an immense and varied + following string, ("an old sow and pigs," the river folks call it.) First + comes a big barge, with a house built on it, and spars towering over the + roof; then canal boats, a lengthen'd, clustering train, fasten'd and + link'd together—the one in the middle, with high staff, flaunting a + broad and gaudy flag—others with the almost invariable lines of + new-wash'd clothes, drying; two sloops and a schooner aside the tow—little + wind, and that adverse—with three long, dark, empty barges bringing + up the rear. People are on the boats: men lounging, women in sun-bonnets, + children, stovepipes with streaming smoke. + </p> + <h3> + TWO CITY AREAS, CERTAIN HOURS + </h3> + <p> + NEW YORK, <i>May 24, '79</i>.—Perhaps no quarters of this city (I + have return'd again for awhile,) make more brilliant, animated, crowded, + spectacular human presentations these fine May afternoons than the two I + am now going to describe from personal observation. First: that area + comprising Fourteenth street (especially the short range between Broadway + and Fifth avenue) with Union square, its adjacencies, and so + retrostretching down Broadway for half a mile. All the walks here are + wide, and the spaces ample and free—now flooded with liquid gold + from the last two hours of powerful sunshine. The whole area at 5 o'clock, + the days of my observations, must have contain'd from thirty to forty + thousand finely-dress'd people, all in motion, plenty of them + good-looking, many beautiful women, often youths and children, the latter + in groups with their nurses—the trottoirs everywhere close-spread, + thick-tangled, (yet no collision, no trouble,) with masses of bright + color, action, and tasty toilets; (surely the women dress better than ever + before, and the men do too.) As if New York would show these afternoons + what it can do in its humanity, its choicest physique and physiognomy, and + its countless prodigality of locomotion, dry goods, glitter, magnetism, + and happiness. + </p> + <p> + Second: also from 5 to 7 P.M. the stretch of Fifth avenue, all the way + from the Central Park exits at Fifty-ninth street, down to Fourteenth, + especially along the high grade by Fortieth street, and down the hill. A + Mississippi of horses and rich vehicles, not by dozens and scores, but + hundreds and thousands—the broad avenue filled and cramm'd with them—a + moving, sparkling, hurrying crush, for more than two miles. (I wonder they + don't get block'd, but I believe they never do.) Altogether it is to me + the marvel sight of New York. I like to get in one of the Fifth avenue + stages and ride up, stemming the swift-moving procession. I doubt if + London or Paris or any city in the world can show such a carriage carnival + as I have seen here five or six times these beautiful May afternoons. + </p> + <h3> + CENTRAL PARK WALKS AND TALKS + </h3> + <p> + <i>May 16 to 22</i>.—I visit Central Park now almost every day, + sitting, or slowly rambling, or riding around. The whole place presents + its very best appearance this current month—the full flush of the + trees, the plentiful white and pink of the flowering shrubs, the emerald + green of the grass spreading everywhere, yellow dotted still with + dandelions—the specialty of the plentiful gray rocks, peculiar to + these grounds, cropping out, miles and miles—and over all the beauty + and purity, three days out of four, of our summer skies. As I sit, + placidly, early afternoon, off against Ninetieth street, the policeman, C. + C., a well-form'd sandy-complexion'd young fellow, comes over and stands + near me. We grow quite friendly and chatty forth-with. He is a New Yorker + born and raised, and in answer to my questions tells me about the life of + a New York Park policeman, (while he talks keeping his eyes and ears + vigilantly open, occasionally pausing and moving where he can get full + views of the vistas of the road, up and down, and the spaces around.) The + pay is $2.40 a day (seven days to a week)—the men come on and work + eight hours straight ahead, which is all that is required of them out of + the twenty-four. The position has more risks than one might suppose—for + instance if a team or horse runs away (which happens daily) each man is + expected not only to be prompt, but to waive safety and stop wildest nag + or nags—(<i>do it</i>, and don't be thinking of your bones or face)—give + the alarm-whistle too, so that other guards may repeat, and the vehicles + up and down the tracks be warn'd. Injuries to the men are continually + happening. There is much alertness and quiet strength. (Few appreciate, I + have often thought, the Ulyssean capacity, derring do, quick readiness in + emergencies, practicality, unwitting devotion and heroism, among our + American young men and working-people—the firemen, the railroad + employes, the steamer and ferry men, the police, the conductors and + drivers—the whole splendid average of native stock, city and + country.) It is good work, though; and upon the whole, the Park force + members like it. They see life, and the excitement keeps them up. There is + not so much difficulty as might be supposed from tramps, roughs, or in + keeping people "off the grass." The worst trouble of the regular Park + employé is from malarial fever, chills, and the like. + </p> + <h3> + A FINE AFTERNOON, 4 TO 6 + </h3> + <p> + Ten thousand vehicles careering through the Park this perfect afternoon. + Such a show! and I have seen all—watch'd it narrowly, and at my + leisure. Private barouches, cabs and coupés, some fine horseflesh—lapdogs, + footmen, fashions, foreigners, cockades on hats, crests on panels—the + full oceanic tide of New York's wealth and "gentility." It was an + impressive, rich, interminable circus on a grand scale, full of action and + color in the beauty of the day, under the clear sun and moderate breeze. + Family groups, couples, single drivers—of course dresses generally + elegant—much "style," (yet perhaps little or nothing, even in that + direction, that fully justified itself.) Through the windows of two or + three of the richest carriages I saw faces almost corpse-like, so ashy and + listless. Indeed the whole affair exhibited less of sterling America, + either in spirit or countenance, than I had counted on from such a select + mass-spectacle. I suppose, as a proof of limitless wealth, leisure, and + the aforesaid "gentility," it was tremendous. Yet what I saw those hours + (I took two other occasions, two other afternoons to watch the same + scene,) confirms a thought that haunts me every additional glimpse I get + of our top-loftical general or rather exceptional phases of wealth and + fashion in this country—namely, that they are ill at ease, much too + conscious, cased in too many cerements, and far from happy—that + there is nothing in them which we who are poor and plain need at all envy, + and that instead of the perennial smell of the grass and woods and shores, + their typical redolence is of soaps and essences, very rare may be, but + suggesting the barber shop—something that turns stale and musty in a + few hours anyhow. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the show on the horseback road was prettiest. Many groups (threes + a favorite number,) some couples, some singly—many ladies—frequently + horses or parties dashing along on a full run—fine riding the rule—a + few really first-class animals. As the afternoon waned, the wheel'd + carriages grew less, but the saddle-riders seemed to increase. They + linger'd long—and I saw some charming forms and faces. + </p> + <h3> + DEPARTING OF THE BIG STEAMERS + </h3> + <p> + <i>May 25.</i>—A three hours' bay-trip from 12 to 3 this afternoon, + accompanying "the City of Brussels" down as far as the Narrows, in behoof + of some Europe-bound friends, to give them a good send off. Our spirited + little tug, the "Seth Low," kept close to the great black "Brussels," + sometimes one side, sometimes the other, always up to her, or even + pressing ahead, (like the blooded pony accompanying the royal elephant.) + The whole affair, from the first, was an animated, quick-passing, + characteristic New York scene; the large, good-looking, well-dress'd crowd + on the wharf-end—men and women come to see their friends depart, and + bid them God-speed—the ship's sides swarming with passengers—groups + of bronze-faced sailors, with uniform' d officers at their posts—the + quiet directions, as she quickly unfastens and moves out, prompt to a + minute—the emotional faces, adieus and fluttering handkerchiefs, and + many smiles and some tears on the wharf—the answering faces, smiles, + tears and fluttering handkerchiefs, from the ship—(what can be + subtler and finer than this play of faces on such occasions in these + responding crowds?—what go more to one's heart?)—the proud, + steady, noiseless cleaving of the grand oceaner down the bay—we + speeding by her side a few miles, and then turning, wheeling,—amid a + babel of wild hurrahs, shouted partings, ear-splitting steam whistles, + kissing of hands and waving of handkerchiefs. + </p> + <p> + This departing of the big steamers, noons or afternoons—there is no + better medicine when one is listless or vapory. I am fond of going down + Wednesdays and Saturdays—their more special days—to watch them + and the crowds on the wharves, the arriving passengers, the general bustle + and activity, the eager looks from the faces, the clear-toned voices, (a + travel'd foreigner, a musician, told me the other day she thinks an + American crowd has the finest voices in the world,) the whole look of the + great, shapely black ships themselves, and their groups and lined sides—in + the setting of our bay with the blue sky overhead. Two days after the + above I saw the "Britannic," the "Donau," the "Helvetia" and the + "Schiedam" steam out, all off for Europe—a magnificent sight. + </p> + <h3> + TWO HOURS ON THE MINNESOTA + </h3> + <p> + From 7 to 9, aboard the United States school-ship Minnesota, lying up the + North river. Captain Luce sent his gig for us about sundown, to the foot + of Twenty-third street, and receiv'd us aboard with officer-like + hospitality and sailor heartiness. There are several hundred youths on the + Minnesota to be train'd for efficiently manning the government navy. I + like the idea much; and, so far as I have seen to-night, I like the way it + is carried out on this huge vessel. Below, on the gun-deck, were gather'd + nearly a hundred of the boys, to give us some of their singing exercises, + with a melodeon accompaniment, play'd by one of their number. They sang + with a will. The best part, however, was the sight of the young fellows + themselves. I went over among them before the singing began, and talk'd a + few minutes informally. They are from all the States; I asked for the + Southerners, but could only find one, a lad from Baltimore. In age, + apparently, they range from about fourteen years to nineteen or twenty. + They are all of American birth, and have to pass a rigid medical + examination; well-grown youths, good flesh, bright eyes, looking straight + at you, healthy, intelligent, not a slouch among them, nor a menial—in + every one the promise of a man. I have been to many public aggregations of + young and old, and of schools and colleges, in my day, but I confess I + have never been so near satisfied, so comforted, (both from the fact of + the school itself, and the splendid proof of our country, our composite + race, and the sample-promises of its good average capacities, its future,) + as in the collection from all parts of the United States on this navy + training ship. ("Are there going to be <i>any men</i> there?" was the dry + and pregnant reply of Emerson to one who had been crowding him with the + rich material statistics and possibilities of some western or Pacific + region.) + </p> + <p> + <i>May 26</i>.—Aboard the Minnesota again. Lieut. Murphy kindly came + for me in his boat. Enjoy'd specially those brief trips to and fro—the + sailors, tann'd, strong, so bright and able-looking, pulling their oars in + long side-swing, man-of-war style, as they row'd me across. I saw the boys + in companies drilling with small arms; had a talk with Chaplain Rawson. At + 11 o'clock all of us gathered to breakfast around a long table in the + great ward room—I among the rest—a genial, plentiful, + hospitable affair every way—plenty to eat, and of the best; became + acquainted with several new officers. This second visit, with its + observations, talks, (two or three at random with the boys,) confirm'd my + first impressions. + </p> + <h3> + MATURE SUMMER DAYS AND NIGHTS + </h3> + <p> + <i>Aug. 4</i>.—Forenoon—as I sit under the willow shade, (have + retreated down in the country again,) a little bird is leisurely dousing + and flirting himself amid the brook almost within reach of me. He + evidently fears me not—takes me for some concomitant of the + neighboring earthy banks, free bushery and wild weeds. <i>6 p.m.</i>—The + last three days have been perfect ones for the season, (four nights ago + copious rains, with vehement thunder and lightning.) I write this sitting + by the creek watching my two kingfishers at their sundown sport. The + strong, beautiful, joyous creatures! Their wings glisten in the slanted + sunbeams as they circle and circle around, occasionally dipping and + dashing the water, and making long stretches up and down the creek. + Wherever I go over fields, through lanes, in by-places, blooms the + white-flowering wild-carrot, its delicate pat of snow-flakes crowning its + slender stem, gracefully oscillating in the breeze, + </p> + <h3> + EXPOSITION BUILDING—NEW CITY HALL—RIVER TRIP + </h3> + <p> + PHILADELPHIA, <i>Aug. 26</i>.—Last night and to-night of unsurpass'd + clearness, after two days' rain; moon splendor and star splendor. Being + out toward the great Exposition building, West Philadelphia, I saw it lit + up, and thought I would go in. There was a ball, democratic but nice; + plenty of young couples waltzing and quadrilling—music by a good + string-band. To the sight and hearing of these—to moderate strolls + up and down the roomy spaces—to getting off aside, resting in an + arm-chair and looking up a long while at the grand high roof with its + graceful and multitudinous work of iron rods, angles, gray colors, plays + of light and shade, receding into dim outlines—to absorbing (in the + intervals of the string band,) some capital voluntaries and rolling + caprices from the big organ at the other end of the building—to + sighting a shadow'd figure or group or couple of lovers every now and then + passing some near or farther aisle—I abandon'd myself for over an + hour. + </p> + <p> + Returning home, riding down Market street in an open summer car, something + detain'd us between Fifteenth and Broad, and I got out to view better the + new, three-fifths-built marble edifice, the City Hall, of magnificent + proportions—a majestic and lovely show there in the moonlight—flooded + all over, facades, myriad silver-white lines and carv'd heads and + mouldings, with the soft dazzle—silent, weird, beautiful—well, + I know that never when finish'd will that magnificent pile impress one as + it impress'd me those fifteen minutes. + </p> + <p> + To-night, since, I have been long on the river. I watch the C-shaped + Northern Crown, (with the star Alshacca that blazed out so suddenly, + alarmingly, one night a few years ago.) The moon in her third quarter, and + up nearly all night. And there, as I look eastward, my long-absent + Pleiades, welcome again to sight. For an hour I enjoy the soothing and + vital scene to the low splash of waves—new stars steadily, + noiselessly rising in the east. + </p> + <p> + As I cross the Delaware, one of the deck-hands, F. R., tells me how a + woman jump'd overboard and was drown'd a couple of hours since. It + happen'd in mid-channel—she leap'd from the forward part of the + boat, which went over her. He saw her rise on the other side in the swift + running water, throw her arms and closed hands high up, (white hands and + bare forearms in the moonlight like a flash,) and then she sank. (I found + out afterwards that this young fellow had promptly jump'd in, swam after + the poor creature, and made, though unsuccessfully, the bravest efforts to + rescue her; but he didn't mention that part at all in telling me the + story.) + </p> + <h3> + SWALLOWS ON THE RIVER + </h3> + <p> + <i>Sept. 3</i>—Cloudy and wet, and wind due east; air without + palpable fog, but very heavy with moisture—welcome for a change. + Forenoon, crossing the Delaware, I noticed unusual numbers of swallows in + flight, circling, darting, graceful beyond description, close to the + water. Thick, around the bows of the ferry-boat as she lay tied in her + slip, they flew; and as we went out I watch'd beyond the pier-heads, and + across the broad stream, their swift-winding loop-ribands of motion, down + close to it, cutting and intersecting. Though I had seen swallows all my + life, seem'd as though I never before realized their peculiar beauty and + character in the landscape. (Some time ago, for an hour, in a huge old + country barn, watching these birds flying, recall'd the 22d book of the + Odyssey, where Ulysses slays the suitors, bringing things to <i>eclaircissement</i>, + and Minerva, swallow-bodied, darts up through the spaces of the hall, sits + high on a beam, looks complacently on the show of slaughter, and feels in + her element, exulting, joyous.) + </p> + <h3> + BEGIN A LONG JAUNT WEST + </h3> + <p> + The following three or four months (Sept. to Dec. '79) I made quite a + western journey, fetching up at Denver, Colorado, and penetrating the + Rocky Mountain region enough to get a good notion of it all. Left West + Philadelphia after 9 o'clock one night, middle of September, in a + comfortable sleeper. Oblivious of the two or three hundred miles across + Pennsylvania; at Pittsburgh in the morning to breakfast. Pretty good view + of the city and Birmingham—fog and damp, smoke, coke-furnaces, + flames, discolor'd wooden houses, and vast collections of coal-barges. + Presently a bit of fine region, West Virginia, the Panhandle, and crossing + the river, the Ohio. By day through the latter State—then Indiana—and + so rock'd to slumber for a second night, flying like lightning through + Illinois. + </p> + <h3> + IN THE SLEEPER + </h3> + <p> + What a fierce weird pleasure to lie in my berth at night in the luxurious + palace-car, drawn by the mighty Baldwin—embodying, and filling me, + too, full of the swiftest motion, and most resistless strength! It is + late, perhaps midnight or after—distances join'd like magic—as + we speed through Harrisburg, Columbus, Indianapolis. The element of danger + adds zest to it all. On we go, rumbling and flashing, with our loud + whinnies thrown out from time to time, or trumpet-blasts, into the + darkness. Passing the homes of men, the farms, barns, cattle—the + silent villages. And the car itself, the sleeper, with curtains drawn and + lights turn'd down—in the berths the slumberers, many of them women + and children—as on, on, on, we fly like lightning through the night—how + strangely sound and sweet they sleep! (They say the French Voltaire in his + time designated the grand opera and a ship of war the most signal + illustrations of the growth of humanity's and art's advance beyond + primitive barbarism. Perhaps if the witty philosopher were here these + days, and went in the same car with perfect bedding and feed from New York + to San Francisco, he would shift his type and sample to one of our + American sleepers.) + </p> + <h3> + MISSOURI STATE + </h3> + <p> + We should have made the run of 960 miles from Philadelphia to St. Louis in + thirty-six hours, but we had a collision and bad locomotive smash about + two-thirds of the way, which set us back. So merely stopping over night + that time in St. Louis, I sped on westward. As I cross'd Missouri State + the whole distance by the St. Louis and Kansas City Northern Railroad, a + fine early autumn day, I thought my eyes had never looked on scenes of + greater pastoral beauty. For over two hundred miles successive rolling + prairies, agriculturally perfect view'd by Pennsylvania and New Jersey + eyes, and dotted here and there with fine timber. Yet fine as the land is, + it isn't the finest portion; (there is a bed of impervious clay and + hard-pan beneath this section that holds water too firmly, "drowns the + land in wet weather, and bakes it in dry," as a cynical farmer told me.) + South are some richer tracts, though perhaps the beauty-spots of the State + are the northwestern counties. Altogether, I am clear, (now, and from what + I have seen and learn'd since,) that Missouri, in climate, soil, relative + situation, wheat, grass, mines, railroads, and every important + materialistic respect, stands in the front rank of the Union. Of Missouri + averaged politically and socially I have heard all sorts of talk, some + pretty severe—but I should have no fear myself of getting along + safely and comfortably anywhere among the Missourians. They raise a good + deal of tobacco. You see at this time quantities of the light + greenish-gray leaves pulled and hanging out to dry on temporary frameworks + or rows of sticks. Looks much like the mullein familiar to eastern eyes. + </p> + <h3> + LAWRENCE AND TOPEKA, KANSAS + </h3> + <p> + We thought of stopping in Kansas City, but when we got there we found a + train ready and a crowd of hospitable Kansians to take us on to Lawrence, + to which I proceeded. I shall not soon forget my good days in L., in + company with Judge Usher and his sons, (especially John and Linton,) true + westerners of the noblest type. Nor the similar days in Topeka. Nor the + brotherly kindness of my RR. friends there, and the city and State + officials. Lawrence and Topeka are large, bustling, half-rural, handsome + cities. I took two or three long drives about the latter, drawn by a + spirited team over smooth roads. + </p> + <p> + THE PRAIRIES (<i>and an Undeliver'd Speech</i>) + </p> + <p> + At a large popular meeting at Topeka—the Kansas State Silver + Wedding, fifteen or twenty thousand people—I had been erroneously + bill'd to deliver a poem. As I seem'd to be made much of, and wanted to be + good-natured, I hastily pencill'd out the following little speech. + Unfortunately, (or fortunately,) I had such a good time and rest, and talk + and dinner, with the U. boys, that I let the hours slip away and didn't + drive over to the meeting and speak my piece. But here it is just the + same: + </p> + <p> + "My friends, your bills announce me as giving a poem; but I have no poem—have + composed none for this occasion. And I can honestly say I am now glad of + it. Under these skies resplendent in September beauty—amid the + peculiar landscape you are used to, but which is new to me—these + interminable and stately prairies—in the freedom and vigor and sane + enthusiasm of this perfect western air and autumn sunshine—it seems + to me a poem would be almost an impertinence. But if you care to have a + word from me, I should speak it about these very prairies; they impress me + most, of all the objective shows I see or have seen on this, my first real + visit to the West. As I have roll'd rapidly hither for more than a + thousand miles, through fair Ohio, through bread-raising Indiana and + Illinois—through ample Missouri, that contains and raises + everything; as I have partially explor'd your charming city during the + last two days, and, standing on Oread hill, by the university, have + launch'd my view across broad expanses of living green, in every direction—I + have again been most impress'd, I say, and shall remain for the rest of my + life most impress'd, with that feature of the topography of your western + central world—that vast Something, stretching out on its own + unbounded scale, unconfined, which there is in these prairies, combining + the real and ideal, and beautiful as dreams. + </p> + <p> + "I wonder indeed if the people of this continental inland West know how + much of first-class <i>art</i> they have in these prairies—how + original and all your own—how much of the influences of a character + for your future humanity, broad, patriotic, heroic and new? how entirely + they tally on land the grandeur and superb monotony of the skies of + heaven, and the ocean with its waters? how freeing, soothing, nourishing + they are to the soul? + </p> + <p> + "Then is it not subtly they who have given us our leading modern + Americans, Lincoln and Grant?—vast-spread, average men—their + foregrounds of character altogether practical and real, yet (to those who + have eyes to see) with finest backgrounds of the ideal, towering high as + any. And do we not see, in them, foreshadowings of the future races that + shall fill these prairies? + </p> + <p> + "Not but what the Yankee and Atlantic States, and every other part—Texas, + and the States flanking the south-east and the Gulf of Mexico—the + Pacific shore empire—the Territories and Lakes, and the Canada line + (the day is not yet, but it will come, including Canada entire)—are + equally and integrally and indissolubly this Nation, the <i>sine qua non</i> + of the human, political and commercial New World. But this favor'd central + area of (in round numbers) two thousand miles square seems fated to be the + home both of what I would call America's distinctive ideas and distinctive + realities." + </p> + <h3> + ON TO DENVER—A FRONTIER INCIDENT + </h3> + <p> + The jaunt of five or six hundred miles from Topeka to Denver took me + through a variety of country, but all unmistakably prolific, western, + American, and on the largest scale. For a long distance we follow the line + of the Kansas river, (I like better the old name, Kaw,) a stretch of very + rich, dark soil, famed for its wheat, and call'd the Golden Belt—then + plains and plains, hour after hour—Ellsworth county, the centre of + the State—where I must stop a moment to tell a characteristic story + of early days—scene the very spot where I am passing—time + 1868. In a scrimmage at some public gathering in the town, A. had shot B. + quite badly, but had not kill'd him. The sober men of Ellsworth conferr'd + with one another and decided that A. deserv'd punishment. As they wished + to set a good example and establish their reputation the reverse of a + Lynching town, they open an informal court and bring both men before them + for deliberate trial. Soon as this trial begins the wounded man is led + forward to give his testimony. Seeing his enemy in durance and unarm'd, B. + walks suddenly up in a fury and shoots A. through the head—shoots + him dead. The court is instantly adjourn'd, and its unanimous members, + without a word of debate, walk the murderer B. out, wounded as he is, and + hang him. + </p> + <p> + In due time we reach Denver, which city I fall in love with from the + first, and have that feeling confirm'd, the longer I stay there. One of my + pleasantest days was a jaunt, via Platte cañon, to Leadville. + </p> + <h3> + AN HOUR ON KENOSHA SUMMIT + </h3> + <p> + Jottings from the Rocky Mountains, mostly pencill'd during a day's trip + over the South Park RR., returning from Leadville, and especially the hour + we were detain'd, (much to my satisfaction,) at Kenosha summit. As + afternoon advances, novelties, far-reaching splendors, accumulate under + the bright sun in this pure air. But I had better commence with the day. + </p> + <p> + The confronting of Platte cañon just at dawn, after a ten miles' ride in + early darkness on the rail from Denver—the seasonable stoppage at + the entrance of the cañon, and good breakfast of eggs, trout, and nice + griddle-cakes—then as we travel on, and get well in the gorge, all + the wonders, beauty, savage power of the scene—the wild stream of + water, from sources of snows, brawling continually in sight one side—the + dazzling sun, and the morning lights on the rocks—such turns and + grades in the track, squirming around corners, or up and down hills—far + glimpses of a hundred peaks, titanic necklaces, stretching north and south—the + huge rightly-named Dome-rock—and as we dash along, others similar, + simple, monolithic, elephantine. + </p> + <h3> + AN EGOTISTICAL "FIND" + </h3> + <p> + "I have found the law of my own poems," was the unspoken but more-and-more + decided feeling that came to me as I pass'd, hour after hour, amid all + this grim yet joyous elemental abandon—this plenitude of material, + entire absence of art, untrammel'd play of primitive Nature—the + chasm, the gorge, the crystal mountain stream, repeated scores, hundreds + of miles—the broad handling and absolute uncrampedness—the + fantastic forms, bathed in transparent browns, faint reds and grays, + towering sometimes a thousand, sometimes two or three thousand feet high—at + their tops now and then huge masses pois'd, and mixing with the clouds, + with only their outlines, hazed in misty lilac, visible. ("In Nature's + grandest shows," says an old Dutch writer, an ecclesiastic, "amid the + ocean's depth, if so might be, or countless worlds rolling above at night, + a man thinks of them, weighs all, not for themselves or the abstract, but + with reference to his own personality, and how they may affect him or + color his destinies.") + </p> + <h3> + NEW SENSES: NEW JOYS + </h3> + <p> + We follow the stream of amber and bronze brawling along its bed, with its + frequent cascades and snow-white foam. Through the cañon we fly—mountains + not only each side, but seemingly, till we get near, right in front of us—every + rood a new view flashing, and each flash defying description—on the + almost perpendicular sides, clinging pines, cedars, spruces, crimson + sumach bushes, spots of wild grass—but dominating all, those + towering rocks, rocks, rocks, bathed in delicate vari-colors, with the + clear sky of autumn overhead. New senses, new joys, seem develop'd. Talk + as you like, a typical Rocky Mountain cañon, or a limitless sea-like + stretch of the great Kansas or Colorado plains, under favoring + circumstances, tallies, perhaps expresses, certainly awakes, those + grandest and subtlest element-emotions in the human soul, that all the + marble temples and sculptures from Phidias to Thorwaldsen—all + paintings, poems, reminiscences, or even music, probably never can. + </p> + <h3> + STEAM-POWER, TELEGRAPHS, ETC + </h3> + <p> + I get out on a ten minutes' stoppage at Deer creek, to enjoy the unequal'd + combination of hill, stone and wood. As we speed again, the yellow granite + in the sunshine, with natural spires, minarets, castellated perches far + aloft—then long stretches of straight-upright palisades, rhinoceros + color—then gamboge and tinted chromos. Ever the best of my pleasures + the cool-fresh Colorado atmosphere, yet sufficiently warm. Signs of man's + restless advent and pioneerage, hard as Nature's face is—deserted + dug-outs by dozens in the side-hills—the scantling-hut, the + telegraph-pole, the smoke of some impromptu chimney or outdoor fire—at + intervals little settlements of log-houses, or parties of surveyors or + telegraph builders, with their comfortable tents. Once, a canvas office + where you could send a message by electricity anywhere around the world! + Yes, pronounc'd signs of the man of latest dates, dauntlessly grappling + with these grisliest shows of the old kosmos. At several places steam + saw-mills, with their piles of logs and boards, and the pipes puffing. + Occasionally Platte cañon expanding into a grassy flat of a few acres. At + one such place, toward the end, where we stop, and I get out to stretch my + legs, as I look skyward, or rather mountain-topward, a huge hawk or eagle + (a rare sight here) is idly soaring, balancing along the ether, now + sinking low and coming quite near, and then up again in stately-languid + circles—then higher, higher, slanting to the north, and gradually + out of sight. + </p> + <h3> + AMERICA'S BACK-BONE + </h3> + <p> + I jot these lines literally at Kenosha summit, where we return, afternoon, + and take a long rest, 10,000 feet above sea-level. At this immense height + the South Park stretches fifty miles before me. Mountainous chains and + peaks in every variety of perspective, every hue of vista, fringe the + view, in nearer, or middle, or far-dim distance, or fade on the horizon. + We have now reach'd, penetrated the Rockies, (Hayden calls it the Front + Range,) for a hundred miles or so; and though these chains spread away in + every direction, specially north and south, thousands and thousands + farther, I have seen specimens of the utmost of them, and know henceforth + at least what they are, and what they look like. Not themselves alone, for + they typify stretches and areas of half the globe—are, in fact, the + vertebrae or back-bone of our hemisphere. As the anatomists say a man is + only a spine, topp'd, footed, breasted and radiated, so the whole Western + world is, in a sense, but an expansion of these mountains. In South + America they are the Andes, in Central America and Mexico the Cordilleras, + and in our States they go under different names—in California the + Coast and Cascade ranges—thence more eastwardly the Sierra Nevadas—but + mainly and more centrally here the Rocky Mountains proper, with many an + elevation such as Lincoln's, Grey's, Harvard's, Yale's, Long's and Pike's + peaks, all over 14,000 feet high. (East, the highest peaks of the + Alleghanies, the Adirondacks, the Catskills, and the White Mountains, + range from 2000 to 5500 feet-only Mount Washington, in the latter, 6300 + feet.) + </p> + <h3> + THE PARKS + </h3> + <p> + In the midst of all here, lie such beautiful contrasts as the sunken + basins of the North, Middle, and South Parks, (the latter I am now on one + side of, and overlooking,) each the size of a large, level, almost + quandrangular, grassy, western county, wall'd in by walls of hills, and + each park the source of a river. The ones I specify are the largest in + Colorado, but the whole of that State, and of Wyoming, Utah, Nevada and + western California, through their sierras and ravines, are copiously + mark'd by similar spreads and openings, many of the small ones of + paradisiac loveliness and perfection, with their offsets of mountains, + streams, atmosphere and hues beyond compare. + </p> + <h3> + ART FEATURES + </h3> + <p> + Talk, I say again, of going to Europe, of visiting the ruins of feudal + castles, or Coliseum remains, or kings' palaces—when you can come <i>here</i>. + The alternations one gets, too; after the Illinois and Kansas prairies of + a thousand miles—smooth and easy areas of the corn and wheat of ten + million democratic farms in the future——here start up in every + conceivable presentation of shape, these non-utilitarian piles, coping the + skies, emanating a beauty, terror, power, more than Dante or Angelo ever + knew. Yes, I think the chyle of not only poetry and painting, but oratory, + and even the metaphysics and music fit for the New World, before being + finally assimilated, need first and feeding visits here. + </p> + <p> + <i>Mountain streams.</i>—The spiritual contrast and etheriality of + the whole region consist largely to me in its never-absent peculiar + streams—the snows of inaccessible upper areas melting and running + down through the gorges continually. Nothing like the water of pastoral + plains, or creeks with wooded banks and turf, or anything of the kind + elsewhere. The shapes that element takes in the shows of the globe cannot + be fully understood by an artist until he has studied these unique + rivulets. + </p> + <p> + <i>Aerial effects.</i>—But perhaps as I gaze around me the rarest + sight of all is in atmospheric hues. The prairies—as I cross'd them + in my journey hither—and these mountains and parks, seem to me to + afford new lights and shades. Everywhere the aerial gradations and + sky-effects inimitable; nowhere else such perspectives, such transparent + lilacs and grays. I can conceive of some superior landscape painter, some + fine colorist, after sketching awhile out here, discarding all his + previous work, delightful to stock exhibition amateurs, as muddy, raw and + artificial. Near one's eye ranges an infinite variety; high up, the bare + whitey-brown, above timber line; in certain spots afar patches of snow any + time of year; (no trees, no flowers, no birds, at those chilling + altitudes.) As I write I see the Snowy Range through the blue mist, + beautiful and far off, I plainly see the patches of snow. + </p> + <h3> + DENVER IMPRESSIONS + </h3> + <p> + Through the long-lingering half-light of the most superb of evenings we + return'd to Denver, where I staid several days leisurely exploring, + receiving impressions, with which I may as well taper off this memorandum, + itemizing what I saw there. The best was the men, three-fourths of them + large, able, calm, alert, American. And cash! why they create it here. Out + in the smelting works, (the biggest and most improv'd ones, for the + precious metals, in the world,) I saw long rows of vats, pans, cover'd by + bubbling-boiling water, and fill'd with pure silver, four or five inches + thick, many thousand dollars' worth in a pan. The foreman who was showing + me shovel'd it carelessly up with a little wooden shovel, as one might + toss beans. Then large silver bricks, worth $2000 a brick, dozens of + piles, twenty in a pile. In one place in the mountains, at a mining camp, + I had a few days before seen rough bullion on the ground in the open air, + like the confectioner's pyramids at some swell dinner in New York. (Such a + sweet morsel to roll over with a poor author's pen and ink—and + appropriate to slip in here—that the silver product of Colorado and + Utah, with the gold product of California, New Mexico, Nevada and Dakota, + foots up an addition to the world's coin of considerably over a hundred + millions every year.) + </p> + <p> + A city, this Denver, well-laid out—Laramie street, and 15th and 16th + and Champa streets, with others, particularly fine—some with tall + storehouses of stone or iron, and windows of plate-glass—all the + streets with little canals of mountain water running along the sides—plenty + of people, "business," modernness—yet not without a certain racy + wild smack, all its own. A place of fast horses, (many mares with their + colts,) and I saw lots of big greyhounds for antelope hunting. Now and + then groups of miners, some just come in, some starting out, very + picturesque. + </p> + <p> + One of the papers here interview'd me, and reported me as saying off-hand: + "I have lived in or visited all the great cities on the Atlantic third of + the republic—Boston, Brooklyn with its hills, New Orleans, + Baltimore, stately Washington, broad Philadelphia, teeming Cincinnati and + Chicago, and for thirty years in that wonder, wash'd by hurried and + glittering tides, my own New York, not only the New World's but the + world's city—but, newcomer to Denver as I am, and threading its + streets, breathing its air, warm'd by its sunshine, and having what there + is of its human as well as aerial ozone flash'd upon me now for only three + or four days, I am very much like a man feels sometimes toward certain + people he meets with, and warms to, and hardly knows why. I, too, can + hardly tell why, but as I enter'd the city in the slight haze of a late + September afternoon, and have breath'd its air, and slept well o' nights, + and have roam'd or rode leisurely, and watch'd the comers and goers at the + hotels, and absorb'd the climatic magnetism of this curiously attractive + region, there has steadily grown upon me a feeling of affection for the + spot, which, sudden as it is, has become so definite and strong that I + must put it on record." + </p> + <p> + So much for my feeling toward the Queen city of the plains and peaks, + where she sits in her delicious rare atmosphere, over 5000 feet above + sea-level, irrigated by mountain streams, one way looking east over the + prairies for a thousand miles, and having the other, westward, in constant + view by day, draped in their violet haze, mountain tops innumerable. Yes, + I fell in love with Denver, and even felt a wish to spend my declining and + dying days there. + </p> + <h3> + I TURN SOUTH AND THEN EAST AGAIN + </h3> + <p> + Leave Denver at 8 A.M. by the Rio Grande RR. going south. Mountains + constantly in sight in the apparently near distance, veil'd slightly, but + still clear and very grand—their cones, colors, sides, distinct + against the sky—hundreds, it seem'd thousands, interminable + necklaces of them, their tops and slopes hazed more or less slightly in + that blue-gray, under the autumn sun, for over a hundred miles—the + most spiritual show of objective Nature I ever beheld, or ever thought + possible. Occasionally the light strengthens, making a contrast of + yellow-tinged silver on one side, with dark and shaded gray on the other. + I took a long look at Pike's peak, and was a little disappointed. (I + suppose I had expected something stunning.) Our view over plains to the + left stretches amply, with corrals here and there, the frequent cactus and + wild sage, and herds of cattle feeding. Thus about 120 miles to Pueblo. At + that town we board the comfortable and well-equipt Atchison, Topeka and + Santa Fe RR., now striking east. + </p> + <h3> + UNFULFILLED WANTS—THE ARKANSAS RIVER + </h3> + <p> + I had wanted to go to the Yellowstone river region—wanted specially + to see the National Park, and the geysers and the "hoodoo" or goblin land + of that country; indeed, hesitated a little at Pueblo, the turning point—wanted + to thread the Veta pass—wanted to go over the Santa Fe trail away + southwestward to New Mexico—but turn'd and set my face eastward—leaving + behind me whetting glimpse-tastes of southeastern Colorado, Pueblo, Bald + mountain, the Spanish peaks, Sangre de Christos, Mile-Shoe-curve (which my + veteran friend on the locomotive told me was "the boss railroad curve of + the universe,") fort Garland on the plains, Veta, and the three great + peaks of the Sierra Blancas. The Arkansas river plays quite a part in the + whole of this region—I see it, or its high-cut rocky northern shore, + for miles, and cross and recross it frequently, as it winds and squirms + like a snake. The plains vary here even more than usual—sometimes a + long sterile stretch of scores of miles—then green, fertile and + grassy, an equal length. Some very large herds of sheep. (One wants new + words in writing about these plains, and all the inland American West—the + terms, <i>far, large, vast</i>, &c., are insufficient.) + </p> + <h3> + A SILENT LITTLE FOLLOWER-THE COREOPSIS + </h3> + <p> + Here I must say a word about a little follower, present even now before my + eyes. I have been accompanied on my whole journey from Barnegat to Pike's + peak by a pleasant floricultural friend, or rather millions of friends—nothing + more or less than a hardy little yellow five-petal'd September and October + wild-flower, growing I think everywhere in the middle and northern United + States. I had seen it on the Hudson and over Long Island, and along the + banks of the Delaware and through New Jersey, (as years ago up the + Connecticut, and one fall by Lake Champlain.) This trip it follow'd me + regularly, with its slender stem and eyes of gold, from Cape May to the + Kaw valley, and so through the cañons and to these plains. In Missouri I + saw immense fields all bright with it. Toward western Illinois I woke up + one morning in the sleeper and the first thing when I drew the curtain of + my berth and look'd out was its pretty countenance and bending neck. + </p> + <p> + <i>Sept. 25th</i>.—Early morning—still going east after we + leave Sterling, Kansas, where I stopp'd a day and night. The sun up about + half an hour; nothing can be fresher or more beautiful than this time, + this region. I see quite a field of my yellow flower in full bloom. At + intervals dots of nice two-story houses, as we ride swiftly by. Over the + immense area, flat as a floor, visible for twenty miles in every direction + in the clear air, a prevalence of autumn-drab and reddish-tawny herbage—sparse + stacks of hay and enclosures, breaking the landscape—as we rumble + by, flocks of prairie-hens starting up. Between Sterling and Florence a + fine country. (Remembrances to E. L., my old-young soldier friend of war + times, and his wife and boy at S.) + </p> + <h3> + THE PRAIRIES AND GREAT PLAINS IN POETRY + </h3> + <p> + (<i>After traveling Illinois, Missouri, Kansas and Colorado</i>) Grand as + is the thought that doubtless the child is already born who will see a + hundred millions of people, the most prosperous and advanc'd of the world, + inhabiting these Prairies, the great Plains, and the valley of the + Mississippi, I could not help thinking it would be grander still to see + all those inimitable American areas fused in the alembic of a perfect + poem, or other esthetic work, entirely western, fresh and limitless—altogether + our own, without a trace or taste of Europe's soil, reminiscence, + technical letter or spirit. My days and nights, as I travel here—what + an exhilaration!—not the air alone, and the sense of vastness, but + every local sight and feature. Everywhere something characteristic—the + cactuses, pinks, buffalo grass, wild sage—the receding perspective, + and the far circle-line of the horizon all times of day, especially + forenoon—the clear, pure, cool, rarefied nutriment for the lungs, + previously quite unknown—the black patches and streaks left by + surface-conflagrations—the deep-plough'd furrow of the "fire-guard"—the + slanting snow-racks built all along to shield the railroad from winter + drifts—the prairie-dogs and the herds of antelope—the curious + "dry rivers"—occasionally a "dug-out" or corral—Fort Riley and + Fort Wallace—those towns of the northern plains, (like ships on the + sea,) Eagle-Tail, Coyoté, Cheyenne, Agate, Monotony, Kit Carson—with + ever the ant-hill and the buffalo-wallow—ever the herds of cattle + and the cow-boys ("cow-punchers") to me a strangely interesting class, + bright-eyed as hawks, with their swarthy complexions and their + broad-brimm'd hats—apparently always on horseback, with loose arms + slightly raised and swinging as they ride. + </p> + <h3> + THE SPANISH PEAKS—EVENING ON THE PLAINS + </h3> + <p> + Between Pueblo and Bent's fort, southward, in a clear afternoon sun-spell + I catch exceptionally good glimpses of the Spanish peaks. We are in + southeastern Colorado—pass immense herds of cattle as our + first-class locomotive rushes us along—two or three times crossing + the Arkansas, which we follow many miles, and of which river I get fine + views, sometimes for quite a distance, its stony, upright, not very high, + palisade banks, and then its muddy flats. We pass Fort Lyon—lots of + adobie houses—limitless pasturage, appropriately fleck'd with those + herds of cattle—in due time the declining sun in the west—a + sky of limpid pearl over all—and so evening on the great plains. A + calm, pensive, boundless landscape—the perpendicular rocks of the + north Arkansas, hued in twilight—a thin line of violet on the + southwestern horizon—the palpable coolness and slight aroma—a + belated cow-boy with some unruly member of his herd—an emigrant + wagon toiling yet a little further, the horses slow and tired—two + men, apparently father and son, jogging along on foot—and around all + the indescribable <i>chiaroscuro</i> and sentiment, (profounder than + anything at sea,) athwart these endless wilds. + </p> + <h3> + AMERICA'S CHARACTERISTIC LANDSCAPE + </h3> + <p> + Speaking generally as to the capacity and sure future destiny of that + plain and prairie area (larger than any European kingdom) it is the + inexhaustible land of wheat, maize, wool, flax, coal, iron, beef and pork, + butter and cheese, apples and grapes—land of ten million virgin + farms—to the eye at present wild and unproductive—yet experts + say that upon it when irrigated may easily be grown enough wheat to feed + the world. Then as to scenery (giving my own thought and feeling,) while I + know the standard claim is that Yosemite, Niagara falls, the upper + Yellowstone and the like, afford the greatest natural shows, I am not so + sure but the Prairies and the Plains, while less stunning at first sight, + last longer, fill the esthetic sense fuller, precede all the rest, and + make North America's characteristic landscape. + </p> + <p> + Indeed through the whole of this journey, with all its shows and + varieties, what most impress'd me, and will longest remain with me, are + these same prairies. Day after day, and night after night, to my eyes, to + all my senses—the esthetic one most of all—they silently and + broadly unfolded. Even their simplest statistics are sublime. + </p> + <h3> + EARTH'S MOST IMPORTANT STREAM + </h3> + <p> + The valley of the Mississippi river and its tributaries, (this stream and + its adjuncts involve a big part of the question,) comprehends more than + twelve hundred thousand square miles, the greater part prairies. It is by + far the most important stream on the globe, and would seem to have been + marked out by design, slow-flowing from north to south, through a dozen + climates, all fitted for man's healthy occupancy, its outlet unfrozen all + the year, and its line forming a safe, cheap continental avenue for + commerce and passage from the north temperate to the torrid zone. Not even + the mighty Amazon (though larger in volume) on its line of east and west—not + the Nile in Africa, nor the Danube in Europe, nor the three great rivers + of China, compare with it. Only the Mediterranean sea has play'd some such + part in history, and all through the past, as the Mississippi is destined + to play in the future. By its demesnes, water'd and welded by its + branches, the Missouri, the Ohio, the Arkansas, the Red, the Yazoo, the + St. Francis and others, it already compacts twenty-five millions of + people, not merely the most peaceful and money-making, but the most + restless and warlike on earth. Its valley, or reach, is rapidly + concentrating the political power of the American Union. One almost thinks + it <i>is</i> the Union—or soon will be. Take it out, with its + radiations, and what would be left? From the car windows through Indiana, + Illinois, Missouri, or stopping some days along the Topeka and Santa Fe + road, in southern Kansas, and indeed wherever I went, hundreds and + thousands of miles through this region, my eyes feasted on primitive and + rich meadows, some of them partially inhabited, but far, immensely far + more untouch'd, unbroken—and much of it more lovely and fertile in + its unplough'd innocence than the fair and valuable fields of New York's, + Pennsylvania's, Maryland's or Virginia's richest farms. + </p> + <h3> + PRAIRIE ANALOGIES—THE TREE QUESTION + </h3> + <p> + The word Prairie is French, and means literally meadow. The cosmical + analogies of our North American plains are the Steppes of Asia, the Pampas + and Llanos of South America, and perhaps the Saharas of Africa. Some think + the plains have been originally lake-beds; others attribute the absence of + forests to the fires that almost annually sweep over them—(the + cause, in vulgar estimation, of Indian summer.) The tree question will + soon become a grave one. Although the Atlantic slope, the Rocky mountain + region, and the southern portion of the Mississippi valley, are well + wooded, there are here stretches of hundreds and thousands of miles where + either not a tree grows, or often useless destruction has prevail'd; and + the matter of the cultivation and spread of forests may well be press'd + upon thinkers who look to the coming generations of the prairie States. + </p> + <h3> + MISSISSIPPI VALLEY LITERATURE + </h3> + <p> + Lying by one rainy day in Missouri to rest after quite a long exploration—first + trying a big volume I found there of "Milton, Young, Gray, Beattie and + Collins," but giving it up for a bad job—enjoying however for + awhile, as often before, the reading of Walter Scott's poems, "Lay of the + Last Minstrel," "Marmion," and so on—I stopp'd and laid down the + book, and ponder'd the thought of a poetry that should in due time express + and supply the teeming region I was in the midst of, and have briefly + touch'd upon. One's mind needs but a moment's deliberation anywhere in the + United States to see clearly enough that all the prevalent book and + library poets, either as imported from Great Britain, or follow'd and <i>doppel-gang'd</i> + here, are foreign to our States, copiously as they are read by us all. But + to fully understand not only how absolutely in opposition to our times and + lands, and how little and cramp'd, and what anachronisms and absurdities + many of their pages are, for American purposes, one must dwell or travel + awhile in Missouri, Kansas and Colorado, and get rapport with their people + and country. + </p> + <p> + Will the day ever come—no matter how long deferr'd—when those + models and lay-figures from the British islands—and even the + precious traditions of the classics—will be reminiscences, studies + only? The pure breath, primitiveness, boundless prodigality and amplitude, + strange mixture of delicacy and power, of continence, of real and ideal, + and of all original and first-class elements, of these prairies, the Rocky + mountains, and of the Mississippi and Missouri rivers—will they ever + appear in, and in some sort form a standard for our poetry and art? (I + sometimes think that even the ambition of my friend Joaquin Miller to put + them in, and illustrate them, places him ahead of the whole crowd.) + </p> + <p> + Not long ago I was down New York bay, on a steamer, watching the sunset + over the dark green heights of Navesink, and viewing all that inimitable + spread of shore, shipping and sea, around Sandy Hook. But an intervening + week or two, and my eyes catch the shadowy outlines of the Spanish peaks. + In the more than two thousand miles between, though of infinite and + paradoxical variety, a curious and absolute fusion is doubtless steadily + annealing, compacting, identifying all. But subtler and wider and more + solid, (to produce such compaction,) than the laws of the States, or the + common ground of Congress, or the Supreme Court, or the grim welding of + our national wars, or the steel ties of railroads, or all the kneading and + fusing processes of our material and business history, past or present, + would in my opinion be a great throbbing, vital, imaginative work, or + series of works, or literature, in constructing which the Plains, the + Prairies, and the Mississippi river, with the demesnes of its varied and + ample valley, should be the concrete background, and America's humanity, + passions, struggles, hopes, there and now—an <i>eclaircissement</i> + as it is and is to be, on the stage of the New World, of all Time's + hitherto drama of war, romance and evolution—should furnish the + lambent fire, the ideal. + </p> + <h3> + AN INTERVIEWER'S ITEM + </h3> + <p> + <i>Oct. 17, '79</i>.—To-day one of the newspapers of St. Louis + prints the following informal remarks of mine on American, especially + Western literature: "We called on Mr. Whitman yesterday and after a + somewhat desultory conversation abruptly asked him: 'Do you think we are + to have a distinctively American literature?' 'It seems to me,' said + he,'that our work at present is to lay the foundations of a great nation + in products, in agriculture, in commerce, in networks of + intercommunication, and in all that relates to the comforts of vast masses + of men and families, with freedom of speech, ecclesiasticism, &c. + These we have founded and are carrying out on a grander scale than ever + hitherto, and Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, Missouri, Kansas and Colorado, seem + to me to be the seat and field of these very facts and ideas. + Materialistic prosperity in all its varied forms, with those other points + that I mentioned, intercommunication and freedom, are first to be attended + to. When those have their results and get settled, then a literature + worthy of us will begin to be defined. Our American superiority and + vitality are in the bulk of our people, not in a gentry like the old + world. The greatness of our army during the secession war, was in the rank + and file, and so with the nation. Other lands have their vitality in a + few, a class, but we have it in the bulk of the people. Our leading men + are not of much account and never have been, but the average of the people + is immense, beyond all history. Sometimes I think in all departments, + literature and art included, that will be the way our superiority will + exhibit itself. We will not have great individuals or great leaders, but a + great average bulk, unprecedentedly great.'" + </p> + <h3> + THE WOMEN OF THE WEST + </h3> + <p> + <i>Kansas City</i>.—I am not so well satisfied with what I see of + the women of the prairie cities. I am writing this where I sit leisurely + in a store in Main street, Kansas City, a streaming crowd on the sidewalks + flowing by. The ladies (and the same in Denver) are all fashionably drest, + and have the look of "gentility" in face, manner and action, but they do + <i>not</i> have, either in physique or the mentality appropriate to them, + any high native originality of spirit or body, (as the men certainly have, + appropriate to them.) They are "intellectual" and fashionable, but + dyspeptic-looking and generally doll-like; their ambition evidently is to + copy their eastern sisters. Something far different and in advance must + appear, to tally and complete the superb masculinity of the west, and + maintain and continue it. + </p> + <h3> + THE SILENT GENERAL + </h3> + <p> + <i>Sept. 28, '79</i>.—So General Grant, after circumambiating the + world, has arrived home again, landed in San Francisco yesterday, from the + ship City of Tokio from Japan. What a man he is! what a history! what an + illustration—his life—of the capacities of that American + individuality common to us all. Cynical critics are wondering "what the + people can see in Grant" to make such a hubbub about. They aver (and it is + no doubt true) that he has hardly the average of our day's literary and + scholastic culture, and absolutely no pronounc'd genius or conventional + eminence of any sort. Correct: but he proves how an average western + farmer, mechanic, boatman, carried by tides of circumstances, perhaps + caprices, into a position of incredible military or civic + responsibilities, (history has presented none more trying, no born + monarch's, no mark more shining for attack or envy,) may steer his way + fitly and steadily through them all, carrying the country and himself with + credit year after year—command over a million armed men—fight + more than fifty pitch'd battles—rule for eight years a land larger + than all the kingdoms of Europe combined—and then, retiring, quietly + (with a cigar in his mouth) make the promenade of the whole world, through + its courts and coteries, and kings and czars and mikados, and splendidest + glitters and etiquettes, as phlegmatically as he ever walk'd the portico + of a Missouri hotel after dinner. I say all this is what people like—and + I am sure I like it. Seems to me it transcends Plutarch. How those old + Greeks, indeed, would have seized on him! A mere plain man—no art, + no poetry—only practical sense, ability to do, or try his best to + do, what devolv'd upon him. A common trader, money-maker, tanner, farmer + of Illinois—general for the republic, in its terrific struggle with + itself, in the war of attempted secession—President following, (a + task of peace, more difficult than the war itself)—nothing heroic, + as the authorities put it—and yet the greatest hero. The gods, the + destinies, seem to have concentrated upon him. + </p> + <h3> + PRESIDENT HAYES'S SPEECHES + </h3> + <p> + <i>Sept. 30</i>.—I see President Hayes has come out West, passing + quite informally from point to point, with his wife and a small cortege of + big officers, receiving ovations, and making daily and sometimes + double-daily addresses to the people. To these addresses—all + impromptu, and some would call them ephemeral—I feel to devote a + memorandum. They are shrewd, good-natur'd, face-to-face speeches, on easy + topics not too deep; but they give me some revised ideas of oratory—of + a new, opportune theory and practice of that art, quite changed from the + classic rules, and adapted to our days, our occasions, to American + democracy, and to the swarming populations of the West. I hear them + criticised as wanting in dignity, but to me they are just what they should + be, considering all the circumstances, who they come from, and who they + are address'd to. Underneath, his objects are to compact and fraternize + the States, encourage their materialistic and industrial development, + soothe and expand their self-poise, and tie all and each with resistless + double ties not only of inter-trade barter, but human comradeship. + </p> + <p> + From Kansas City I went on to St. Louis, where I remain'd nearly three + months, with my brother T.J.W., and my dear nieces. + </p> + <h3> + ST. LOUIS MEMORANDA + </h3> + <p> + <i>Oct., Nov., and Dec., '79</i>.—The points of St. Louis are its + position, its absolute wealth, (the long accumulations of time and trade, + solid riches, probably a higher average thereof than any city,) the + unrivall'd amplitude of its well-laid-out environage of broad plateaus, + for future expansion—and the great State of which it is the head. It + fuses northern and southern qualities, perhaps native and foreign ones, to + perfection, rendezvous the whole stretch of the Mississippi and Missouri + rivers, and its American electricity goes well with its German phlegm. + Fourth, Fifth and Third streets are store-streets, showy, modern, + metropolitan, with hurrying crowds, vehicles, horse-cars, hubbub, plenty + of people, rich goods, plate-glass windows, iron fronts often five or six + stories high. You can purchase anything in St. Louis (in most of the big + western cities for the matter of that) just as readily and cheaply as in + the Atlantic marts. Often in going about the town you see reminders of + old, even decay'd civilization. The water of the west, in some places, is + not good, but they make it up here by plenty of very fair wine, and + inexhaustible quantities of the best beer in the world. There are immense + establishments for slaughtering beef and pork—and I saw flocks of + sheep, 5000 in a flock. (In Kansas City I had visited a packing + establishment that kills and packs an average of 2500 hogs a day the whole + year round, for export. Another in Atchison, Kansas, same extent; others + nearly equal elsewhere. And just as big ones here.) + </p> + <h3> + NIGHTS ON THE MISSISSIPPI + </h3> + <p> + <i>Oct. 29th, 30th, and 31st</i>.—Wonderfully fine, with the full + harvest moon, dazzling and silvery. I have haunted the river every night + lately, where I could get a look at the bridge by moonlight. It is indeed + a structure of perfection and beauty unsurpassable, and I never tire of + it. The river at present is very low; I noticed to-day it had much more of + a blue-clear look than usual. I hear the slight ripples, the air is fresh + and cool, and the view, up or down, wonderfully clear, in the moonlight. I + am out pretty late: it is so fascinating, dreamy. The cool night-air, all + the influences, the silence, with those far-off eternal stars, do me good. + I have been quite ill of late. And so, well-near the centre of our + national demesne, these night views of the Mississippi. + </p> + <h3> + UPON OUR OWN LAND + </h3> + <p> + "Always, after supper, take a walk half a mile long," says an old proverb, + dryly adding, "and if convenient let it be upon your own land." I wonder + does any other nation but ours afford opportunity for such a jaunt as + this? Indeed has any previous period afforded it? No one, I discover, + begins to know the real geographic, democratic, indissoluble American + Union in the present, or suspect it in the future, until he explores these + Central States, and dwells awhile observantly on their prairies, or amid + their busy towns, and the mighty father of waters. A ride of two or three + thousand miles, "on one's own land," with hardly a disconnection, could + certainly be had in no other place than the United States, and at no + period before this. If you want to see what the railroad is, and how + civilization and progress date from it—how it is the conqueror of + crude nature, which it turns to man's use, both on small scales and on the + largest—come hither to inland America. + </p> + <p> + I return'd home, east, Jan. 5, 1880, having travers'd, to and fro and + across, 10,000 miles and more. I soon resumed my seclusions down in the + woods, or by the creek, or gaddings about cities, and an occasional + disquisition, as will be seen following. + </p> + <h3> + EDGAR POE'S SIGNIFICANCE + </h3> + <p> + <i>Jan. 1, '80</i>.—In diagnosing this disease called humanity—to + assume for the nonce what seems a chief mood of the personality and + writings of my subject—I have thought that poets, somewhere or other + on the list, present the most mark'd indications. Comprehending artists in + a mass, musicians, painters, actors, and so on, and considering each and + all of them as radiations or flanges of that furious whirling wheel, + poetry, the centre and axis of the whole, where else indeed may we so well + investigate the causes, growths, tally-marks of the time—the age's + matter and malady? + </p> + <p> + By common consent there is nothing better for man or woman than a perfect + and noble life, morally without flaw, happily balanced in activity, + physically sound and pure, giving its due proportion, and no more, to the + sympathetic, the human emotional element—a life, in all these, + unhasting, unresting, untiring to the end. And yet there is another shape + of personality dearer far to the artist-sense, (which likes the play of + strongest lights and shades,) where the perfect character, the good, the + heroic, although never attain'd, is never lost sight of, but through + failures, sorrows, temporary downfalls, is return'd to again and again, + and while often violated, is passionately adhered to as long as mind, + muscles, voice, obey the power we call volition. This sort of personality + we see more or less in Burns, Byron, Schiller, and George Sand. But we do + not see it in Edgar Poe. (All this is the result of reading at intervals + the last three days a new volume of his poems—I took it on my + rambles down by the pond, and by degrees read it all through there.) While + to the character first outlined the service Poe renders is certainly that + entire contrast and contradiction which is next best to fully exemplifying + it. + </p> + <p> + Almost without the first sign of moral principle, or of the concrete or + its heroisms, or the simpler affections of the heart, Poe's verses + illustrate an intense faculty for technical and abstract beauty, with the + rhyming art to excess, an incorrigible propensity toward nocturnal themes, + a demoniac undertone behind every page—and, by final judgment, + probably belong among the electric lights of imaginative literature, + brilliant and dazzling, but with no heat. There is an indescribable + magnetism about the poet's life and reminiscences, as well as the poems. + To one who could work out their subtle retracing and retrospect, the + latter would make a close tally no doubt between the author's birth and + antecedents, his childhood and youth, his physique, his so-call'd + education, his studies and associates, the literary and social Baltimore, + Richmond, Philadelphia and New York, of those times—not only the + places and circumstances in themselves, but often, very often, in a + strange spurning of, and reaction from them all. + </p> + <p> + The following from a report in the Washington "Star" of November 16, 1875, + may afford those who care for it something further of my point of view + toward this interesting figure and influence of our era. There occurr'd + about that date in Baltimore a public reburial of Poe's remains, and + dedication of a monument over the grave: + </p> + <p> + "Being in Washington on a visit at the time, 'the old gray' went over to + Baltimore, and though ill from paralysis, consented to hobble up and + silently take a seat on the platform, but refused to make any speech, + saying, 'I have felt a strong impulse to come over and be here to-day + myself in memory of Poe, which I have obey'd, but not the slightest + impulse to make a speech, which, my dear friends, must also be obeyed.' In + an informal circle, however, in conversation after the ceremonies, Whitman + said: 'For a long while, and until lately, I had a distaste for Poe's + writings. I wanted, and still want for poetry, the clear sun shining, and + fresh air blowing—the strength and power of health, not of delirium, + even amid the stormiest passions—with always the background of the + eternal moralities. Non-complying with these requirements, Poe's genius + has yet conquer'd a special recognition for itself, and I too have come to + fully admit it, and appreciate it and him. + </p> + <p> + "'In a dream I once had, I saw a vessel on the sea, at midnight, in a + storm. It was no great full-rigg'd ship, nor majestic steamer, steering + firmly through the gale, but seem'd one of those superb little schooner + yachts I had often seen lying anchor'd, rocking so jauntily, in the waters + around New York, or up Long Island sound—now flying uncontroll'd + with torn sails and broken spars through the wild sleet and winds and + waves of the night. On the deck was a slender, slight, beautiful figure, a + dim man, apparently enjoying all the terror, the murk, and the dislocation + of which he was the centre and the victim. That figure of my lurid dream + might stand for Edgar Poe, his spirit, his fortunes, and his poems—themselves + all lurid dreams.'" + </p> + <p> + Much more may be said, but I most desired to exploit the idea put at the + beginning. By its popular poets the calibres of an age, the weak spots of + its embankments, its sub-currents, (often more significant than the + biggest surface ones,) are unerringly indicated. The lush and the weird + that have taken such extraordinary possession of Nineteenth century + verse-lovers—what mean they? The inevitable tendency of poetic + culture to morbidity, abnormal beauty—the sickliness of all + technical thought or refinement in itself—the abnegation of the + perennial and democratic concretes at first hand, the body, the earth and + sea, sex and the like—and the substitution of something for them at + second or third hand—what bearings have they on current pathological + study? + </p> + <h3> + BEETHOVEN'S SEPTETTE + </h3> + <p> + <i>Feb. 11, '80</i>.—At a good concert to-night in the foyer of the + opera house, Philadelphia—the band a small but first-rate one. Never + did music more sink into and soothe and fill me—never so prove its + soul-rousing power, its impossibility of statement. Especially in the + rendering of one of Beethoven's master septettes by the well-chosen and + perfectly-combined instruments (violins, viola, clarionet, horn, 'cello + and contrabass,) was I carried away, seeing, absorbing many wonders. + Dainty abandon, sometimes as if Nature laughing on a hillside in the + sunshine; serious and firm monotonies, as of winds; a horn sounding + through the tangle of the forest, and the dying echoes; soothing floating + of waves, but presently rising in surges, angrily lashing, muttering, + heavy; piercing peals of laughter, for interstices; now and then weird, as + Nature herself is in certain moods—but mainly spontaneous, easy, + careless—often the sentiment of the postures of naked children + playing or sleeping. It did me good even to watch the violinists drawing + their bows so masterly—every motion a study. I allow'd myself, as I + sometimes do, to wander out of myself. The conceit came to me of a copious + grove of singing birds, and in their midst a simple harmonic duo, two + human souls, steadily asserting their own pensiveness, joyousness. + </p> + <h3> + A HINT OF WILD NATURE + </h3> + <p> + <i>Feb. 13</i>.—As I was crossing the Delaware to-day, saw a large + flock of wild geese, right overhead, not very high up, ranged in V-shape, + in relief against the noon clouds of light smoke-color. Had a capital + though momentary view of them, and then of their course on and on + southeast, till gradually fading—(my eyesight yet first rate for the + open air and its distances, but I use glasses for reading.) Queer thoughts + melted into me the two or three minutes, or less, seeing these creatures + cleaving the sky—the spacious, airy realm—even the prevailing + smoke-gray color everywhere, (no sun shining)—the waters below—the + rapid flight of the birds, appearing just for a minute—flashing to + me such a hint of the whole spread of Nature, with her eternal + unsophisticated freshness, her never-visited recesses of sea, sky, shore—and + then disappearing in the distance. + </p> + <h3> + LOAFING IN THE WOODS + </h3> + <p> + <i>March 8</i>.—I write this down in the country again, but in a new + spot, seated on a log in the woods, warm, sunny, midday. Have been loafing + here deep among the trees, shafts of tall pines, oak, hickory, with a + thick undergrowth of laurels and grapevines—the ground cover'd + everywhere by debris, dead leaves, breakage, moss—everything + solitary, ancient, grim. Paths (such as they are) leading hither and yon—(how + made I know not, for nobody seems to come here, nor man nor cattle-kind.) + Temperature to-day about 60, the wind through the pine-tops; I sit and + listen to its hoarse sighing above (and to the <i>stillness</i>) long and + long, varied by aimless rambles in the old roads and paths, and by + exercise-pulls at the young saplings, to keep my joints from getting + stiff. Blue-birds, robins, meadow-larks begin to appear. + </p> + <p> + <i>Next day, 9th</i>.—A snowstorm in the morning, and continuing + most of the day. But I took a walk over two hours, the same woods and + paths, amid the falling flakes. No wind, yet the musical low murmur + through the pines, quite pronounced, curious, like waterfalls, now + still'd, now pouring again. All the senses, sight, sound, smell, + delicately gratified. Every snowflake lay where it fell on the evergreens, + holly-trees, laurels, &c., the multitudinous leaves and branches + piled, bulging-white, defined by edge-lines of emerald—the tall + straight columns of the plentiful bronze-topt pines—a slight + resinous odor blending with that of the snow. (For there is a scent to + everything, even the snow, if you can only detect it—no two places, + hardly any two hours, anywhere, exactly alike. How different the odor of + noon from midnight, or winter from summer, or a windy spell from a still + one.) + </p> + <h3> + A CONTRALTO VOICE + </h3> + <p> + <i>May 9, Sunday</i>.—Visit this evening to my friends the J.'s—good + supper, to which I did justice—lively chat with Mrs. J. and I. and + J. As I sat out front on the walk afterward, in the evening air, the + church-choir and organ on the corner opposite gave Luther's hymn, <i>Ein + feste berg</i>, very finely. The air was borne by a rich contralto. For + nearly half an hour there in the dark (there was a good string of English + stanzas,) came the music, firm and unhurried, with long pauses. The full + silver star-beams of Lyra rose silently over the church's dim roof-ridge. + Vari-color'd lights from the stain'd glass windows broke through the + tree-shadows. And under all—under the Northern Crown up there, and + in the fresh breeze below, and the <i>chiaroscuro</i> of the night, that + liquid-full contralto. + </p> + <h3> + SEEING NIAGARA TO ADVANTAGE + </h3> + <p> + <i>June 4, '80</i>.—For really seizing a great picture or book, or + piece of music, or architecture, or grand scenery—or perhaps for the + first time even the common sunshine, or landscape, or may-be even the + mystery of identity, most curious mystery of all—there comes some + lucky five minutes of a man's life, set amid a fortuitous concurrence of + circumstances, and bringing in a brief flash the culmination of years of + reading and travel and thought. The present case about two o'clock this + afternoon, gave me Niagara, its superb severity of action and color and + majestic grouping, in one short, indescribable show. We were very slowly + crossing the Suspension bridge-not a full stop anywhere, but next to it—the + day clear, sunny, still—and I out on the platform. The falls were in + plain view about a mile off, but very distinct, and no roar—hardly a + murmur. The river tumbling green and white, far below me; the dark high + banks, the plentiful umbrage, many bronze cedars, in shadow; and tempering + and arching all the immense materiality, a clear sky overhead, with a few + white clouds, limpid, spiritual, silent. Brief, and as quiet as brief, + that picture—a remembrance always afterwards. Such are the things, + indeed, I lay away with my life's rare and blessed bits of hours, + reminiscent, past—the wild sea-storm I once saw one winter day, off + Fire island—the elder Booth in Richard, that famous night forty + years ago in the old Bowery—or Alboni in the children's scene in + Norma—or night-views, I remember, on the field, after battles in + Virginia—or the peculiar sentiment of moonlight and stars over the + great Plains, western Kansas—or scooting up New York bay, with a + stiff breeze and a good yacht, off Navesink. With these, I say, I + henceforth place that view, that afternoon, that combination complete, + that five minutes' perfect absorption of Niagara—not the great + majestic gem alone by itself, but set complete in all its varied, full, + indispensable surroundings. + </p> + <h3> + JAUNTING TO CANADA + </h3> + <p> + To go back a little, I left Philadelphia, 9th and Green streets, at 8 + o'clock P.M., June 3, on a first-class sleeper, by the Lehigh Valley + (North Pennsylvania) route, through Bethlehem, Wilkesbarre, Waverly, and + so (by Erie) on through Corning to Hornellsville, where we arrived at 8, + morning, and had a bounteous breakfast. I must say I never put in such a + good night on any railroad track—smooth, firm, the minimum of + jolting, and all the swiftness compatible with safety. So without change + to Buffalo, and thence to Clifton, where we arrived early afternoon; then + on to London, Ontario, Canada, in four more—less than twenty-two + hours altogether. I am domiciled at the hospitable house of my friends Dr. + and Mrs. Bucke, in the ample and charming garden and lawns of the asylum. + </p> + <h3> + SUNDAY WITH THE INSANE + </h3> + <p> + <i>June 6</i>.—Went over to the religious services (Episcopal) main + Insane asylum, held in a lofty, good-sized hall, third story. Plain + boards, whitewash, plenty of cheap chairs, no ornament or color, yet all + scrupulously clean and sweet. Some three hundred persons present, mostly + patients. Everything, the prayers, a short sermon, the firm, orotund voice + of the minister, and most of all, beyond any portraying, or suggesting, <i>that + audience</i>, deeply impress'd me. I was furnish'd with an arm-chair near + the pulpit, and sat facing the motley, yet perfectly well-behaved and + orderly congregation. The quaint dresses and bonnets of some of the women, + several very old and gray, here and there like the heads in old pictures. + O the looks that came from those faces! There were two or three I shall + probably never forget. Nothing at all markedly repulsive or hideous—strange + enough I did not see one such. Our common humanity, mine and yours, + everywhere: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The same old blood—the same red, running blood;" +</pre> + <p> + yet behind most, an inferr'd arriere of such storms, such wrecks, such + mysteries, fires, love, wrong, greed for wealth, religious problems, + crosses—mirror'd from those crazed faces (yet now temporarily so + calm, like still waters,) all the woes and sad happenings of life and + death—now from every one the devotional element radiating—was + it not, indeed, <i>the peace of God that passeth all understanding</i>, + strange as it may sound? I can only say that I took long and searching + eyesweeps as I sat there, and it seem'd so, rousing unprecedented + thoughts, problems unanswerable. A very fair choir, and melodeon + accompaniment. They sang "Lead, kindly light," after the sermon. Many + join'd in the beautiful hymn, to which the minister read the introductory + text, <i>In the daytime also He led them with a cloud, and all the night + with a light of fire</i>. Then the words: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom, + Lead thou me on. + The night is dark, and I am far from home; + Lead thou me on. + Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see + The distant scene; one step enough for me. + + I was not ever thus, nor pray'd that thou + Should'st lead me on; + I lov'd to choose and see my path; but now + Lead thou me on. + I loved the garish day, and spite of fears + Pride ruled my will; remember not past years. +</pre> + <p> + A couple of days after, I went to the "Refractory building," under special + charge of Dr. Beemer, and through the wards pretty thoroughly, both the + men's and women's. I have since made many other visits of the kind through + the asylum, and around among the detach'd cottages. As far as I could see, + this is among the most advanced, perfected, and kindly and rationally + carried on, of all its kind in America. It is a town in itself, with many + buildings and a thousand inhabitants. + </p> + <p> + I learn that Canada, and especially this ample and populous province, + Ontario, has the very best and plentiest benevolent institutions in all + departments. + </p> + <h3> + REMINISCENCE OF ELIAS HICKS + </h3> + <p> + <i>June 8</i>.—To-day a letter from Mrs. E. S. L., Detroit, + accompanied in a little post-office roll by a rare old engraved head of + Elias Hicks, (from a portrait in oil by Henry Inman, painted for J. V. S., + must have been 60 years or more ago, in New York)—among the rest the + following excerpt about E. H. in the letter: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I have listen'd to his preaching so often when a child, and sat with + my mother at social gatherings where he was the centre, and every one + so pleas'd and stirr'd by his conversation. I hear that you contemplate + writing or speaking about him, and I wonder'd whether you had a picture + of him. As I am the owner of two, I send you one." +</pre> + <h3> + GRAND NATIVE GROWTH + </h3> + <p> + In a few days I go to lake Huron, and may have something to say of that + region and people. From what I already see, I should say the young native + population of Canada was growing up, forming a hardy, democratic, + intelligent, radically sound, and just as American, good-natured and <i>individualistic</i> + race, as the average range of best specimens among us. As among us, too, I + please myself by considering that this element, though it may not be the + majority, promises to be the leaven which must eventually leaven the whole + lump. + </p> + <h3> + A ZOLLVEREIN BETWEEN THE U.S. AND CANADA + </h3> + <p> + Some of the more liberal of the presses here are discussing the question + of a zollverein between the United States and Canada. It is proposed to + form a union for commercial purposes—to altogether abolish the + frontier tariff line, with its double sets of custom house officials now + existing between the two countries, and to agree upon one tariff for both, + the proceeds of this tariff to be divided between the two governments on + the basis of population. It is said that a large proportion of the + merchants of Canada are in favor of this step, as they believe it would + materially add to the business of the country, by removing the + restrictions that now exist on trade between Canada and the States. Those + persons who are opposed to the measure believe that it would increase the + material welfare or the country, but it would loosen the bonds between + Canada and England; and this sentiment overrides the desire for commercial + prosperity. Whether the sentiment can continue to bear the strain put upon + it is a question. It is thought by many that commercial considerations + must in the end prevail. It seems also to be generally agreed that such a + zollverein, or common customs union, would bring practically more benefits + to the Canadian provinces than to the United States. (It seems to me a + certainty of time, sooner or later, that Canada shall form two or three + grand States, equal and independent, with the rest of the American Union. + The St. Lawrence and lakes are not for a frontier line, but a grand + interior or mid-channel.) + </p> + <h3> + THE ST. LAWRENCE LINE + </h3> + <p> + <i>August 20</i>.—Premising that my three or four months in Canada + were intended, among the rest, as an exploration of the line of the St. + Lawrence, from lake Superior to the sea, (the engineers here insist upon + considering it as one stream, over 2000 miles long, including lakes and + Niagara and all)—that I have only partially carried out my + programme; but for the seven or eight hundred miles so far fulfill'd, I + find that the <i>Canada question</i> is absolutely control'd by this vast + water line, with its first-class features and points of trade, humanity, + and many more—here I am writing this nearly a thousand miles north + of my Philadelphia starting-point (by way of Montreal and Quebec) in the + midst of regions that go to a further extreme of grimness, wildness of + beauty, and a sort of still and pagan <i>scaredness</i>, while yet + Christian, inhabitable, and partially fertile, than perhaps any other on + earth. The weather remains perfect; some might call it a little cool, but + I wear my old gray overcoat and find it just right. The days are full of + sunbeams and oxygen. Most of the forenoons and afternoons I am on the + forward deck of the steamer. + </p> + <h3> + THE SAVAGE SAGUENAY + </h3> + <p> + Up these black waters, over a hundred miles—always strong, deep, + (hundreds of feet, sometimes thousands,) ever with high, rocky hills for + banks, green and gray—at times a little like some parts of the + Hudson, but much more pronounc'd and defiant. The hills rise higher—keep + their ranks more unbroken. The river is straighter and of more resolute + flow, and its hue, though dark as ink, exquisitely polish'd and sheeny + under the August sun. Different, indeed, this Saguenay from all other + rivers—different effects—a bolder, more vehement play of + lights and shades. Of a rare charm of singleness and simplicity. (Like the + organ-chant at midnight from the old Spanish convent, in "Favorita"—one + strain only, simple and monotonous and unornamented—but + indescribably penetrating and grand and masterful.) Great place for + echoes: while our steamer was tied at the wharf at Tadousac (taj-oo-sac) + waiting, the escape-pipe letting off steam, I was sure I heard a band at + the hotel up in the rocks—could even make out some of the tunes. + Only when our pipe stopp'd, I knew what caused it. Then at cape Eternity + and Trinity rock, the pilot with his whistle producing similar marvellous + results, echoes indescribably weird, as we lay off in the still bay under + their shadows. + </p> + <h3> + CAPES ETERNITY AND TRINITY + </h3> + <p> + But the great, haughty, silent capes themselves; I doubt if any crack + points, or hills, or historic places of note, or anything of the kind + elsewhere in the world, outvies these objects—(I write while I am + before them face to face.) They are very simple, they do not startle—at + least they did not me—but they linger in one's memory forever. They + are placed very near each other, side by side, each a mountain rising + flush out of the Saguenay. A good thrower could throw a stone on each in + passing—at least it seems so. Then they are as distinct in form as a + perfect physical man or a perfect physical woman. Cape Eternity is bare, + rising, as just said, sheer out of the water, rugged and grim (yet with an + indescribable beauty) nearly two thousand feet high. Trinity rock, even a + little higher, also rising flush, top-rounded like a great head with + close-cut verdure of hair. I consider myself well repaid for coming my + thousand miles to get the sight and memory of the unrivall'd duo. They + have stirr'd me more profoundly than anything of the kind I have yet seen. + If Europe or Asia had them, we should certainly hear of them in all sorts + of sent-back poems, rhapsodies, &c., a dozen times a year through our + papers and magazines. + </p> + <h3> + CHICOUTIMI AND HA-HA BAY + </h3> + <p> + No indeed—life and travel and memory have offer'd and will preserve + to me no deeper-cut incidents, panorama, or sights to cheer my soul, than + these at Chicoutimi and Ha-ha bay, and my days and nights up and down this + fascinating savage river—the rounded mountains, some bare and gray, + some dull red, some draped close all over with matted green verdure or + vines—the ample, calm, eternal rocks everywhere—the long + streaks of motley foam, a milk-white curd on the glistening breast of the + stream—the little two-masted schooner, dingy yellow, with patch'd + sails, set wing-and-wing, nearing us, coming saucily up the water with a + couple of swarthy, black-hair'd men aboard—the strong shades falling + on the light gray or yellow outlines of the hills all through the + forenoon, as we steam within gunshot of them—while ever the pure and + delicate sky spreads over all. And the splendid sunsets, and the sights of + evening—the same old stars, (relatively a little different, I see, + so far north) Arcturus and Lyra, and the Eagle, and great Jupiter like a + silver globe, and the constellation of the Scorpion. Then northern lights + nearly every night. + </p> + <h3> + THE INHABITANTS—GOOD LIVING + </h3> + <p> + Grim and rocky and black-water'd as the demesne hereabout is, however, you + must not think genial humanity, and comfort, and good-living are not to be + met. Before I began this memorandum I made a first-rate breakfast of + sea-trout, finishing off with wild raspberries. I find smiles and courtesy + everywhere—physiognomies in general curiously like those in the + United States—(I was astonish'd to find the same resemblance all + through the province of Quebec.) In general the inhabitants of this rugged + country (Charlevoix, Chicoutimi and Tadousac counties, and lake St. John + region) a simple, hardy population, lumbering, trapping furs, boating, + fishing, berry-picking and a little farming. I was watching a group of + young boatmen eating their early dinner—nothing but an immense loaf + of bread, had apparently been the size of a bushel measure, from which + they cut chunks with a jack-knife. Must be a tremendous winter country + this, when the solid frost and ice fully set in. + </p> + <p> + CEDAR-PLUMS LIKE-NAMES (<i>Back again in Camden and down in Jersey</i>) + </p> + <p> + One time I thought of naming this collection "Cedar-Plums Like" (which I + still fancy wouldn't have been a bad name nor inappropriate.) A melange of + loafing, looking, hobbling, sitting, traveling—a little thinking + thrown in for salt, but very little—not only summer but all seasons—not + only days but nights—some literary meditations—books, authors + examined, Carlyle, Poe, Emerson tried, (always under my cedar-tree, in the + open air, and never in the library)—mostly the scenes everybody + sees, but some of my own caprices, meditations, egotism—truly an + open air and mainly summer formation—singly, or in clusters—wild + and free and somewhat acrid—indeed more like cedar-plums than you + might guess at first glance. + </p> + <p> + But do you know what they are? (To city man, or some sweet parlor lady, I + now talk.) As you go along roads, or barrens, or across country, anywhere + through these States, middle, eastern, western, or southern, you will see, + certain seasons of the year, the thick woolly tufts of the cedar mottled + with bunches of china-blue berries, about as big as fox-grapes. But first + a special word for the tree itself: everybody knows that the cedar is a + healthy, cheap, democratic wood, streak'd red and white—an evergreen—that + it is not a <i>cultivated</i> tree—that it keeps away moths—that + it grows inland or seaboard, all climates, hot or cold, any soil—in + fact rather prefers sand and bleak side spots—content if the plough, + the fertilizer and the trimming-axe, will but keep away and let it alone. + After a long rain, when everything looks bright, often have I stopt in my + wood-saunters, south or north, or far west, to take in its dusky green, + wash'd clean and sweet, and speck'd copiously with its fruit of clear, + hardy blue. The wood of the cedar is of use—but what profit on earth + are those sprigs of acrid plums? A question impossible to answer + satisfactorily. True, some of the herb doctors give them for stomachic + affections, but the remedy is as bad as the disease. Then in my rambles + down in Camden county I once found an old crazy woman gathering the + clusters with zeal and joy. She show'd, as I was told afterward, a sort of + infatuation for them, and every year placed and kept profuse bunches high + and low about her room. They had a strange charm on her uneasy head, and + effected docility and peace. (She was harmless, and lived near by with her + well-off married daughter.) Whether there is any connection between those + bunches, and being out of one's wits, I cannot say, but I myself entertain + a weakness for them. Indeed, I love the cedar, anyhow—its naked + ruggedness, its just palpable odor, (so different from the perfumer's + best,) its silence, its equable acceptance of winter's cold and summer's + heat, of rain or drouth—its shelter to me from those, at times—its + associations—(well, I never could explain <i>why</i> I love anybody, + or anything.) The service I now specially owe to the cedar is, while I + cast around for a name for my proposed collection, hesitating, puzzled—after + rejecting a long, long string, I lift my eyes, and lo! the very term I + want. At any rate, I go no further—I tire in the search. I take what + some invisible kind spirit has put before me. Besides, who shall say there + is not affinity enough between (at least the bundle of sticks that + produced) many of these pieces, or granulations, and those blue berries? + their uselessness growing wild—a certain aroma of Nature I would so + like to have in my pages—the thin soil whence they come—their + content in being let alone—their stolid and deaf repugnance to + answering questions, (this latter the nearest, dearest trait affinity of + all.) + </p> + <p> + Then reader dear, in conclusion, as to the point of the name for the + present collection, let us be satisfied to <i>have</i> a name—something + to identify and bind it together, to concrete all its vegetable, mineral, + personal memoranda, abrupt raids of criticism, crude gossip of philosophy, + varied sands and clumps—without bothering ourselves because certain + pages do not present themselves to you or me as coming under their own + name with entire fitness or amiability. (It is a profound, vexatious + never-explicable matter—this of names. I have been exercised deeply + about it my whole life.{11}) + </p> + <p> + After all of which the name "Cedar-Plums Like" got its nose put out of + joint; but I cannot afford to throw away what I pencill'd down the lane + there, under the shelter of my old friend, one warm October noon. Besides, + it wouldn't be civil to the cedar tree. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {11} In the pocket of my receptacle-book I find a list of suggested and + rejected names for this volume, or parts of it—such as the + following: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>As the wild bee hums in May, + & August mulleins grow, + & Winter snow-flakes fall, + & stars in the sky roll round.</i> + + <i>Away from Books—away from Art, + Now for the Day and Night—the lessons done, + Now for the Sun and Stars.</i> + + <i>Notes of a Half-Paralytic, As Voices in the Dusk, from + Week in and Week out, Speakers far or hid, + Embers of Ending Days, Autochthons....Embryons, + Ducks and Drakes, Wing-and-Wing, + Flood Tide and Ebb, Notes and Recalles. + Gossip at Early Candle-light, Only Mulleins and Bumble-Bees, + Echoes and Escapades, Pond-Babble....Tête-a-Têtes, + Such as I....Evening Dews, Echoes of a Life in the 19th + Notes and Writing a Book, Century in the New World, + Far and Near at 63, Flanges of Fifty Years, + Drifts and Cumulus, Abandons....Hurry Notes, + Maize-Tassels....Kindlings, A Life-Mosaic....Native Moments, + Fore and Aft....Vestibules, Types and Semi-Tones, + Scintilla at 60 and after, Oddments....Sand-Drifts, + Sands on the Shores of 64, Again and Again.</i> +</pre> + <h3> + DEATH OF THOMAS CARLYLE + </h3> + <p> + <i>Feb. 10, '81</i>.—And so the flame of the lamp, after long + wasting and flickering, has gone out entirely. + </p> + <p> + As a representative author, a literary figure, no man else will bequeath + to the future more significant hints of our stormy era, its fierce + paradoxes, its din, and its struggling parturition periods, than Carlyle. + He belongs to our own branch of the stock too; neither Latin nor Greek, + but altogether Gothic. Rugged, mountainous, volcanic, he was himself more + a French revolution than any of his volumes. In some respects, so far in + the Nineteenth century, the best equipt, keenest mind, even from the + college point of view, of all Britain; only he had an ailing body. + Dyspepsia is to be traced in every page, and now and then fills the page. + One may include among the lessons of his life—even though that life + stretch'd to amazing length—how behind the tally of genius and + morals stands the stomach, and gives a sort of casting vote. + </p> + <p> + Two conflicting agonistic elements seem to have contended in the man, + sometimes pulling him different ways like wild horses. He was a cautious, + conservative Scotchman, fully aware what a foetid gas-bag much of modern + radicalism is; but then his great heart demanded reform, demanded change—often + terribly at odds with his scornful brain. No author ever put so much + wailing and despair into his books, sometimes palpable, oftener latent. He + reminds me of that passage in Young's poems where as death presses closer + and closer for his prey, the soul rushes hither and thither, appealing, + shrieking, berating, to escape the general doom. + </p> + <p> + Of short-comings, even positive blur-spots, from an American point of + view, he had serious share. + </p> + <p> + Not for his merely literary merit, (though that was great)—not as + "maker of books," but as launching into the self-complacent atmosphere of + our days a rasping, questioning, dislocating agitation and shock, is + Carlyle's final value. It is time the English-speaking peoples had some + true idea about the verteber of genius, namely power. As if they must + always have it cut and bias'd to the fashion, like a lady's cloak! What a + needed service he performs! How he shakes our comfortable reading circles + with a touch of the old Hebraic anger and prophecy—and indeed it is + just the same. Not Isaiah himself more scornful, more threatening: "The + crown of pride, the drunkards of Ephraim, shall be trodden under feet: And + the glorious beauty which is on the head of the fat valley shall be a + fading flower." (The word prophecy is much misused; it seems narrow'd to + prediction merely. That is not the main sense of the Hebrew word + translated "prophet;" it means one whose mind bubbles up and pours forth + as a fountain, from inner, divine spontaneities revealing God. Prediction + is a very minor part of prophecy. The great matter is to reveal and + outpour the God-like suggestions pressing for birth in the soul. This is + briefly the doctrine of the Friends or Quakers.) + </p> + <p> + Then the simplicity and amid ostensible frailty the towering strength of + this man—a hardy oak knot, you could never wear out—an old + farmer dress'd in brown clothes, and not handsome—his very foibles + fascinating. Who cares that he wrote about Dr. Francia, and "Shooting + Niagara"—and "the Nigger Question,"—and didn't at all admire + our United States? (I doubt if he ever thought or said half as bad words + about us as we deserve.) How he splashes like leviathan in the seas of + modern literature and politics! Doubtless, respecting the latter, one + needs first to realize, from actual observation, the squalor, vice and + doggedness ingrain'd in the bulk-population of the British islands, with + the red tape, the fatuity, the flunkeyism everywhere, to understand the + last meaning in his pages. Accordingly, though he was no chartist or + radical, I consider Carlyle's by far the most indignant comment or protest + anent the fruits of feudalism to-day in Great Britain—the increasing + poverty and degradation of the homeless, landless twenty millions, while a + few thousands, or rather a few hundreds, possess the entire soil, the + money, and the fat berths. Trade and shipping, and clubs and culture, and + prestige, and guns, and a fine select class of gentry and aristocracy, + with every modern improvement, cannot begin to salve or defend such + stupendous hoggishness. + </p> + <p> + The way to test how much he has left his country were to consider, or try + to consider, for a moment, the array of British thought, the resultant <i>ensemble</i> + of the last fifty years, as existing to-day, <i>but with Carlyle left out</i>. + It would be like an army with no artillery. The show were still a gay and + rich one—Byron, Scott, Tennyson, and many more—horsemen and + rapid infantry, and banners flying—but the last heavy roar so dear + to the ear of the train'd soldier, and that settles fate and victory, + would be lacking. + </p> + <p> + For the last three years we in America have had transmitted glimpses of a + thin-bodied, lonesome, wifeless, childless, very old man, lying on a sofa, + kept out of bed by indomitable will, but, of late, never well enough to + take the open air. I have noted this news from time to time in brief + descriptions in the papers. A week ago I read such an item just before I + started out for my customary evening stroll between eight and nine. In the + fine cold night, unusually clear, (Feb. 5, '81,) as I walk'd some open + grounds adjacent, the condition of Carlyle, and his approaching—perhaps + even then actual—death, filled me with thoughts eluding statement, + and curiously blending with the scene. The planet Venus, an hour high in + the west, with all her volume and lustre recover'd, (she has been shorn + and languid for nearly a year,) including an additional sentiment I never + noticed before—not merely voluptuous, Paphian, steeping, fascinating—now + with calm commanding seriousness and hauteur—the Milo Venus now. + Upward to the zenith, Jupiter, Saturn, and the moon past her quarter, + trailing in procession, with the Pleiades following, and the constellation + Taurus, and red Aldebaran. Not a cloud in heaven. Orion strode through the + southeast, with his glittering belt—and a trifle below hung the sun + of the night, Sirius. Every star dilated, more vitreous, nearer than + usual. Not as in some clear nights when the larger stars entirely outshine + the rest. Every little star or cluster just as distinctly visible, and + just as nigh. Berenice's hair showing every gem, and new ones. To the + northeast and north the Sickle, the Goat and kids, Cassiopeia, Castor and + Pollux, and the two Dippers. While through the whole of this silent + indescribable show, inclosing and bathing my whole receptivity, ran the + thought of Carlyle dying. (To soothe and spiritualize, and, as far as may + be, solve the mysteries of death and genius, consider them under the stars + at midnight.) + </p> + <p> + And now that he has gone hence, can it be that Thomas Carlyle, soon to + chemically dissolve in ashes and by winds, remains an identity still? In + ways perhaps eluding all the statements, lore and speculations of ten + thousand years—eluding all possible statements to mortal sense—does + he yet exist, a definite, vital being, a spirit, an individual—perhaps + now wafted in space among those stellar systems, which, suggestive and + limitless as they are, merely edge more limitless, far more suggestive + systems? I have no doubt of it. In silence, of a fine night, such + questions are answer'd to the soul, the best answers that can be given. + With me, too, when depress'd by some specially sad event, or tearing + problem, I wait till I go out under the stars for the last voiceless + satisfaction. + </p> + <h3> + CARLYLE FROM AMERICAN POINTS OF VIEW + </h3> + <p> + <i>Later Thoughts and Jottings</i> + </p> + <p> + There is surely at present an inexplicable <i>rapport</i> (all the more + piquant from its contradictoriness) between that deceas'd author and our + United States of America—no matter whether it lasts or not{13} As we + Westerners assume definite shape, and result in formations and fruitage + unknown before, it is curious with what a new sense our eyes turn to + representative outgrowths of crises and personages in the Old World. + Beyond question, since Carlyle's death, and the publication of Froude's + memoirs, not only the interest in his books, but every personal bit + regarding the famous Scotchman—his dyspepsia, his buffetings, his + parentage, his paragon of a wife, his career in Edinburgh, in the lonesome + nest on Craigenputtock moor, and then so many years in London—is + probably wider and livelier to-day in this country than in his own land. + Whether I succeed or no, I, too, reaching across the Atlantic and taking + the man's dark fortune-telling of humanity and politics, would offset it + all, (such is the fancy that comes to me,) by a far more profound + horoscope-casting of those themes—G. F. Hegel's.{14} + </p> + <p> + First, about a chance, a never-fulfill'd vacuity of this pale cast of + thought—this British Hamlet from Cheyne row, more puzzling than the + Danish one, with his contrivances for settling the broken and spavin'd + joints of the world's government, especially its democratic dislocation. + Carlyle's grim fate was cast to live and dwell in, and largely embody, the + parturition agony and qualms of the old order, amid crowded accumulations + of ghastly morbidity, giving birth to the new. + </p> + <p> + But conceive of him (or his parents before him) coming to America, + recuperated by the cheering realities and activity of our people and + country—growing up and delving face-to-face resolutely among us + here, especially at the West—inhaling and exhaling our limitless air + and eligibilities—devoting his mind to the theories and developments + of this Republic amid its practical facts as exemplified in Kansas, + Missouri, Illinois, Tennessee, or Louisiana. I say <i>facts</i>, and + face-to-face confrontings—so different from books, and all those + quiddities and mere reports in the libraries, upon which the man (it was + wittily said of him at the age of thirty, that there was no one in + Scotland who had glean'd so much and seen so little,) almost wholly fed, + and which even his sturdy and vital mind but reflected at best. + </p> + <p> + Something of the sort narrowly escaped happening. In 1835, after more than + a dozen years of trial and non-success, the author of "Sartor Resartus" + removing to London, very poor, a confirmed hypochondriac, "Sartor" + universally scoffed at, no literary prospects ahead, deliberately settled + on one last casting throw of the literary dice—resolv'd to compose + and launch forth a book on the subject of <i>the French Revolution</i>—and + if that won no higher guerdon or prize than hitherto, to sternly abandon + the trade of author forever, and emigrate for good to America. But the + venture turn'd out a lucky one, and there was no emigration. + </p> + <p> + Carlyle's work in the sphere of literature as he commenced and carried it + out, is the same in one or two leading respects that Immanuel Kant's was + in speculative philosophy. But the Scotchman had none of the stomachic + phlegm and never-perturb'd placidity of the Konigsberg sage, and did not, + like the latter, understand his own limits, and stop when he got to the + end of them. He clears away jungle and poisonvines and underbrush—at + any rate hacks valiantly at them, smiting hip and thigh. Kant did the like + in his sphere, and it was all he profess'd to do; his labors have left the + ground fully prepared ever since—and greater service was probably + never perform'd by mortal man. But the pang and hiatus of Carlyle seem to + me to consist in the evidence everywhere that amid a whirl of fog and fury + and cross-purposes, he firmly believ'd he had a clue to the medication of + the world's ills, and that his bounden mission was to exploit it.{15} + </p> + <p> + There were two anchors, or sheet-anchors, for steadying, as a last resort, + the Carlylean ship. One will be specified presently. The other, perhaps + the main, was only to be found in some mark'd form of personal force, an + extreme degree of competent urge and will, a man or men "born to command." + Probably there ran through every vein and current of the Scotchman's blood + something that warm'd up to this kind of trait and character above aught + else in the world, and which makes him in my opinion the chief celebrater + and promulger of it in literature—more than Plutarch, more than + Shakspere. The great masses of humanity stand for nothing—at least + nothing but nebulous raw material; only the big planets and shining suns + for him. To ideas almost invariably languid or cold, a number-one forceful + personality was sure to rouse his eulogistic passion and savage joy. In + such case, even the standard of duty hereinafter rais'd, was to be + instantly lower'd and vail'd. All that is comprehended under the terms + republicanism and democracy were distasteful to him from the first, and as + he grew older they became hateful and contemptible. For an undoubtedly + candid and penetrating faculty such as his, the bearings he persistently + ignored were marvellous. For instance, the promise, nay certainty of the + democratic principle, to each and every State of the current world, not so + much of helping it to perfect legislators and executives, but as the only + effectual method for surely, however slowly, training people on a large + scale toward voluntarily ruling and managing themselves (the ultimate aim + of political and all other development)—to gradually reduce the fact + of <i>governing</i> to its minimum, and to subject all its staffs and + their doings to the telescopes and microscopes of committees and parties—and + greatest of all, to afford (not stagnation and obedient content, which + went well enough with the feudalism and ecclesiasticism of the antique and + medieval world, but) a vast and sane and recurrent ebb and tide action for + those floods of the great deep that have henceforth palpably burst forever + their old bounds—seem never to have enter'd Carlyle's thought. It + was splendid how he refus'd any compromise to the last. He was curiously + antique. In that harsh, picturesque, most potent voice and figure, one + seems to be carried back from the present of the British islands more than + two thousand years, to the range between Jerusalem and Tarsus. His fullest + best biographer justly says of him: + </p> + <p> + He was a teacher and a prophet, in the Jewish sense of the word. The + prophecies of Isaiah and Jeremiah have become a part of the permanent + spiritual inheritance of mankind, because events proved that they had + interpreted correctly the sign of their own times, and their prophecies + were fulfill'd. Carlyle, like them, believ'd that he had a special message + to deliver to the present age. Whether he was correct in that belief, and + whether his message was a true message, remains to be seen. He has told us + that our most cherish'd ideas of political liberty, with their kindred + corollaries, are mere illusions, and that the progress which has seem'd to + go along with them is a progress towards anarchy and social dissolution. + If he was wrong, he has misused his powers. The principles of his + teachings are false. He has offer'd himself as a guide upon a road of + which he had no knowledge; and his own desire for himself would be the + speediest oblivion both of his person and his works. If, on the other + hand, he has been right; if, like his great predecessors, he has read + truly the tendencies of this modern age of ours, and his teaching is + authenticated by facts, then Carlyle, too, will take his place among the + inspired seers. + </p> + <p> + To which I add an amendment that under no circumstances, and no matter how + completely time and events disprove his lurid vaticinations, should the + English-speaking world forget this man, nor fail to hold in honor his + unsurpass'd conscience, his unique method, and his honest fame. Never were + convictions more earnest and genuine. Never was there less of a flunkey or + temporizer. Never had political progressivism a foe it could more heartily + respect. + </p> + <p> + The second main point of Carlyle's utterance was the idea of <i>duty being + done</i>. (It is simply a new codicil—if it be particularly new, + which is by no means certain—on the time-honor'd bequest of + dynasticism, the mould-eaten rules of legitimacy and kings.) He seems to + have been impatient sometimes to madness when reminded by persons who + thought at least as deeply as himself, that this formula, though precious, + is rather a vague one, and that there are many other considerations to a + philosophical estimate of each and every department either. + </p> + <p> + Altogether, I don't know anything more amazing than these persistent + strides and throbbings so far through our Nineteenth century of perhaps + its biggest, sharpest, and most erudite brain, in defiance and discontent + with everything; contemptuously ignoring, (either from constitutional + inaptitude, ignorance itself, or more likely because he demanded a + definite cure-all here and now,) the only solace and solvent to be had. + </p> + <p> + There is, apart from mere intellect, in the make-up of every superior + human identity, (in its moral completeness, considered as <i>ensemble</i>, + not for that moral alone, but for the whole being, including physique,) a + wondrous something that realizes without argument, frequently without what + is called education, (though I think it the goal and apex of all education + deserving the name)—an intuition of the absolute balance, in time + and space, of the whole of this multifarious, mad chaos of fraud, + frivolity, hoggishness—this revel of fools, and incredible + make-believe and general unsettledness, we call <i>the world</i>; a + soul-sight of that divine clue and unseen thread which holds the whole + congeries of things, all history and time, and all events, however + trivial, however momentous, like a leash'd dog in the hand of the hunter. + Such soul-sight and root-centre for the mind—mere optimism explains + only the surface or fringe of it—Carlyle was mostly, perhaps + entirely without. He seems instead to have been haunted in the play of his + mental action by a spectre, never entirely laid from first to last, (Greek + scholars, I believe, find the same mocking and fantastic apparition + attending Aristophanes, his comedies,)—the spectre of + world-destruction. + </p> + <p> + How largest triumph or failure in human life, in war or peace, may depend + on some little hidden centrality, hardly more than a drop of blood, a + pulse-beat, or a breath of air! It is certain that all these weighty + matters, democracy in America, Carlyleism, and the temperament for deepest + political or literary exploration, turn on a simple point in speculative + philosophy. + </p> + <p> + The most profound theme that can occupy the mind of man—the problem + on whose solution science, art, the bases and pursuits of nations, and + everything else, including intelligent human happiness, (here to-day, + 1882, New York, Texas, California, the same as all times, all lands,) + subtly and finally resting, depends for competent outset and argument, is + doubtless involved in the query: What is the fusing explanation and tie—what + the relation between the (radical, democratic) Me, the human identity of + understanding, emotions, spirit, &c., on the one side, of and with the + (conservative) Not Me, the whole of the material objective universe and + laws, with what is behind them in time and space, on the other side? + Immanuel Kant, though he explain'd or partially explain'd, as may be said, + the laws of the human understanding, left this question an open one. + Schelling's answer, or suggestion of answer, is (and very valuable and + important, as far as it goes,) that the same general and particular + intelligence, passion, even the standards of right and wrong, which exist + in a conscious and formulated state in man, exist in an unconscious state, + or in perceptible analogies, throughout the entire universe of external + Nature, in all its objects large or small, and all its movements and + processes—thus making the impalpable human mind, and concrete + nature, notwithstanding their duality and separation, convertible, and in + centrality and essence one. But G. F. Hegel's fuller statement of the + matter probably remains the last best word that has been said upon it, up + to date. Substantially adopting the scheme just epitomized, he so carries + it out and fortifies it and merges everything in it, with certain serious + gaps now for the first time fill'd, that it becomes a coherent + metaphysical system, and substantial answer (as far as there can be any + answer) to the foregoing question—a system which, while I distinctly + admit that the brain of the future may add to, revise, and even entirely + reconstruct, at any rate beams forth to-day, in its entirety, illuminating + the thought of the universe, and satisfying the mystery thereof to the + human mind, with a more consoling scientific assurance than any yet. + </p> + <p> + According to Hegel the whole earth, (an old nucleus-thought, as in the + Vedas, and no doubt before, but never hitherto brought so absolutely to + the front, fully surcharged with modern scientism and facts, and made the + sole entrance to each and all,) with its infinite variety, the past, the + surroundings of to-day, or what may happen in the future, the + contrarieties of material with spiritual, and of natural with artificial, + are all, to the eye of the <i>ensemblist</i>, but necessary sides and + unfoldings, different steps or links, in the endless process of Creative + thought, which, amid numberless apparent failures and contradictions, is + held together by central and never-broken unity—not contradictions + or failures at all, but radiations of one consistent and eternal purpose; + the whole mass of everything steadily, unerringly tending and flowing + toward the permanent <i>utile</i> and <i>morale</i>, as rivers to oceans. + As life is the whole law and incessant effort of the visible universe, and + death only the other or invisible side of the same, so the <i>utile</i>, + so truth, so health are the continuous-immutable laws of the moral + universe, and vice and disease, with all their perturbations, are but + transient, even if ever so prevalent expressions. + </p> + <p> + To politics throughout, Hegel applies the like catholic standard and + faith. Not any one party, or any one form of government, is absolutely and + exclusively true. Truth consists in the just relations of objects to each + other. A majority or democracy may rule as outrageously and do as great + harm as an oligarchy or despotism—though far less likely to do so. + But the great evil is either a violation of the relations just referr'd + to, or of the moral law. The specious, the unjust, the cruel, and what is + called the unnatural, though not only permitted but in a certain sense, + (like shade to light,) inevitable in the divine scheme, are by the whole + constitution of that scheme, partial, inconsistent, temporary, and though + having ever so great an ostensible majority, are certainly destin'd to + failures, after causing great suffering. + </p> + <p> + Theology, Hegel translates into science.{16} All apparent contradictions + in the statement of the Deific nature by different ages, nations, + churches, points of view, are but fractional and imperfect expressions of + one essential unity, from which they all proceed—crude endeavors or + distorted parts, to be regarded both as distinct and united. In short (to + put it in our own form, or summing up,) that thinker or analyzer or + overlooker who by an inscrutable combination of train'd wisdom and natural + intuition most fully accepts in perfect faith the moral unity and sanity + of the creative scheme, in history, science, and all life and time, + present and future, is both the truest cosmical devotee or religioso, and + the profoundest philosopher. While he who, by the spell of himself and his + circumstance, sees darkness and despair in the sum of the workings of + God's providence, and who, in that, denies or prevaricates, is, no matter + how much piety plays on his lips, the most radical sinner and infidel. + </p> + <p> + I am the more assured in recounting Hegel a little freely here,{17} not + only for offsetting the Carlylean letter and spirit-cutting it out all and + several from the very roots, and below the roots—but to + counterpoise, since the late death and deserv'd apotheosis of Darwin, the + tenets of the evolutionists. Unspeakably precious as those are to biology, + and henceforth indispensable to a right aim and estimate in study, they + neither comprise or explain everything—and the last word or whisper + still remains to be breathed, after the utmost of those claims, floating + high and forever above them all, and above technical metaphysics. While + the contributions which German Kant and Fichte and Schelling and Hegel + have bequeath'd to humanity—and which English Darwin has also in his + field—are indispensable to the erudition of America's future, I + should say that in all of them, and the best of them, when compared with + the lightning flashes and flights of the old prophets and <i>exaltés</i>, + the spiritual poets and poetry of all lands, (as in the Hebrew Bible,) + there seems to be, nay certainly is, something lacking—something + cold, a failure to satisfy the deepest emotions of the soul—a want + of living glow, fondness, warmth, which the old <i>exaltés</i> and poets + supply, and which the keenest modern philosophers so far do not. + </p> + <p> + Upon the whole, and for our purposes, this man's name certainly belongs on + the list with the just-specified, first-class moral physicians of our + current era—and with Emerson and two or three others—though + his prescription is drastic, and perhaps destructive, while theirs is + assimilating, normal and tonic. Feudal at the core, and mental offspring + and radiation of feudalism as are his books, they afford ever-valuable + lessons and affinities to democratic America. Nations or individuals, we + surely learn deepest from unlikeness, from a sincere opponent, from the + light thrown even scornfully on dangerous spots and liabilities. (Michel + Angelo invoked heaven's special protection against his friends and + affectionate flatterers; palpable foes he could manage for himself.) In + many particulars Carlyle was indeed, as Froude terms him, one of those + far-off Hebraic utterers, a new Micah or Habbakuk. His words at times + bubble forth with abysmic inspiration. Always precious, such men; as + precious now as any time. His rude, rasping, taunting, contradictory tones—what + ones are more wanted amid the supple, polish'd, money—worshipping, + Jesus-and-Judas-equalizing, suffrage-sovereignty echoes of current + America? He has lit up our Nineteenth century with the light of a + powerful, penetrating, and perfectly honest intellect of the first class, + turn'd on British and European politics, social life, literature, and + representative personages—thoroughly dissatisfied with all, and + mercilessly exposing the illness of all. But while he announces the + malady, and scolds and raves about it, he himself, born and bred in the + same atmosphere, is a mark'd illustration of it. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {13} It will be difficult for the future—judging by his books, + personal dissympathies, &c.,—to account for the deep hold this + author has taken on the present age, and the way he has color'd its method + and thought. I am certainly at a loss to account for it all as affecting + myself. But there could be no view, or even partial picture, of the middle + and latter part of our Nineteenth century, that did not markedly include + Thomas Carlyle. In his case (as so many others, literary productions, + works of art, personal identities, events,) there has been an impalpable + something more effective than the palpable. Then I find no better text, + (it is always important to have a definite, special, even oppositional, + living man to start from,) for sending out certain speculations and + comparisons for home use. Let us see what they amount to—those + reactionary doctrines, fears, scornful analyses of democracy—even + from the most erudite and sincere mind of Europe. + </p> + <p> + {14} Not the least mentionable part of the case, (a streak, it may be, of + that humor with which history and fate love to contrast their gravity,) is + that although neither of my great authorities during their lives + consider'd the United States worthy of serious mention, all the principal + works of both might not inappropriately be this day collected and bound up + under the conspicuous title: <i>Speculations for the use of North America, + and Democracy there with the relations of the same to Metaphysics, + including Lessons and Warnings (encouragements too, and of the vastest,) + from the Old World to the New.</i> + </p> + <p> + {15} I hope I shall not myself fall into the error I charge upon him, of + prescribing a specific for indispensable evils. My utmost pretension is + probably but to offset that old claim of the exclusively curative power of + first-class individual men, as leaders and rulers, by the claims, and + general movement and result, of ideas. Something of the latter kind seems + to me the distinctive theory of America, of democracy, and of the modern—or + rather, I should say, it <i>is</i> democracy, and <i>is</i> the modern. + </p> + <p> + {16} I am much indebted to J. Gostick's abstract. + </p> + <p> + {17} I have deliberately repeated it all, not only in offset to Carlyle' s + everlurking pessimism and world-decadence, but as presenting the most + thoroughly <i>American points of view</i> I know. In my opinion the above + formulas of Hegel are an essential and crowning justification of New World + democracy in the creative realms of time and space. There is that about + them which only the vastness, the multiplicity and the vitality of America + would seem able to comprehend, to give scope and illustration to, or to be + fit for, or even originate. It is strange to me that they were born in + Germany, or in the old world at all. While a Carlyle, I should say, is + quite the legitimate European product to be expected. + </p> + <h3> + A COUPLE OF OLD FRIENDS—A COLERIDGE BIT + </h3> + <p> + <i>Latter April</i>.—Have run down in my country haunt for a couple + of days, and am spending them by the pond. I had already discover'd my + kingfisher here (but only one—the mate not here yet.) This fine + bright morning, down by the creek, he has come out for a spree, circling, + flirting, chirping at a round rate. While I am writing these lines he is + disporting himself in scoots and rings over the wider parts of the pond, + into whose surface he dashes, once or twice making a loud <i>souse</i>—the + spray flying in the sun—beautiful! I see his white and dark-gray + plumage and peculiar shape plainly, as he has deign'd to come very near + me. The noble, graceful bird! Now he is sitting on the limb of an old + tree, high up, bending over the water—seems to be looking at me + while I memorandize. I almost fancy he knows me. <i>Three days later.</i>—My + second kingfisher is here with his (or her) mate. I saw the two together + flying and whirling around. I had heard, in the distance, what I thought + was the clear rasping staccato of the birds several times already—but + I couldn't be sure the notes came from both until I saw them together. + To-day at noon they appear'd, but apparently either on business, or for a + little limited exercise only. No wild frolic now, full of free fun and + motion, up and down for an hour. Doubtless, now they have cares, duties, + incubation responsibilities. The frolics are deferr'd till summer-close. + </p> + <p> + I don't know as I can finish to-day's memorandum better than with + Coleridge's lines, curiously appropriate in more ways than one: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All Nature seems at work—slugs leave their lair, + The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing, + And winter, slumbering in the open air, + Wears on his smiling face a dream of spring; + And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing, + Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing. +</pre> + <h3> + A WEEK'S VISIT TO BOSTON + </h3> + <p> + <i>May 1, '81.</i>—Seems as if all the ways and means of American + travel to-day had been settled, not only with reference to speed and + directness, but for the comfort of women, children, invalids, and old + fellows like me. I went on by a through train that runs daily from + Washington to the Yankee metropolis without change. You get in a + sleeping-car soon after dark in Philadelphia, and after ruminating an hour + or two, have your bed made up if you like, draw the curtains, and go to + sleep in it—fly on through Jersey to New York—hear in your + half-slumbers a dull jolting and bumping sound or two—are + unconsciously toted from Jersey City by a midnight steamer around the + Battery and under the big bridge to the track of the New Haven road—resume + your flight eastward, and early the next morning you wake up in Boston. + All of which was my experience. I wanted to go to the Revere house. A tall + unknown gentleman, (a fellow-passenger on his way to Newport he told me, I + had just chatted a few moments before with him,) assisted me out through + the depot crowd, procured a hack, put me in it with my traveling bag, + saying smilingly and quietly, "Now I want you to let this be <i>my</i> + ride," paid the driver, and before I could remonstrate bow'd himself off. + </p> + <p> + The occasion of my jaunt, I suppose I had better say here, was for a + public reading of "the death of Abraham Lincoln" essay, on the sixteenth + anniversary of that tragedy; which reading duly came off, night of April + 15. Then I linger'd a week in Boston—felt pretty well (the mood + propitious, my paralysis lull'd)—went around everywhere, and saw all + that was to be seen, especially human beings. Boston's immense material + growth—commerce, finance, commission stores, the plethora of goods, + the crowded streets and sidewalks—made of course the first + surprising show. In my trip out West, last year, I thought the wand of + future prosperity, future empire, must soon surely be wielded by St. + Louis, Chicago, beautiful Denver, perhaps San Francisco; but I see the + said wand stretch'd out just as decidedly in Boston, with just as much + certainty of staying; evidences of copious capital—indeed no centre + of the New World ahead of it, (half the big railroads in the West are + built with Yankees' money, and they take the dividends.) Old Boston with + its zigzag streets and multitudinous angles, (crush up a sheet of + letter-paper in your hand, throw it down, stamp it flat, and that is a map + of old Boston)—new Boston with its miles upon miles of large and + costly houses—Beacon street, Commonwealth avenue, and a hundred + others. But the best new departures and expansions of Boston, and of all + the cities of New England, are in another direction. + </p> + <h3> + THE BOSTON OF TO-DAY + </h3> + <p> + In the letters we get from Dr. Schliemann (interesting but fishy) about + his excavations there in the far-off Homeric area, I notice cities, ruins, + &c., as he digs them out of their graves, are certain to be in layers—that + is to say, upon the foundation of an old concern, very far down indeed, is + always another city or set of ruins, and upon that another superadded—and + sometimes upon that still another—each representing either a long or + rapid stage of growth and development, different from its predecessor, but + unerringly growing out of and resting on it. In the moral, emotional, + heroic, and human growths, (the main of a race in my opinion,) something + of this kind has certainly taken place in Boston. The New England + metropolis of to-day may be described as sunny, (there is something else + that makes warmth, mastering even winds and meteorologies, though those + are not to be sneez'd at,) joyous, receptive, full of ardor, sparkle, a + certain element of yearning, magnificently tolerant, yet not to be fool'd; + fond of good eating and drinking—costly in costume as its purse can + buy; and all through its best average of houses, streets, people, that + subtle something (generally thought to be climate, but it is not—it + is something indefinable in the <i>race</i>, the turn of its development) + which effuses behind the whirl of animation, study, business, a happy and + joyous public spirit, as distinguish'd from a sluggish and saturnine one. + Makes me think of the glints we get (as in Symonds's books) of the jolly + old Greek cities. Indeed there is a good deal of the Hellenic in B., and + the people are getting handsomer too—padded out, with freer motions, + and with color in their faces. I never saw (although this is not Greek) so + many <i>fine-looking gray-hair'd women</i>. At my lecture I caught myself + pausing more than once to look at them, plentiful everywhere through the + audience—healthy and wifely and motherly, and wonderfully charming + and beautiful—I think such as no time or land but ours could show. + </p> + <h3> + MY TRIBUTE TO FOUR POETS + </h3> + <p> + <i>April 16</i>.—A short but pleasant visit to Longfellow. I am not + one of the calling kind, but as the author of "Evangeline" kindly took the + trouble to come and see me three years ago in Camden, where I was ill, I + felt not only the impulse of my own pleasure on that occasion, but a duty. + He was the only particular eminence I called on in Boston, and I shall not + soon forget his lit-up face and glowing warmth and courtesy, in the modes + of what is called the old school. + </p> + <p> + And now just here I feel the impulse to interpolate something about the + mighty four who stamp this first American century with its birthmarks of + poetic literature. In a late magazine one of my reviewers, who ought to + know better, speaks of my "attitude of contempt and scorn and intolerance" + toward the leading poets—of my "deriding" them, and preaching their + "uselessness." If anybody cares to know what I think—and have long + thought and avow'd—about them, I am entirely willing to propound. I + can't imagine any better luck befalling these States for a poetical + beginning and initiation than has come from Emerson, Longfellow, Bryant, + and Whittier. Emerson, to me, stands unmistakably at the head, but for the + others I am at a loss where to give any precedence. Each illustrious, each + rounded, each distinctive. Emerson for his sweet, vital-tasting melody, + rhym'd philosophy, and poems as amber-clear as the honey of the wild bee + he loves to sing. Longfellow for rich color, graceful forms and incidents—all + that makes life beautiful and love refined—competing with the + singers of Europe on their own ground, and, with one exception, better and + finer work than that of any of them. Bryant pulsing the first interior + verse-throbs of a mighty world—bard of the river and the wood, ever + conveying a taste of open air, with scents as from hayfields, grapes, + birch-borders—always lurkingly fond of threnodies—beginning + and ending his long career with chants of death, with here and there + through all, poems, or passages of poems, touching the highest universal + truths, enthusiasms, duties—morals as grim and eternal, if not as + stormy and fateful, as anything in Eschylus. While in Whittier, with his + special themes—(his outcropping love of heroism and war, for all his + Quakerdom, his verses at times like the measur'd step of Cromwell's old + veterans)—in Whittier lives the zeal, the moral energy, that founded + New England—the splendid rectitude and ardor of Luther, Milton, + George Fox—I must not, dare not, say the wilfulness and narrowness—though + doubtless the world needs now, and always will need, almost above all, + just such narrowness and wilfulness. + </p> + <h3> + MILLET'S PICTURES LAST ITEMS + </h3> + <p> + <i>April 18</i>.—Went out three or four miles to the house of Quincy + Shaw, to see a collection of J. F. Millet's pictures. Two rapt hours. + Never before have I been so penetrated by this kind of expression. I stood + long and long before "the Sower." I believe what the picture-men designate + "the first Sower," as the artist executed a second copy, and a third, and, + some think, improved in each. But I doubt it. There is something in this + that could hardly be caught again—a sublime murkiness and original + pent fury. Besides this masterpiece, there were many others, (I shall + never forget the simple evening scene, "Watering the Cow,") all + inimitable, all perfect as pictures, works of mere art; and then it seem'd + to me, with that last impalpable ethic purpose from the artist (most + likely unconscious to himself) which I am always looking for. To me all of + them told the full story of what went before and necessitated the great + French revolution—the long precedent crushing of the masses of a + heroic people into the earth, in abject poverty, hunger—every right + denied, humanity attempted to be put back for generations—yet + Nature's force, titanic here, the stronger and hardier for that repression—waiting + terribly to break forth, revengeful—the pressure on the dykes, and + the bursting at last—the storming of the Bastile—the execution + of the king and queen—the tempest of massacres and blood. Yet who + can wonder? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Could we wish humanity different? + Could we wish the people made of wood or stone? + Or that there be no justice in destiny or time? +</pre> + <p> + The true France, base of all the rest, is certainly in these pictures. I + comprehend "Field-People Reposing," "the Diggers," and "the Angelus" in + this opinion. Some folks always think of the French as a small race, five + or five and a half feet high, and ever frivolous and smirking. Nothing of + the sort. The bulk of the personnel of France, before the revolution, was + large-sized, serious, industrious as now, and simple. The revolution and + Napoleon's wars dwarf'd the standard of human size, but it will come up + again. If for nothing else, I should dwell on my brief Boston visit for + opening to me the new world of Millet's pictures. Will America ever have + such an artist out of her own gestation, body, soul? + </p> + <p> + <i>Sunday, April 17.</i>—An hour and a half, late this afternoon, in + silence and half light, in the great nave of Memorial hall, Cambridge, the + walls thickly cover'd with mural tablets, bearing the names of students + and graduates of the university who fell in the secession war. + </p> + <p> + <i>April 23.</i>—It was well I got away in fair order, for if I had + staid another week I should have been killed with kindness, and with + eating and drinking. + </p> + <h3> + BIRDS—AND A CAUTION + </h3> + <p> + <i>May 14.</i>—Home again; down temporarily in the Jersey woods. + Between 8 and 9 A.M. a full concert of birds, from different quarters, in + keeping with the fresh scent, the peace, the naturalness all around me. I + am lately noticing the russet-back, size of the robin or a trifle less, + light breast and shoulders, with irregular dark stripes—tail long—sits + hunch'd up by the hour these days, top of a tall bush, or some tree, + singing blithely. I often get near and listen, as he seems tame; I like to + watch the working of his bill and throat, the quaint sidle of his body, + and flex of his long tail. I hear the woodpecker, and night and early + morning the shuttle of the whip-poor-will—noons, the gurgle of + thrush delicious, and <i>meo-o-ow</i> of the cat-bird. Many I cannot name; + but I do not very particularly seek information. (You must not know too + much, or be too precise or scientific about birds and trees and flowers + and water-craft; a certain free margin, and even vagueness—perhaps + ignorance, credulity—helps your enjoyment of these things, and of + the sentiment of feather'd, wooded, river, or marine Nature generally. I + repeat it—don't want to know too exactly, or the reasons why. My own + notes have been written off-hand in the latitude of middle New Jersey. + Though they describe what I saw—what appear'd to me—I dare say + the expert ornithologist, botanist or entomologist will detect more than + one slip in them.) + </p> + <h3> + SAMPLES OF MY COMMON-PLACE BOOK + </h3> + <p> + I ought not to offer a record of these days, interests, recuperations, + without including a certain old, well-thumb'd common-place book,{18} + filled with favorite excerpts, I carried in my pocket for three summers, + and absorb'd over and over again, when the mood invited. I find so much in + having a poem or fine suggestion sink into me (a little then goes a great + ways) prepar'd by these vacant-sane and natural influences. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {18} <i>Samples of my common-place book down at the creek:</i> + </p> + <p> + I have—says old Pindar—many swift arrows in my quiver which + speak to the wise, though they need an interpreter to the thoughtless. + Such a man as it takes ages to make, and ages to understand. <i>H. D. + Thoreau.</i> + </p> + <p> + If you hate a man, don't kill him, but let him live.—<i>Buddhistic.</i> + Famous swords are made of refuse scraps, thought worthless. + </p> + <p> + Poetry is the only verity—the expression of a sound mind speaking + after the ideal—and not after the apparent.—<i>Emerson</i>. + </p> + <p> + The form of oath among the Shoshone Indians is, "The earth hears me. The + sun hears me. Shall I lie?" + </p> + <p> + The true test of civilization is not the census, nor the size of cities, + nor the crops—no, but the kind of a man the country turns out.—<i>Emerson</i>. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The whole wide ether is the eagle's sway: + The whole earth is a brave man's fatherland.—<i>Euripides</i>. + + Spices crush'd, their pungence yield, + Trodden scents their sweets respire; + Would you have its strength reveal'd? + Cast the incense in the fire. +</pre> + <p> + Matthew Arnold speaks of "the huge Mississippi of falsehood called + History." + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The wind blows north, the wind blows south, + The wind blows east and west; + No matter how the free wind blows, + Some ship will find it best. +</pre> + <p> + Preach not to others what they should eat, but eat as becomes you, and be + silent.—<i>Epictetus</i>. + </p> + <p> + Victor Hugo makes a donkey meditate and apostrophize thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My brother, man, if you would know the truth, + We both are by the same dull walls shut in; + The gate is massive and the dungeon strong. + But you look through the key-hole out beyond, + And call this knowledge; yet have not at hand + The key wherein to turn the fatal lock. +</pre> + <p> + "William Cullen Bryant surprised me once," relates a writer in a New York + paper, "by saying that prose was the natural language of composition, and + he wonder'd how anybody came to write poetry." + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Farewell! I did not know thy worth; + But thou art gone, and now 'tis prized: + So angels walk'd unknown on earth, + But when they flew were recognized.—<i>Hood</i>. +</pre> + <p> + John Burroughs, writing of Thoreau, says: "He improves with age—in + fact requires age to take off a little of his asperity, and fully ripen + him. The world likes a good hater and refuser almost as well as it likes a + good lover and accepter—only it likes him farther off." + </p> + <p> + <i>Louise Michel at the burial of Blanqui, (1881.)</i> + </p> + <p> + Blanqui drill'd his body to subjection to his grand conscience and his + noble passions, and commencing as a young man, broke with all that is + sybaritish in modern civilization. Without the power to sacrifice self, + great ideas will never bear fruit. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Out of the leaping furnace flame + A mass of molten silver came; + Then, beaten into pieces three, + Went forth to meet its destiny. + The first a crucifix was made, + Within a soldier's knapsack laid; + The second was a locket fair, + Where a mother kept her dead child's hair; + The third—a bangle, bright and warm, + Around a faithless woman's arm. + + A mighty pain to love it is, + And'tis a pain that pain to miss; + But of all pain the greatest pain, + It is to love, but love in vain. +</pre> + <p> + <i>Maurice F. Egan on De Guerin.</i> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A pagan heart, a Christian soul had he, + He followed Christ, yet for dead Pan he sigh'd, + Till earth and heaven met within his breast: + As if Theocritus in Sicily + Had come upon the Figure crucified, + And lost his gods in deep, Christ-given rest. + + And if I pray, the only prayer + That moves my lips for me, + Is, leave the mind that now I bear, + And give me Liberty.—<i>Emily Bronte.</i> + + I travel on not knowing, + I would not if I might; + I would rather walk with God in the dark, + Than go alone in the light; + I would rather walk with Him by faith + Than pick my way by sight +</pre> + <h3> + MY NATIVE SAND AND SALT ONCE MORE + </h3> + <p> + <i>July 25, '81.—Far Rockaway, L. I.</i>—A good day here, on a + jaunt, amid the sand and salt, a steady breeze setting in from the sea, + the sun shining, the sedge-odor, the noise of the surf, a mixture of + hissing and booming, the milk-white crest curling. I had a leisurely bath + and naked ramble as of old, on the warm-gray shore-sands, my companions + off in a oat in deeper water—(I shouting to them Jupiter's menaces + against the gods, from Pope's Homer) <i>July 28—to Long Branch</i>—8-1/2 + A.M., on the steamer "Plymouth Rock," foot of 23d street, New York, for + Long Branch. Another fine day, fine sights, the shores, the shipping and + bay—everything comforting to the body and spirit of me. (I find the + human and objective atmosphere of New York city and Brooklyn more + affiliative to me than any other.) <i>An hour later</i>—Still on the + steamer, now sniffing the salt very plainly—the long pulsating <i>swash</i> + as our boat steams seaward—the hills of Navesink and many passing + vessels—the air the best part of all. At Long Branch the bulk of the + day, stopt at a good hotel, took all very leisurely, had an excellent + dinner, and then drove for over two hours about the place, especially + Ocean avenue, the finest drive one can imagine, seven or eight miles right + along the beach. In all directions costly villas, palaces, millionaires—(but + few among them I opine like my friend George W. Childs, whose personal + integrity, generosity, unaffected simplicity, go beyond all worldly + wealth.) + </p> + <h3> + HOT WEATHER NEW YORK + </h3> + <p> + <i>August</i>.—In the big city awhile. Even the height of the + dog-days, there is a good deal of fun about New York, if you only avoid + fluster, and take all the buoyant wholesomeness that offers. More comfort, + too, than most folks think. A middle-aged man, with plenty of money in his + pocket, tells me that he has been off for a month to all the swell places, + has disburs'd a small fortune, has been hot and out of kilter everywhere, + and has return' d home and lived in New York city the last two weeks quite + contented and happy. People forget when it is hot here, it is generally + hotter still in other places. + </p> + <p> + New York is so situated, with the great ozonic brine on both sides, it + comprises the most favorable health-chances in the world. (If only the + suffocating crowding of some of its tenement houses could be broken up.) I + find I never sufficiently realized how beautiful are the upper two-thirds + of Manhattan island. I am stopping at Mott Haven, and have been familiar + now for ten days with the region above One-hundredth street, and along the + Harlem river and Washington heights. Am dwelling a few days with my + friends Mr. and Mrs. J. H. J., and a merry houseful of young ladies. Am + putting the last touches on the printer's copy of my new volume of "Leaves + of Grass"—the completed book at last. Work at it two or three hours, + and then go down and loaf along the Harlem river; have just had a good + spell of this recreation. The sun sufficiently veil'd, a soft south + breeze, the river full of small or large shells (light taper boats) + darting up and down, some singly, now and then long ones with six or eight + young fellows practicing—very inspiriting sights. Two fine yachts + lie anchor'd off the shore. I linger long, enjoying the sundown, the glow, + the streak'd sky, the heights, distances, shadows. <i>Aug. 10.</i>—As + I haltingly ramble an hour or two this forenoon by the more secluded parts + of the shore, or sit under an old cedar half way up the hill, the city + near in view, many young parties gather to bathe or swim, squads of boys, + generally twos or threes, some larger ones, along the sand-bottom, or off + an old pier close by. A peculiar and pretty carnival—at its height a + hundred lads or young men, very democratic, but all decent behaving. The + laughter, voices, calls, re-responses—the springing and diving of + the bathers from the great string-piece of the decay'd pier, where climb + or stand long ranks of them, naked, rose-color'd, with movements, postures + ahead of any sculpture. To all this, the sun, so bright, the dark-green + shadow of the hills the other side, the amber-rolling waves, changing as + the tide comes in to a trans-parent tea-color—the frequent splash of + the playful boys, sousing—the glittering drops sparkling, and the + good western breeze blowing. + </p> + <h3> + CUSTER'S LAST RALLY + </h3> + <p> + Went to-day to see this just-finish'd painting by John Mulvany, who has + been out in far Dakota, on the spot, at the forts, and among the + frontiersmen, soldiers and Indians, for the last two years, on purpose to + sketch it in from reality, or the best that could be got of it. Sat for + over an hour before the picture, completely absorb'd in the first view. A + vast canvas, I should say twenty or twenty-two feet by twelve, all + crowded, and yet not crowded, conveying such a vivid play of color, it + takes a little time to get used to it. There are no tricks; there is no + throwing of shades in masses; it is all at first painfully real, + overwhelming, needs good nerves to look at it. Forty or fifty figures, + perhaps more, in full finish and detail in the mid-ground, with three + times that number, or more, through the rest—swarms upon swarms of + savage Sioux, in their war-bonnets, frantic, mostly on ponies, driving + through the background, through the smoke, like a hurricane of demons. A + dozen of the figures are wonderful. Altogether a western, autochthonic + phase of America, the frontiers, culminating, typical, deadly, heroic to + the uttermost—nothing in the books like it, nothing in Homer, + nothing in Shakspere; more grim and sublime than either, all native, all + our own, and all a fact. A great lot of muscular, tan-faced men, brought + to bay under terrible circumstances—death ahold of them, yet every + man undaunted, not one losing his head, wringing out every cent of the pay + before they sell their lives. Custer (his hair cut short stands in the + middle), with dilated eye and extended arm, aiming a huge cavalry pistol. + Captain Cook is there, partially wounded, blood on the white handkerchief + around his head, aiming his carbine coolly, half kneeling—(his body + was afterwards found close by Custer's.) The slaughter'd or + half-slaughter'd horses, for breastworks, make a peculiar feature. Two + dead Indians, herculean, lie in the foreground, clutching their Winchester + rifles, very characteristic. The many soldiers, their faces and attitudes, + the carbines, the broad-brimm'd western hats, the powder-smoke in puffs, + the dying horses with their rolling eyes almost human in their agony, the + clouds of war-bonneted Sioux in the background, the figures of Custer and + Cook—with indeed the whole scene, dreadful, yet with an attraction + and beauty that will remain in my memory. With all its color and fierce + action, a certain Greek continence pervades it. A sunny sky and clear + light envelop all. There is an almost entire absence of the stock traits + of European war pictures. The physiognomy of the work is realistic and + Western. I only saw it for an hour or so; but it needs to be seen many + times—needs to be studied over and over again. I could look on such + a work at brief intervals all my life without tiring; it is very tonic to + me; then it has an ethic purpose below all, as all great art must have. + The artist said the sending of the picture abroad, probably to London, had + been talk'd of. I advised him if it went abroad to take it to Paris. I + think they might appreciate it there—nay, they certainly would. Then + I would like to show Messieur Crapeau that some things can be done in + America as well as others. + </p> + <h3> + SOME OLD ACQUAINTANCES—MEMORIES + </h3> + <p> + <i>Aug. 16.</i>—"Chalk a big mark for today," was one of the sayings + of an old sportsman-friend of mine, when he had had unusually good luck—come + home thoroughly tired, but with satisfactory results of fish or birds. + </p> + <p> + Well, to-day might warrant such a mark for me. Everything propitious from + the start. An hour's fresh stimulation, coming down ten miles of Manhattan + island by railroad and 8 o'clock stage. Then an excellent breakfast at + Pfaff's restaurant, 24th street. Our host himself, an old friend of mine, + quickly appear'd on the scene to welcome me and bring up the news, and, + first opening a big fat bottle of the best wine in the cellar, talk about + ante-bellum times, '59 and '60, and the jovial suppers at his then + Broadway place, near Bleecker street. Ah, the friends and names and + frequenters, those times, that place. Most are dead—Ada Clare, + Wilkins, Daisy Sheppard, O'Brien, Henry Clapp, Stanley, Mullin, Wood, + Brougham, Arnold—all gone. And there Pfaff and I, sitting opposite + each other at the little table, gave a remembrance to them in a style they + would have themselves fully confirm'd, namely, big, brimming, fill'd-up + champagne-glasses, drain'd in abstracted silence, very leisurely, to the + last drop. (Pfaff is a generous German <i>restaurateur</i>, silent, stout, + jolly, and I should say the best selecter of champagne in America.) + </p> + <h3> + A DISCOVERY OF OLD AGE + </h3> + <p> + Perhaps the best is always cumulative. One's eating and drinking one wants + fresh, and for the nonce, right off, and have done with it—but I + would not give a straw for that person or poem, or friend, or city, or + work of art, that was not more grateful the second time than the first—and + more still the third. Nay, I do not believe any grandest eligibility ever + comes forth at first. In my own experience, (persons, poems, places, + characters,) I discover the best hardly ever at first, (no absolute rule + about it, however,) sometimes suddenly bursting forth, or stealthily + opening to me, perhaps after years of unwitting familiarity, + unappreciation, usage. + </p> + <h3> + A VISIT, AT THE LAST, TO R. W. EMERSON + </h3> + <p> + <i>Concord, Mass.</i>—Out here on a visit—elastic, mellow, + Indian-summery weather. Came to-day from Boston, (a pleasant ride of 40 + minutes by steam, through Somerville, Belmont, Waltham, Stony Brook, and + other lively towns,) convoy'd by my friend F. B. Sanborn, and to his ample + house, and the kindness and hospitality of Mrs. S. and their fine family. + Am writing this under the shade of some old hickories and elms, just after + 4 P.M., on the porch, within a stone's throw of the Concord river. Off + against me, across stream, on a meadow and side-hill, haymakers are + gathering and wagoning-in probably their second or third crop. The spread + of emerald-green and brown, the knolls, the score or two of little + haycocks dotting the meadow, the loaded-up wagons, the patient horses, the + slow-strong action of the men and pitchforks—all in the just-waning + afternoon, with patches of yellow sun-sheen, mottled by long shadows—a + cricket shrilly chirping, herald of the dusk—a boat with two figures + noiselessly gliding along the little river, passing under the stone + bridge-arch—the slight settling haze of aerial moisture, the sky and + the peacefulness expanding in all directions and overhead—fill and + soothe me. + </p> + <p> + <i>Same Evening.</i>—Never had I a better piece of luck befall me: a + long and blessed evening with Emerson, in a way I couldn't have wish'd + better or different. For nearly two hours he has been placidly sitting + where I could see his face in the best light, near me. Mrs. S.'s + back-parlor well fill'd with people, neighbors, many fresh and charming + faces, women, mostly young, but some old. My friend A. B. Alcott and his + daughter Louisa were there early. A good deal of talk, the subject Henry + Thoreau—some new glints of his life and fortunes, with letters to + and from him—one of the best by Margaret Fuller, others by Horace + Greeley, Channing, &c.—one from Thoreau himself, most quaint and + interesting. (No doubt I seem'd very stupid to the roomful of company, + taking hardly any part in the conversation; but I had "my own pail to milk + in," as the Swiss proverb puts it.) My seat and the relative arrangement + were such that, without being rude, or anything of the kind, I could just + look squarely at E., which I did a good part of the two hours. On + entering, he had spoken very briefly and politely to several of the + company, then settled himself in his chair, a trifle push'd back, and, + though a listener and apparently an alert one, remain'd silent through the + whole talk and discussion. A lady friend quietly took a seat next him, to + give special attention. A good color in his face, eyes clear, with the + well-known expression of sweetness, and the old clear-peering aspect quite + the same. + </p> + <p> + <i>Next Day</i>.—Several hours at E.'s house, and dinner there. An + old familiar house, (he has been in it thirty-five years,) with + surroundings, furnishment, roominess, and plain elegance and fullness, + signifying democratic ease, sufficient opulence, and an admirable + old-fashioned simplicity—modern luxury, with its mere sumptuousness + and affectation, either touch'd lightly upon or ignored altogether. Dinner + the same. Of course the best of the occasion (Sunday, September 18, '81) + was the sight of E. himself. As just said, a healthy color in the cheeks, + and good light in the eyes, cheery expression, and just the amount of + talking that best suited, namely, a word or short phrase only where + needed, and almost always with a smile. Besides Emerson himself, Mrs. E., + with their daughter Ellen, the son Edward and his wife, with my friend F. + S. and Mrs. S., and others, relatives and intimates. Mrs. Emerson, + resuming the subject of the evening before, (I sat next to her,) gave me + further and fuller information about Thoreau, who, years ago, during Mr. + E.'s absence in Europe, had lived for some time in the family, by + invitation. + </p> + <h3> + OTHER CONCORD NOTATIONS + </h3> + <p> + Though the evening at Mr. and Mrs. Sanborn's, and the memorable family + dinner at Mr. and Mrs. Emerson's, have most pleasantly and permanently + fill'd my memory, I must not slight other notations of Concord. I went to + the old Manse, walk'd through the ancient garden, enter'd the rooms, noted + the quaintness, the unkempt grass and bushes, the little panes in the + windows, the low ceilings, the spicy smell, the creepers embowering the + light. Went to the Concord battle ground, which is close by, scann'd + French's statue, "the Minute Man," read Emerson's poetic inscription on + the base, linger'd a long while on the bridge, and stopp'd by the grave of + the unnamed British soldiers buried there the day after the fight in + April, '75. Then riding on, (thanks to my friend Miss M. and her spirited + white ponies, she driving them,) a half hour at Hawthorne's and Thoreau's + graves. I got out and went up of course on foot, and stood a long while + and ponder'd. They lie close together in a pleasant wooded spot well up + the cemetery hill, "Sleepy Hollow." The flat surface of the first was + densely cover'd by myrtle, with a border of arbor-vitae, and the other had + a brown headstone, moderately elaborate, with inscriptions. By Henry's + side lies his brother John, of whom much was expected, but he died young. + Then to Walden pond, that beautiful embower'd sheet of water, and spent + over an hour there. On the spot in the woods where Thoreau had his + solitary house is now quite a cairn of stones, to mark the place; I too + carried one and deposited on the heap. As we drove back, saw the "School + of Philosophy," but it was shut up, and I would not have it open'd for me. + Near by stopp'd at the house of W.T. Harris, the Hegelian, who came out, + and we had a pleasant chat while I sat in the wagon. I shall not soon + forget those Concord drives, and especially that charming Sunday forenoon + one with my friend Miss M., and the white ponies. + </p> + <h3> + BOSTON COMMON—MORE OF EMERSON + </h3> + <p> + <i>Oct. 10-13.</i>—I spend a good deal of time on the Common, these + delicious days and nights—every mid-day from 11.30 to about 1—and + almost every sunset another hour. I know all the big trees, especially the + old elms along Tremont and Beacon streets, and have come to a sociable + silent understanding with most of them, in the sunlit air, (yet + crispy-cool enough,) as I saunter along the wide unpaved walks. Up and + down this breadth by Beacon street, between these same old elms, I walk'd + for two hours, of a bright sharp February mid-day twenty-one years ago, + with Emerson, then in his prime, keen, physically and morally magnetic, + arm'd at every point, and when he chose, wielding the emotional just as + well as the intellectual. During those two hours he was the talker and I + the listener. It was an argument-statement, reconnoitring, review, attack, + and pressing home, (like an army corps in order, artillery, cavalry, + infantry,) of all that could be said against that part (and a main part) + in the construction of my poems, "Children of Adam." More precious than + gold to me that dissertion—it afforded me, ever after, this strange + and paradoxical lesson; each point of E.'s statement was unanswerable, no + judge's charge ever more complete or convincing, I could never hear the + points better put—and then I felt down in my soul the clear and + unmistakable conviction to disobey all, and pursue my own way. "What have + you to say then to such things?" said E., pausing in conclusion. "Only + that while I can't answer them at all, I feel more settled than ever to + adhere to my own theory, and exemplify it," was my candid response. + Whereupon we went and had a good dinner at the American House. And + thenceforward I never waver'd or was touch'd with qualms, (as I confess I + had been two or three times before.) + </p> + <h3> + AN OSSIANIC NIGHT—DEAREST FRIENDS + </h3> + <p> + <i>Nov., '81</i>.—Again back in Camden. As I cross the Delaware in + long trips tonight, between 9 and 11, the scene overhead is a peculiar one—swift + sheets of flitting vapor-gauze, follow'd by dense clouds throwing an inky + pall on everything. Then a spell of that transparent steel-gray black sky + I have noticed under similar circumstances, on which the moon would beam + for a few moments with calm lustre, throwing down a broad dazzle of + highway on the waters; then the mists careering again. All silently, yet + driven as if by the furies they sweep along, sometimes quite thin, + sometimes thicker—a real Ossianic night—amid the whirl, absent + or dead friends, the old, the past, somehow tenderly suggested—while + the Gael-strains chant themselves from the mists—"Be thy soul blest, + O Carril! in the midst of thy eddying winds. O that thou wouldst come to + my hall when I am alone by night! And thou dost come, my friend. I hear + often thy light hand on my harp, when it hangs on the distant wall, and + the feeble sound touches my ear. Why dost thou not speak to me in my + grief, and tell me when I shall behold my friends? But thou passest away + in thy murmuring blast; the wind whistles through the gray hairs of + Ossian." + </p> + <p> + But most of all, those changes of moon and sheets of hurrying vapor and + black clouds, with the sense of rapid action in weird silence, recall the + far-back Erse belief that such above were the preparations for receiving + the wraiths of just-slain warriors—{"We sat that night in Selma, + round the strength of the shell. The wind was abroad in the oaks. The + spirit of the mountain roar'd. The blast came rustling through the hall, + and gently touch'd my harp. The sound was mournful and low, like the song + of the tomb. Fingal heard it the first. The crowded sighs of his bosom + rose. Some of my heroes are low, said the gray-hair'd king of Morven. I + hear the sound of death on the harp. Ossian, touch the trembling string. + Bid the sorrow rise, that their spirits may fly with joy to Morven's woody + hills. I touch'd the harp before the king; the sound was mournful and low. + Bend forward from your clouds, I said, ghosts of my fathers! bend. Lay by + the red terror of your course. Receive the falling chief; whether he comes + from a distant land, or rises from the rolling sea. Let his robe of mist + be near; his spear that is form'd of a cloud. Place a half-extinguish'd + meteor by his side, in the form of a hero's sword. And oh! let his + countenance be lovely, that his friends may delight in his presence. Bend + from your clouds, I said, ghosts of my fathers, bend. Such was my song in + Selma, to the lightly trembling harp."} + </p> + <p> + How or why I know not, just at the moment, but I too muse and think of my + best friends in their distant homes—of William O'Connor, of Maurice + Bucke, of John Burroughs, and of Mrs. Gilchrist—friends of my soul—stanchest + friends of my other soul, my poems. + </p> + <h3> + ONLY A NEW FERRY-BOAT + </h3> + <p> + <i>Jan. 12, '82</i>.—Such a show as the Delaware presented an hour + before sundown yesterday evening, all along between Philadelphia and + Camden, is worth weaving into an item. It was full tide, a fair breeze + from the southwest, the water of a pale tawny color, and just enough + motion to make things frolicsome and lively. Add to these an approaching + sunset of unusual splendor, a broad tumble of clouds, with much golden + haze and profusion of beaming shaft and dazzle. In the midst of all, in + the clear drab of the afternoon light, there steam'd up the river the + large, new boat, "the Wenonah," as pretty an object as you could wish to + see, lightly and swiftly skimming along, all trim and white, cover'd with + flags, transparent red and blue, streaming out in the breeze. Only a new + ferry-boat, and yet in its fitness comparable with the prettiest product + of Nature's cunning, and rivaling it. High up in the transparent ether + gracefully balanced and circled four or five great sea hawks, while here + below, amid the pomp and picturesqueness of sky and river, swam this + creation of artificial beauty and motion and power, in its way no less + perfect. + </p> + <h3> + DEATH OF LONGFELLOW + </h3> + <p> + <i>Camden, April, '82</i>.—I have just return'd from an old forest + haunt, where I love to go occasionally away from parlors, pavements, and + the newspapers and magazines—and where, of a clear forenoon, deep in + the shade of pines and cedars and a tangle of old laurel-trees and vines, + the news of Longfellow's death first reach'd me. For want of anything + better, let me lightly twine a sprig of the sweet ground-ivy trailing so + plentifully through the dead leaves at my feet, with reflections of that + half hour alone, there in the silence, and lay it as my contribution on + the dead bard's grave. + </p> + <p> + Longfellow in his voluminous works seems to me not only to be eminent in + the style and forms of poetical expression that mark the present age, (an + idiosyncrasy, almost a sickness, of verbal melody,) but to bring what is + always dearest as poetry to the general human heart and taste, and + probably must be so in the nature of things. He is certainly the sort of + bard and counteractant most needed for our materialistic, self-assertive, + money-worshipping, Anglo-Saxon races, and especially for the present age + in America—an age tyrannically regulated with reference to the + manufacturer, the merchant, the financier, the politician and the day + workman—for whom and among whom he comes as the poet of melody, + courtesy, deference—poet of the mellow twilight of the past in + Italy, Germany, Spain, and in Northern Europe—poet of all + sympathetic gentleness—and universal poet of women and young people. + I should have to think long if I were ask'd to name the man who has done + more, and in more valuable directions, for America. + </p> + <p> + I doubt if there ever was before such a fine intuitive judge and selecter + of poems. His translations of many German and Scandinavian pieces are said + to be better than the vernaculars. He does not urge or lash. His influence + is like good drink or air. He is not tepid either, but always vital, with + flavor, motion, grace. He strikes a splendid average, and does not sing + exceptional passions, or humanity's jagged escapades. He is not + revolutionary, brings nothing offensive or new, does not deal hard blows. + On the contrary, his songs soothe and heal, or if they excite, it is a + healthy and agreeable excitement. His very anger is gentle, is at second + hand, (as in the "Quadroon Girl" and the "Witnesses.") + </p> + <p> + There is no undue element of pensiveness in Longfellow's strains. Even in + the early translation, the Manrique, the movement is as of strong and + steady wind or tide, holding up and buoying. Death is not avoided through + his many themes, but there is something almost winning in his original + verses and renderings on that dread subject—as, closing "the + Happiest Land" dispute, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And then the landlord's daughter + Up to heaven rais'd her hand, + And said, "Ye may no more contend, + There lies the happiest land." +</pre> + <p> + To the ungracious complaint-charge of his want of racy nativity and + special originality, I shall only say that America and the world may well + be reverently thankful—can never be thankful enough—for any + such singing-bird vouchsafed out of the centuries, without asking that the + notes be different from those of other songsters; adding what I have heard + Longfellow himself say, that ere the New World can be worthily original, + and announce herself and her own heroes, she must be well saturated with + the originality of others, and respectfully consider the heroes that lived + before Agamemnon. + </p> + <h3> + STARTING NEWSPAPERS + </h3> + <p> + <i>Reminiscences (From the "Camden Courier")</i>. As I sat taking my + evening sail across the Delaware in the staunch ferry-boat "Beverly," a + night or two ago, I was join'd by two young reporter friends. "I have a + message for you," said one of them; "the C. folks told me to say they + would like a piece sign'd by your name, to go in their first number. Can + you do it for them?" "I guess so," said I; "what might it be about?" + "Well, anything on newspapers, or perhaps what you've done yourself, + starting them." And off the boys went, for we had reach'd the Philadelphia + side. The hour was fine and mild, the bright half-moon shining; Venus, + with excess of splendor, just setting in the west, and the great Scorpion + rearing its length more than half up in the southeast. As I cross'd + leisurely for an hour in the pleasant night-scene, my young friend's words + brought up quite a string of reminiscences. + </p> + <p> + I commenced when I was but a boy of eleven or twelve writing sentimental + bits for the old "Long Island Patriot," in Brooklyn; this was about 1832. + Soon after, I had a piece or two in George P. Morris's then celebrated and + fashionable "Mirror," of New York city. I remember with what + half-suppress'd excitement I used to watch for the big, fat, red-faced, + slow-moving, very old English carrier who distributed the "Mirror" in + Brooklyn; and when I got one, opening and cutting the leaves with + trembling fingers. How it made my heart double-beat to see <i>my piece</i> + on the pretty white paper, in nice type. + </p> + <p> + My first real venture was the "Long Islander," in my own beautiful town of + Huntington, in 1839. I was about twenty years old. I had been teaching + country school for two or three years in various parts of Suffolk and + Queens counties, but liked printing; had been at it while a lad, learn'd + the trade of compositor, and was encouraged to start a paper in the region + where I was born. I went to New York, bought a press and types, hired some + little help, but did most of the work myself, including the press-work. + Everything seem'd turning out well; (only my own restlessness prevented me + gradually establishing a permanent property there.) I bought a good horse, + and every week went all round the country serving my papers, devoting one + day and night to it. I never had happier jaunts—going over to south + side, to Babylon, down the south road, across to Smithtown and Comac, and + back home. The experiences of those jaunts, the dear old-fashion'd farmers + and their wives, the stops by the hay-fields, the hospitality, nice + dinners, occasional evenings, the girls, the rides through the brush, come + up in my memory to this day. + </p> + <p> + I next went to the "Aurora" daily in New York city—a sort of free + lance. Also wrote regularly for the "Tattler," an evening paper. With + these and a little outside work I was occupied off and on, until I went to + edit the "Brooklyn Eagle," where for two years I had one of the + pleasantest sits of my life—a good owner, good pay, and easy work + and hours. The troubles in the Democratic party broke forth about those + times (1848-'49) and I split off with the radicals, which led to rows with + the boss and "the party," and I lost my place. + </p> + <p> + Being now out of a job, I was offer'd impromptu, (it happen'd between the + acts one night in the lobby of the old Broadway theatre near Pearl street, + New York city,) a good chance to go down to New Orleans on the staff of + the "Crescent," a daily to be started there with plenty of capital behind + it. One of the owners, who was north buying material, met me walking in + the lobby, and though that was our first acquaintance, after fifteen + minutes' talk (and a drink) we made a formal bargain, and he paid me two + hundred dollars down to bind the contract and bear my expenses to New + Orleans. I started two days afterwards; had a good leisurely time, as the + paper wasn't to be out in three weeks. I enjoy'd my journey and Louisiana + life much. Returning to Brooklyn a year or two afterward I started the + "Freeman," first as a weekly, then daily. Pretty soon the secession war + broke out, and I, too, got drawn in the current southward, and spent the + following three years there, (as memorandized preceding.) + </p> + <p> + Besides starting them as aforementioned, I have had to do, one time or + another, during my life, with a long list of papers, at divers places, + sometimes under queer circumstances. During the war, the hospitals at + Washington, among other means of amusement, printed a little sheet among + themselves, surrounded by wounds and death, the "Armory Square Gazette," + to which I contributed. The same long afterward, casually, to a paper—I + think it was call'd the "Jimplecute"—out in Colorado where I stopp'd + at the time. When I was in Quebec province, in Canada, in 1880, I went + into the queerest little old French printing-office near Tadousac. It was + far more primitive and ancient than my Camden friend William Kurtz's place + up on Federal street. I remember, as a youngster, several characteristic + old printers of a kind hard to be seen these days. + </p> + <h3> + THE GREAT UNREST OF WHICH WE ARE PART + </h3> + <p> + My thoughts went floating on vast and mystic currents as I sat to-day in + solitude and half-shade by the creek—returning mainly to two + principal centres. One of my cherish'd themes for a never-achiev'd poem + has been the two impetuses of man and the universe—in the latter, + creation's incessant unrest,{19} exfoliation, (Darwin's evolution, I + suppose.) Indeed, what is Nature but change, in all its visible, and still + more its invisible processes? Or what is humanity in its faith, love, + heroism, poetry, even morals, but <i>emotion</i>? + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {19} "Fifty thousand years ago the constellation of the Great Bear or + Dipper was a starry cross; a hundred thousand years hence the imaginary + Dipper will be upside down, and the stars which form the bowl and handle + will have changed places. The misty nebulae are moving, and besides are + whirling around in great spirals, some one way, some another. Every + molecule of matter in the whole universe is swinging to and fro; every + particle of ether which fills space is in jelly-like vibration. Light is + one kind of motion, heat another, electricity another, magnetism another, + sound another. Every human sense is the result of motion; every + perception, every thought is but motion of the molecules of the brain + translated by that incomprehensible thing we call mind. The processes of + growth, of existence, of decay, whether in worlds, or in the minutest + organisms, are but motion." + </p> + <h3> + BY EMERSON'S GRAVE + </h3> + <p> + <i>May 6, '82.</i>—We stand by Emerson's new-made grave without + sadness—indeed a solemn joy and faith, almost hauteur—our + soul-benison no mere + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Warrior, rest, thy task is done," +</pre> + <p> + for one beyond the warriors of the world lies surely symboll'd here. A + just man, poised on himself, all-loving, all-inclosing, and sane and clear + as the sun. Nor does it seem so much Emerson himself we are here to honor—it + is conscience, simplicity, culture, humanity's attributes at their best, + yet applicable if need be to average affairs, and eligible to all. So used + are we to suppose a heroic death can only come from out of battle or + storm, or mighty personal contest, or amid dramatic incidents or danger, + (have we not been taught so for ages by all the plays and poems?) that few + even of those who most sympathizingly mourn Emerson's late departure will + fully appreciate the ripen'd grandeur of that event, with its play of calm + and fitness, like evening light on the sea. + </p> + <p> + How I shall henceforth dwell on the blessed hours when, not long since, I + saw that benignant face, the clear eyes, the silently smiling mouth, the + form yet upright in its great age—to the very last, with so much + spring and cheeriness, and such an absence of decrepitude, that even the + term <i>venerable</i> hardly seem'd fitting. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the life now rounded and completed in its mortal development, and + which nothing can change or harm more, has its most illustrious halo, not + in its splendid intellectual or esthetic products, but as forming in its + entirety one of the few (alas! how few!) perfect and flawless excuses for + being, of the entire literary class. + </p> + <p> + We can say, as Abraham Lincoln at Gettysburg, It is not we who come to + consecrate the dead—we reverently come to receive, if so it may be, + some consecration to ourselves and daily work from him. + </p> + <h3> + AT PRESENT WRITING—PERSONAL + </h3> + <p> + <i>A letter to a German friend—extract</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>May 31, '82.</i>—"From to-day I enter upon my 64th year. The + paralysis that first affected me nearly ten years ago, has since remain'd, + with varying course—seems to have settled quietly down, and will + probably continue. I easily tire, am very clumsy, cannot walk far; but my + spirits are first-rate. I go around in public almost every day—now + and then take long trips, by railroad or boat, hundreds of miles—live + largely in the open air—am sunburnt and stout, (weigh 190)—keep + up my activity and interest in life, people, progress, and the questions + of the day. About two-thirds of the time I am quite comfortable. What + mentality I ever had remains entirely unaffected; though physically I am a + half-paralytic, and likely to be so, long as I live. But the principal + object of my life seems to have been accomplish'd—I have the most + devoted and ardent of friends, and affectionate relatives—and of + enemies I really make no account." + </p> + <h3> + AFTER TRYING A CERTAIN BOOK + </h3> + <p> + I tried to read a beautifully printed and scholarly volume on "the Theory + of Poetry," received by mail this morning from England—but gave it + up at last for a bad job. Here are some capricious pencillings that + follow'd, as I find them in my notes: + </p> + <p> + In youth and maturity Poems are charged with sunshine and varied pomp of + day; but as the soul more and more takes precedence, (the sensuous still + included,) the Dusk becomes the poet's atmosphere. I too have sought, and + ever seek, the brilliant sun, and make my songs according. But as I grow + old, the half-lights of evening are far more to me. + </p> + <p> + The play of Imagination, with the sensuous objects of Nature for symbols + and Faith—with Love and Pride as the unseen impetus and moving-power + of all, make up the curious chess-game of a poem. + </p> + <p> + Common teachers or critics are always asking "What does it mean?" Symphony + of fine musician, or sunset, or sea-waves rolling up the beach—what + do they mean? Undoubtedly in the most subtle-elusive sense they mean + something—as love does, and religion does, and the best poem;—but + who shall fathom and define those meanings? (I do not intend this as a + warrant for wildness and frantic escapades—but to justify the soul's + frequent joy in what cannot be defined to the intellectual part, or to + calculation.) + </p> + <p> + At its best, poetic lore is like what may be heard of conversation in the + dusk, from speakers far or hid, of which we get only a few broken murmurs. + What is not gather'd is far more—perhaps the main thing. + </p> + <p> + Grandest poetic passages are only to be taken at free removes, as we + sometimes look for stars at night, not by gazing directly toward them, but + off one side. + </p> + <p> + (<i>To a poetic student and friend.</i>)—I only seek to put you in + rapport. Your own brain, heart, evolution, must not only understand the + matter, but largely supply it. + </p> + <h3> + FINAL CONFESSIONS—LITERARY TESTS + </h3> + <p> + So draw near their end these garrulous notes. There have doubtless + occurr'd some repetitions, technical errors in the consecutiveness of + dates, in the minutiae of botanical, astronomical, &c., exactness, and + perhaps elsewhere;—for in gathering up, writing, peremptorily + dispatching copy, this hot weather, (last of July and through August, + '82,) and delaying not the printers, I have had to hurry along, no time to + spare. But in the deepest veracity of all—in reflections of objects, + scenes, Nature's outpourings, to my senses and receptivity, as they seem'd + to me—in the work of giving those who care for it, some authentic + glints, specimen-days of my life—and in the <i>bona fide</i> spirit + and relations, from author to reader, on all the subjects design'd, and as + far as they go, I feel to make unmitigated claims. + </p> + <p> + The synopsis of my early life, Long Island, New York city, and so forth, + and the diary-jottings in the Secession war, tell their own story. My plan + in starting what constitutes most of the middle of the book, was + originally for hints and data of a Nature-poem that should carry one's + experiences a few hours, commencing at noon-flush, and so through the + after-part of the day—I suppose led to such idea by my own + life-afternoon now arrived. But I soon found I could move at more ease, by + giving the narrative at first hand. (Then there is a humiliating lesson + one learns, in serene hours, of a fine day or night. Nature seems to look + on all fixed-up poetry and art as something almost impertinent.) + </p> + <p> + Thus I went on, years following, various seasons and areas, spinning forth + my thought beneath the night and stars, (or as I was confined to my room + by half-sickness,) or at midday looking out upon the sea, or far north + steaming over the Saguenay's black breast, jotting all down in the loosest + sort of chronological order, and here printing from my impromptu notes, + hardly even the seasons group'd together, or anything corrected—so + afraid of dropping what smack of outdoors or sun or starlight might cling + to the lines, I dared not try to meddle with or smooth them. Every now and + then, (not often, but for a foil,) I carried a book in my pocket—or + perhaps tore out from some broken or cheap edition a bunch of loose + leaves; most always had something of the sort ready, but only took it out + when the mood demanded. In that way, utterly out of reach of literary + conventions, I re-read many authors. + </p> + <p> + I cannot divest my appetite of literature, yet I find myself eventually + trying it all by Nature—<i>first premises</i> many call it, but + really the crowning results of all, laws, tallies and proofs. (Has it + never occur'd to any one how the last deciding tests applicable to a book + are entirely outside of technical and grammatical ones, and that any truly + first-class production has little or nothing to do with the rules and + calibres of ordinary critics? or the bloodless chalk of Allibone's + Dictionary? I have fancied the ocean and the daylight, the mountain and + the forest, putting their spirit in a judgment on our books. I have + fancied some disembodied human soul giving its verdict.) + </p> + <h3> + NATURE AND DEMOCRACY—MORALITY + </h3> + <p> + Democracy most of all affiliates with the open air, is sunny and hardy and + sane only with Nature—just as much as Art is. Something is required + to temper both—to check them, restrain them from excess, morbidity. + I have wanted, before departure, to bear special testimony to a very old + lesson and requisite. American Democracy, in its myriad personalities, in + factories, work-shops, stores, offices—through the dense streets and + houses of cities, and all their manifold sophisticated life—must + either be fibred, vitalized, by regular contact with out-door light and + air and growths, farm-scenes, animals, fields, trees, birds, sun-warmth + and free skies, or it will certainly dwindle and pale. We cannot have + grand races of mechanics, work people, and commonalty, (the only specific + purpose of America,) on any less terms. I conceive of no flourishing and + heroic elements of Democracy in the United States, or of Democracy + maintaining itself at all, without the Nature-element forming a main part—to + be its health-element and beauty-element—to really underlie the + whole politics, sanity, religion and art of the New World. + </p> + <p> + Finally, the morality: "Virtue," said Marcus Aurelius, "what is it, only a + living and enthusiastic sympathy with Nature?" Perhaps indeed the efforts + of the true poets, founders, religions, literatures, all ages, have been, + and ever will be, our time and times to come, essentially the same—to + bring people back from their persistent strayings and sickly abstractions, + to the costless average, divine, original concrete. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + COLLECT + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ONE OR TWO INDEX ITEMS + </h2> + <p> + Though the ensuing COLLECT and preceding SPECIMEN DAYS are both largely + from memoranda already existing, the hurried peremptory needs of copy for + the printers, already referr'd to—(the musicians' story of a + composer up in a garret rushing the middle body and last of his score + together, while the fiddlers are playing the first parts down in the + concert-room)—of this haste, while quite willing to get the + consequent stimulus of life and motion, I am sure there must have resulted + sundry technical errors. If any are too glaring they will be corrected in + a future edition. + </p> + <p> + A special word about PIECES IN EARLY YOUTH at the end. On jaunts over Long + Island, as boy and young fellow, nearly half a century ago, I heard of, or + came across in my own experience, characters, true occurrences, incidents, + which I tried my 'prentice hand at recording—(I was then quite an + "abolitionist" and advocate of the "temperance" and + "anti-capital-punishment" causes)—and publish'd during occasional + visits to New York city. A majority of the sketches appear'd first in the + "Democratic Review," others in the "Columbian Magazine," or the "American + Review," of that period. My serious wish were to have all those crude and + boyish pieces quietly dropp'd in oblivion—but to avoid the annoyance + of their surreptitious issue, (as lately announced, from outsiders,) I + have, with some qualms, tack'd them on here. <i>A Dough-Face Song</i> came + out first in the "Evening Post"—<i>Blood-Money</i>, and <i>Wounded + in the House of Friends</i>, in the "Tribune." + </p> + <p> + <i>Poetry To-day in America</i>, &c., first appear'd (under the name + of "<i>The Poetry of the Future</i>,") in "The North American Review" for + February, 1881. <i>A Memorandum at a Venture</i>, in same periodical, some + time afterward. + </p> + <p> + Several of the convalescent out-door scenes and literary items, preceding, + originally appear'd in the fortnightly "Critic," of New York. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DEMOCRATIC VISTAS + </h2> + <p> + As the greatest lessons of Nature through the universe are perhaps the + lessons of variety and freedom, the same present the greatest lessons also + in New World politics and progress. If a man were ask'd, for instance, the + distinctive points contrasting modern European and American political and + other life with the old Asiatic cultus, as lingering-bequeath'd yet in + China and Turkey, he might find the amount of them in John Stuart Mill's + profound essay on Liberty in the future, where he demands two main + constituents, or sub-strata, for a truly grand nationality—1st, a + large variety of character—and 2d, full play for human nature to + expand itself in numberless and even conflicting directions—(seems + to be for general humanity much like the influences that make up, in their + limitless field, that perennial health-action of the air we call the + weather—an infinite number of currents and forces, and + contributions, and temperatures, and cross-purposes, whose ceaseless play + of counterpart upon counterpart brings constant restoration and vitality.) + With this thought—and not for itself alone, but all it necessitates, + and draws after it—let me begin my speculations. + </p> + <p> + America, filling the present with greatest deeds and problems, cheerfully + accepting the past, including feudalism, (as, indeed, the present is but + the legitimate birth of the past, including feudalism,) counts, as I + reckon, for her justification and success, (for who, as yet, dare claim + success?) almost entirely on the future. Nor is that hope unwarranted. + To-day, ahead, though dimly yet, we see, in vistas, a copious, sane, + gigantic offspring. For our New World I consider far less important for + what it has done, or what it is, than for results to come. Sole among + nationalities, these States have assumed the task to put in forms of + lasting power and practicality, on areas of amplitude rivaling the + operations of the physical kosmos, the moral political speculations of + ages, long, long deferr'd, the democratic republican principle, and the + theory of development and perfection by voluntary standards, and + self-reliance. Who else, indeed, except the United States, in history, so + far, have accepted in unwitting faith, and, as we now see, stand, act + upon, and go security for, these things? But preluding no longer, let me + strike the key-note of the following strain. First premising that, though + the passages of it have been written at widely different times, (it is, in + fact, a collection of memoranda, perhaps for future designers, + comprehenders,) and though it may be open to the charge of one part + contradicting another—for there are opposite sides to the great + question of democracy, as to every great question—I feel the parts + harmoniously blended in my own realization and convictions, and present + them to be read only in such oneness, each page and each claim and + assertion modified and temper'd by the others. Bear in mind, too, that + they are not the result of studying up in political economy, but of the + ordinary sense, observing, wandering among men, these States, these + stirring years of war and peace. I will not gloss over the appaling + dangers of universal suffrage in the United States. In fact, it is to + admit and face these dangers I am writing. To him or her within whose + thought rages the battle, advancing, retreating, between democracy's + convictions, aspirations, and the people's crudeness, vice, caprices, I + mainly write this essay. I shall use the words America and democracy as + convertible terms. Not an ordinary one is the issue. The United States are + destined either to surmount the gorgeous history of feudalism, or else + prove the most tremendous failure of time. Not the least doubtful am I on + any prospects of their material success. The triumphant future of their + business, geographic and productive departments, on larger scales and in + more varieties than ever, is certain. In those respects the republic must + soon (if she does not already) outstrip all examples hitherto afforded, + and dominate the world.{20} + </p> + <p> + Admitting all this, with the priceless value of our political + institutions, general suffrage, (and fully acknowledging the latest, + widest opening of the doors,) I say that, far deeper than these, what + finally and only is to make of our western world a nationality superior to + any hither known, and out-topping the past, must be vigorous, yet + unsuspected Literatures, perfect personalities and sociologies, original, + transcendental, and expressing (what, in highest sense, are not yet + express'd at all,) democracy and the modern. With these, and out of these, + I promulge new races of Teachers, and of perfect Women, indispensable to + endow the birth-stock of a New World. For feudalism, caste, the + ecclesiastic traditions, though palpably retreating from political + institutions, still hold essentially, by their spirit, even in this + country, entire possession of the more important fields, indeed the very + subsoil, of education, and of social standards and literature. + </p> + <p> + I say that democracy can never prove itself beyond cavil, until it founds + and luxuriantly grows its own forms of art, poems, schools, theology, + displacing all that exists, or that has been produced anywhere in the + past, under opposite influences. It is curious to me that while so many + voices, pens, minds, in the press, lecture-rooms, in our Congress, &c., + are discussing intellectual topics, pecuniary dangers, legislative + problems, the suffrage, tariff and labor questions, and the various + business and benevolent needs of America, with propositions, remedies, + often worth deep attention, there is one need, a hiatus the profoundest, + that no eye seems to perceive, no voice to state. Our fundamental want + to-day in the United States, with closest, amplest reference to present + conditions, and to the future, is of a class, and the clear idea of a + class, of native authors, literatuses, far different, far higher in grade + than any yet known, sacerdotal, modern, fit to cope with our occasions, + lands, permeating the whole mass of American mentality, taste, belief, + breathing into it a new breath of life, giving it decision, affecting + politics far more than the popular superficial suffrage, with results + inside and underneath the elections of Presidents or Congresses—radiating, + begetting appropriate teachers, schools, manners, and, as its grandest + result, accomplishing, (what neither the schools nor the churches and + their clergy have hitherto accomplish'd, and without which this nation + will no more stand, permanently, soundly, than a house will stand without + a substratum,) a religious and moral character beneath the political and + productive and intellectual bases of the States. For know you not, dear, + earnest reader, that the people of our land may all read and write, and + may all possess the right to vote—and yet the main things may be + entirely lacking?—(and this to suggest them.) + </p> + <p> + View'd, to-day, from a point of view sufficiently over-arching, the + problem of humanity all over the civilized world is social and religious, + and is to be finally met and treated by literature. The priest departs, + the divine literatus comes. Never was anything more wanted than, to-day, + and here in the States, the poet of the modern is wanted, or the great + literatus of the modern. At all times, perhaps, the central point in any + nation, and that whence it is itself really sway'd the most, and whence it + sways others, is its national literature, especially its archetypal poems. + Above all previous lands, a great original literature is surely to become + the justification and reliance, (in some respects the sole reliance,) of + American democracy. + </p> + <p> + Few are aware how the great literature penetrates all, gives hue to all, + shapes aggregates and individuals, and, after subtle ways, with + irresistible power, constructs, sustains, demolishes at will. Why tower, + in reminiscence, above all the nations of the earth, two special lands, + petty in themselves, yet inexpressibly gigantic, beautiful, columnar? + Immortal Judah lives, and Greece immortal lives, in a couple of poems. + </p> + <p> + Nearer than this. It is not generally realized, but it is true, as the + genius of Greece, and all the sociology, personality, politics and + religion of those wonderful states, resided in their literature or + esthetics, that what was afterwards the main support of European chivalry, + the feudal, ecclesiastical, dynastic world over there—forming its + osseous structure, holding it together for hundreds, thousands of years, + preserving its flesh and bloom, giving it form, decision, rounding it out, + and so saturating it in the conscious and unconscious blood, breed, + belief, and intuitions of men, that it still prevails powerful to this + day, in defiance of the mighty changes of time—was its literature, + permeating to the very marrow, especially that major part, its enchanting + songs, ballads, and poems.{21} + </p> + <p> + To the ostent of the senses and eyes, I know, the influences which stamp + the world's history are wars, uprisings or downfalls of dynasties, + changeful movements of trade, important inventions, navigation, military + or civil governments, advent of powerful personalities, conquerors, etc.. + These of course play their part; yet, it may be, a single new thought, + imagination, abstract principle, even literary style, fit for the time, + put in shape by some great literatus, and projected among mankind, may + duly cause changes, growths, removals, greater than the longest and + bloodiest war, or the most stupendous merely political, dynastic, or + commercial overturn. + </p> + <p> + In short, as, though it may not be realized, it is strictly true, that a + few first-class poets, philosophs, and authors, have substantially settled + and given status to the entire religion, education, law, sociology, &c., + of the hitherto civilized world, by tinging and often creating the + atmospheres out of which they have arisen, such also must stamp, and more + than ever stamp, the interior and real democratic construction of this + American continent, to-day, and days to come. Remember also this fact of + difference, that, while through the antique and through the mediaeval + ages, highest thoughts and ideals realized themselves, and their + expression made its way by other arts, as much as, or even more than by, + technical literature, (not open to the mass of persons, or even to the + majority of eminent persons,) such literature in our day and for current + purposes, is not only more eligible than all the other arts put together, + but has become the only general means of morally influencing the world. + Painting, sculpture, and the dramatic theatre, it would seem, no longer + play an indispensable or even important part in the workings and + mediumship of intellect, utility, or even high esthetics. Architecture + remains, doubtless with capacities, and a real future. Then music, the + combiner, nothing more spiritual, nothing more sensuous, a god, yet + completely human, advances, prevails, holds highest place; supplying in + certain wants and quarters what nothing else could supply. Yet in the + civilization of to-day it is undeniable that, over all the arts, + literature dominates, serves beyond all—shapes the character of + church and school—or, at any rate, is capable of doing so. Including + the literature of science, its scope is indeed unparallel'd. + </p> + <p> + Before proceeding further, it were perhaps well to discriminate on certain + points. Literature tills its crops in many fields, and some may flourish, + while others lag. What I say in these Vistas has its main bearing on + imaginative literature, especially poetry, the stock of all. In the + department of science, and the specialty of journalism, there appear, in + these States, promises, perhaps fulfilments, of highest earnestness, + reality, and life, These, of course, are modern. But in the region of + imaginative, spinal and essential attributes, something equivalent to + creation is, for our age and lands, imperatively demanded. For not only is + it not enough that the new blood, new frame of democracy shall be vivified + and held together merely by political means, superficial suffrage, + legislation, &c., but it is clear to me that, unless it goes deeper, + gets at least as firm and as warm a hold in men's hearts, emotions and + belief, as, in their days, feudalism or ecclesiasticism, and inaugurates + its own perennial sources, welling from the centre forever, its strength + will be defective, its growth doubtful, and its main charm wanting. I + suggest, therefore, the possibility, should some two or three really + original American poets, (perhaps artists or lecturers,) arise, mounting + the horizon like planets, stars of the first magnitude, that, from their + eminence, fusing contributions, races, far localities, &c., together, + they would give more compaction and more moral identity, (the quality + to-day most needed,) to these States, than all its Constitutions, + legislative and judicial ties, and all its hitherto political, warlike, or + materialistic experiences. As, for instance, there could hardly happen + anything that would more serve the States, with all their variety of + origins, their diverse climes, cities, standards, &c., than possessing + an aggregate of heroes, characters, exploits, sufferings, prosperity or + misfortune, glory or disgrace, common to all, typical of all—no + less, but even greater would it be to possess the aggregation of a cluster + of mighty poets, artists, teachers, fit for us, national expressers, + comprehending and effusing for the men and women of the States, what is + universal, native, common to all, inland and seaboard, northern and + southern. The historians say of ancient Greece, with her ever-jealous + autonomies, cities, and states, that the only positive unity she ever + own'd or receiv'd, was the sad unity of a common subjection, at the last, + to foreign conquerors. Subjection, aggregation of that sort, is impossible + to America; but the fear of conflicting and irreconcilable interiors, and + the lack of a common skeleton, knitting all close, continually haunts me. + Or, if it does not, nothing is plainer than the need, a long period to + come, of a fusion of the States into the only reliable identity, the moral + and artistic one. For, I say, the true nationality of the States, the + genuine union, when we come to a moral crisis, is, and is to be, after + all, neither the written law, nor, (as is generally supposed,) either + self-interest, or common pecuniary or material objects—but the + fervid and tremendous IDEA, melting everything else with resistless heat, + and solving all lesser and definite distinctions in vast, indefinite, + spiritual, emotional power. + </p> + <p> + It may be claim'd, (and I admit the weight of the claim,) that common and + general worldly prosperity, and a populace well-to-do, and with all life's + material comforts, is the main thing, and is enough. It may be argued that + our republic is, in performance, really enacting to-day the grandest arts, + poems, &c., by beating up the wilderness into fertile farms, and in + her railroads, ships, machinery, &c. And it may be ask'd, Are these + not better, indeed, for America, than any utterances even of greatest + rhapsode, artist, or literatus? + </p> + <p> + I too hail those achievements with pride and joy: then answer that the + soul of man will not with such only—nay, not with such at all—be + finally satisfied; but needs what, (standing on these and on all things, + as the feet stand on the ground,) is address'd to the loftiest, to itself + alone. + </p> + <p> + Out of such considerations, such truths, arises for treatment in these + Vistas the important question of character, of an American + stock-personality, with literatures and arts for outlets and + return-expressions, and, of course, to correspond, within outlines common + to all. To these, the main affair, the thinkers of the United States, in + general so acute, have either given feeblest attention, or have remain'd, + and remain, in a state of somnolence. + </p> + <p> + For my part, I would alarm and caution even the political and business + reader, and to the utmost extent, against the prevailing delusion that the + establishment of free political institutions, and plentiful intellectual + smartness, with general good order, physical plenty, industry, &c., + (desirable and precious advantages as they all are,) do, of themselves, + determine and yield to our experiment of democracy the fruitage of + success. With such advantages at present fully, or almost fully, possess'd—the + Union just issued, victorious, from the struggle with the only foes it + need ever fear, (namely, those within itself, the interior ones,) and with + unprecedented materialistic advancement—society, in these States, is + canker'd, crude, superstitious, and rotten. Political, or law-made society + is, and private, or voluntary society, is also. In any vigor, the element + of the moral conscience, the most important, the verteber to State or man, + seems to me either entirely lacking, or seriously enfeebled or ungrown. + </p> + <p> + I say we had best look our times and lands searchingly in the face, like a + physician diagnosing some deep disease. Never was there, perhaps, more + hollowness at heart than at present, and here in the United States. + Genuine belief seems to have left us. The underlying principles of the + States are not honestly believ'd in, (for all this hectic glow, and these + melo-dramatic screamings,) nor is humanity itself believ'd in. What + penetrating eye does not everywhere see through the mask? The spectacle is + appaling. We live in an atmosphere of hypocrisy throughout. The men + believe not in the women, nor the women in the men. A scornful + superciliousness rules in literature. The aim of all the <i>littérateurs</i> + is to find something to make fun of. A lot of churches, sects, &c., + the most dismal phantasms I know, usurp the name of religion. Conversation + is a mass of badinage. From deceit in the spirit, the mother of all false + deeds, the offspring is already incalculable. An acute and candid person, + in the revenue department in Washington, who is led by the course of his + employment to regularly visit the cities, north, south and west, to + investigate frauds, has talk'd much with me about his discoveries. The + depravity of the business classes of our country is not less than has been + supposed, but infinitely greater. The official services of America, + national, state, and municipal, in all their branches and departments, + except the judiciary, are saturated in corruption, bribery, falsehood, + mal-administration; and the judiciary is tainted. The great cities reek + with respectable as much as non-respectable robbery and scoundrelism. In + fashionable life, flippancy, tepid amours, weak infidelism, small aims, or + no aims at all, only to kill time. In business, (this all-devouring modern + word, business,) the one sole object is, by any means, pecuniary gain. The + magician's serpent in the fable ate up all the other serpents; and + money-making is our magician's serpent, remaining today sole master of the + field. The best class we show, is but a mob of fashionably dress'd + speculators and vulgarians. True, indeed, behind this fantastic farce, + enacted on the visible stage of society, solid things and stupendous + labors are to be discover'd, existing crudely and going on in the + background, to advance and tell themselves in time. Yet the truths are + none the less terrible. I say that our New World democracy, however great + a success in uplifting the masses out of their sloughs, in materialistic + development, products, and in a certain highly-deceptive superficial + popular intellectuality, is, so far, an almost complete failure in its + social aspects, and in really grand religious, moral, literary, and + esthetic results. In vain do we march with unprecedented strides to empire + so colossal, outvying the antique, beyond Alexander's, beyond the proudest + sway of Rome. In vain have we annex'd Texas, California, Alaska, and reach + north for Canada and south for Cuba. It is as if we were somehow being + endow'd with a vast and more and more thoroughly-appointed body, and then + left with little or no soul. + </p> + <p> + Let me illustrate further, as I write, with current observations, + localities, &c. The subject is important, and will bear repetition. + After an absence, I am now again (September, 1870) in New York city and + Brooklyn, on a few weeks' vacation. The splendor, picturesqueness, and + oceanic amplitude and rush of these great cities, the unsurpass'd + situation, rivers and bay, sparkling sea-tides, costly and lofty new + buildings, façades of marble and iron, of original grandeur and elegance + of design, with the masses of gay color, the preponderance of white and + blue, the flags flying, the endless ships, the tumultuous streets, + Broadway, the heavy, low, musical roar, hardly ever intermitted, even at + night; the jobbers' houses, the rich shops, the wharves, the great Central + Park, and the Brooklyn Park of hills, (as I wander among them this + beautiful fall weather, musing, watching, absorbing)—the assemblages + of the citizens in their groups, conversations, trades, evening + amusements, or along the by-quarters—these, I say, and the like of + these, completely satisfy my senses of power, fulness, motion, &c., + and give me, through such senses and appetites, and through my esthetic + conscience, a continued exaltation and absolute fulfilment. Always and + more and more, as I cross the East and North rivers, the ferries, or with + the pilots in their pilot-houses, or pass an hour in Wall street, or the + gold exchange, I realize, (if we must admit such partialisms,) that not + Nature alone is great in her fields of freedom and the open air, in her + storms, the shows of night and day, the mountains, forests, seas—but + in the artificial, the work of man too is equally great—in this + profusion of teeming humanity—in these ingenuities, streets, goods, + houses, ships—these hurrying, feverish, electric crowds of men, + their complicated business genius, (not least among the geniuses,) and all + this mighty, many-threaded wealth and industry concentrated here. + </p> + <p> + But sternly discarding, shutting our eyes to the glow and grandeur of the + general superficial effect, coming down to what is of the only real + importance, Personalities, and examining minutely, we question, we ask, + Are there, indeed, <i>men</i> here worthy the name? Are there athletes? + Are there perfect women, to match the generous material luxuriance? Is + there a pervading atmosphere of beautiful manners? Are there crops of fine + youths, and majestic old persons? Are there arts worthy freedom and a rich + people? Is there a great moral and religious civilization—the only + justification of a great material one? Confess that to severe eyes, using + the moral microscope upon humanity, a sort of dry and flat Sahara appears, + these cities, crowded with petty grotesques, malformations, phantoms, + playing meaningless antics. + </p> + <p> + Confess that everywhere, in shop, street, church, theatre, bar-room, + official chair, are pervading flippancy and vulgarity, low cunning, + infidelity—everywhere the youth puny, impudent, foppish, prematurely + ripe—everywhere an abnormal libidinousness, unhealthy forms, male, + female, painted, padded, dyed, chignon'd, muddy complexions, bad blood, + the capacity for good motherhood deceasing or deceas'd, shallow notions of + beauty, with a range of manners, or rather lack of manners, (considering + the advantages enjoy'd,) probably the meanest to be seen in the world.{22} + </p> + <p> + Of all this, and these lamentable conditions, to breathe into them the + breath recuperative of sane and heroic life, I say a new founded + literature, not merely to copy and reflect existing surfaces, or pander to + what is called taste—not only to amuse, pass away time, celebrate + the beautiful, the refined, the past, or exhibit technical, rhythmic, or + grammatical dexterity—but a literature underlying life, religious, + consistent with science, handling the elements and forces with competent + power, teaching and training men—and, as perhaps the most precious + of its results, achieving the entire redemption of woman out of these + incredible holds and webs of silliness, millinery, and every kind of + dyspeptic depletion—and thus insuring to the States a strong and + sweet Female Race, a race of perfect Mothers—is what is needed. + </p> + <p> + And now, in the full conception of these facts and points, and all that + they infer, pro and con—with yet unshaken faith in the elements of + the American masses, the composites, of both sexes, and even consider'd as + individuals—and ever recognizing in them the broadest bases of the + best literary and esthetic appreciation—I proceed with my + speculations, Vistas. + </p> + <p> + First, let us see what we can make out of a brief, general, sentimental + consideration of political democracy, and whence it has arisen, with + regard to some of its current features, as an aggregate, and as the basic + structure of our future literature and authorship. We shall, it is true, + quickly and continually find the origin-idea of the singleness of man, + individualism, asserting itself, and cropping forth, even from the + opposite ideas. But the mass, or lump character, for imperative reasons, + is to be ever carefully weigh'd, borne in mind, and provided for. Only + from it, and from its proper regulation and potency, comes the other, + comes the chance of individualism. The two are contradictory, but our task + is to reconcile them.{23} + </p> + <p> + The political history of the past may be summ'd up as having grown out of + what underlies the words, order, safety, caste, and especially out of the + need of some prompt deciding authority, and of cohesion at all cost. + Leaping time, we come to the period within the memory of people now + living, when, as from some lair where they had slumber'd long, + accumulating wrath, sprang up and are yet active, (1790, and on eyen to + the present, 1870,) those noisy eructations, destructive iconoclasms, a + fierce sense of wrongs, amid which moves the form, well known in modern + history, in the old world, stain'd with much blood, and mark'd by savage + reactionary clamors and demands. These bear, mostly, as on one inclosing + point of need. + </p> + <p> + For after the rest is said—after the many time-honor'd and really + true things for subordination, experience, rights of property, &c., + have been listen'd to and acquiesced in—after the valuable and + well-settled statement of our duties and relations in society is + thoroughly conn'd over and exhausted—it remains to bring forward and + modify everything else with the idea of that Something a man is, (last + precious consolation of the drudging poor,) standing apart from all else, + divine in his own right, and a woman in hers, sole and untouchable by any + canons of authority, or any rule derived from precedent, state-safety, the + acts of legislatures, or even from what is called religion, modesty, or + art. The radiation of this truth is the key of the most significant doings + of our immediately preceding three centuries, and has been the political + genesis and life of America. Advancing visibly, it still more advances + invisibly. Underneath the fluctuations of the expressions of society, as + well as the movements of the politics of the leading nations of the world, + we see steadily pressing ahead and strengthening itself, even in the midst + of immense tendencies toward aggregation, this image of completeness in + separatism, of individual personal dignity, of a single person, either + male or female, characterized in the main, not from extrinsic acquirements + or position, but in the pride of himself or herself alone; and, as an + eventual conclusion and summing up, (or else the entire scheme of things + is aimless, a cheat, a crash,) the simple idea that the last, best + dependence is to be upon humanity itself, and its own inherent, normal, + fullgrown qualities, without any superstitious support whatever. This idea + of perfect individualism it is indeed that deepest tinges and gives + character to the idea of the aggregate. For it is mainly or altogether to + serve independent separatism that we favor a strong generalization, + consolidation. As it is to give the best vitality and freedom to the + rights of the States, (every bit as important as the right of nationality, + the union,) that we insist on the identity of the Union at all hazards. + </p> + <p> + The purpose of democracy—supplanting old belief in the necessary + absoluteness of establish'd dynastic rulership, temporal, ecclesiastical, + and scholastic, as furnishing the only security against chaos, crime, and + ignorance—is, through many transmigrations, and amid endless + ridicules, arguments, and ostensible failures, to illustrate, at all + hazards, this doctrine or theory that man, properly train'd in sanest, + highest freedom, may and must become a law, and series of laws, unto + himself, surrounding and providing for, not only his own personal control, + but all his relations to other individuals, and to the State; and that, + while other theories, as in the past histories of nations, have proved + wise enough, and indispensable perhaps for their conditions, <i>this,</i> + as matters now stand in our civilized world, is the only scheme worth + working from, as warranting results like those of Nature's laws, reliable, + when once establish'd, to carry on themselves. + </p> + <p> + The argument of the matter is extensive, and, we admit, by no means all on + one side. What we shall offer will be far, far from sufficient. But while + leaving unsaid much that should properly even prepare the way for the + treatment of this many-sided question of political liberty, equality, or + republicanism—leaving the whole history and consideration of the + feudal plan and its products, embodying humanity, its politics and + civilization, through the retrospect of past time, (which plan and + products, indeed, make up all of the past, and a large part of the + present)—leaving unanswer'd, at least by any specific and local + answer, many a well-wrought argument and instance, and many a + conscientious declamatory cry and warning—as, very lately, from an + eminent and venerable person abroad{24}—things, problems, full of + doubt, dread, suspense, (not new to me, but old occupiers of many an + anxious hour in city's din, or night's silence,) we still may give a page + or so, whose drift is opportune. Time alone can finally answer these + things. But as a substitute in passing, let us, even if fragmentarily, + throw forth a short direct or indirect suggestion of the premises of that + other plan, in the new spirit, under the new forms, started here in our + America. + </p> + <p> + As to the political section of Democracy, which introduces and breaks + ground for further and vaster sections, few probably are the minds, even + in these republican States, that fully comprehend the aptness of that + phrase, "THE GOVERNMENT OF THE PEOPLE, BY THE PEOPLE, FOR THE PEOPLE," + which we inherit from the lips of Abraham Lincoln; a formula whose verbal + shape is homely wit, but whose scope includes both the totality and all + minutiae of the lesson. + </p> + <p> + The People! Like our huge earth itself, which, to ordinary scansion, is + full of vulgar contradictions and offence, man, viewed in the lump, + displeases, and is a constant puzzle and affront to the merely educated + classes. The rare, cosmical, artist-mind, lit with the Infinite, alone + confronts his manifold and oceanic qualities—but taste, intelligence + and culture, (so-called,) have been against the masses, and remain so. + There is plenty of glamour about the most damnable crimes and hoggish + meannesses, special and general, of the feudal and dynastic world over + there, with its <i>personnel</i> of lords and queens and courts, so + well-dress'd and so handsome. But the People are ungrammatical, untidy, + and their sins gaunt and ill-bred. + </p> + <p> + Literature, strictly consider'd, has never recognized the People, and, + whatever may be said, does not to-day. Speaking generally, the tendencies + of literature, as hitherto pursued, have been to make mostly critical and + querulous men. It seems as if, so far, there were some natural repugnance + between a literary and professional life, and the rude rank spirit of the + democracies. There is, in later literature, a treatment of benevolence, a + charity business, rife enough it is true; but I know nothing more rare, + even in this country, than a fit scientific estimate and reverent + appreciation of the People—of their measureless wealth of latent + power and capacity, their vast, artistic contrasts of lights and shades—with, + in America, their entire reliability in emergencies, and a certain breadth + of historic grandeur, of peace or war, far surpassing all the vaunted + samples of book-heroes, or any <i>haut ton</i> coteries, in all the + records of the world. + </p> + <p> + The movements of the late secession war, and their results, to any sense + that studies well and comprehends them, show that popular democracy, + whatever its faults and dangers, practically justifies itself beyond the + proudest claims and wildest hopes of its enthusiasts. Probably no future + age can know, but I well know, how the gist of this fiercest and most + resolute of the world's war-like contentions resided exclusively in the + unnamed, unknown rank and file; and how the brunt of its labor of death + was, to all essential purposes, volunteer'd. The People, of their own + choice, fighting, dying for their own idea, insolently attack'd by the + secession-slave-power, and its very existence imperil'd. Descending to + detail, entering any of the armies, and mixing with the private soldiers, + we see and have seen august spectacles. We have seen the alacrity with + which the American-born populace, the peaceablest and most good-natured + race in the world, and the most personally independent and intelligent, + and the least fitted to submit to the irksomeness and exasperation of + regimental discipline, sprang, at the first tap of the drum, to arms—not + for gain, nor even glory, nor to repel invasion—but for an emblem, a + mere abstraction—for the life, <i>the safety of the flag</i>. We + have seen the unequal'd docility and obedience of these soldiers. We have + seen them tried long and long by hopelessness, mismanagement, and by + defeat; have seen the incredible slaughter toward or through which the + armies (as at first Fredericksburg, and afterward at the Wilderness,) + still unhesitatingly obey'd orders to advance. We have seen them in + trench, or crouching behind breastwork, or tramping in deep mud, or amid + pouring rain or thick-falling snow, or under forced marches in hottest + summer (as on the road to get to Gettysburg)—vast suffocating + swarms, divisions, corps, with every single man so grimed and black with + sweat and dust, his own mother would not have known him—his clothes + all dirty, stain'd and torn, with sour, accumulated sweat for perfume—many + a comrade, perhaps a brother, sun-struck, staggering out, dying, by the + roadside, of exhaustion—yet the great bulk bearing steadily on, + cheery enough, hollow-bellied from hunger, but sinewy with unconquerable + resolution. + </p> + <p> + We have seen this race proved by wholesale by drearier, yet more fearful + tests—the wound, the amputation, the shatter'd face or limb, the + slow hot fever, long impatient anchorage in bed, and all the forms of + maiming, operation and disease. Alas! America have we seen, though only in + her early youth, already to hospital brought. There have we watch'd these + soldiers, many of them only boys in years—mark'd their decorum, + their religious nature and fortitude, and their sweet affection. + Wholesale, truly. For at the front, and through the camps, in countless + tents, stood the regimental, brigade and division hospitals; while + everywhere amid the land, in or near cities, rose clusters of huge, + white-wash'd, crowded, one-story wooden barracks; and there ruled agony + with bitter scourge, yet seldom brought a cry; and there stalk'd death by + day and night along the narrow aisles between the rows of cots, or by the + blankets on the ground, and touch'd lightly many a poor sufferer, often + with blessed, welcome touch. + </p> + <p> + I know not whether I shall be understood, but I realize that it is finally + from what I learn'd personally mixing in such scenes that I am now penning + these pages. One night in the gloomiest period of the war, in the + Patent-office hospital in Washington city, as I stood by the bedside of a + Pennsylvania soldier, who lay, conscious of quick approaching death, yet + perfectly calm, and with noble, spiritual manner, the veteran surgeon, + turning aside, said to me, that though he had witness'd many, many deaths + of soldiers, and had been a worker at Bull Run, Antietam, Fredericksburg, + &c., he had not seen yet the first case of man or boy that met the + approach of dissolution with cowardly qualms or terror. My own observation + fully bears out the remark. + </p> + <p> + What have we here, if not, towering above all talk and argument, the + plentifully-supplied, last-needed proof of democracy, in its + personalities? Curiously enough, too, the proof on this point comes, I + should say, every bit as much from the south, as from the north. Although + I have spoken only of the latter, yet I deliberately include all. Grand, + common stock! to me the accomplish'd and convincing growth, prophetic of + the future; proof undeniable to sharpest sense, of perfect beauty, + tenderness and pluck, that never feudal lord, nor Greek, nor Roman breed, + yet rival'd. Let no tongue ever speak in disparagement of the American + races, north or south, to one who has been through the war in the great + army hospitals. + </p> + <p> + Meantime, general humanity, (for to that we return, as, for our purposes, + what it really is, to bear in mind,) has always, in every department, been + full of perverse maleficence, and is so yet. In downcast hours the soul + thinks it always will be—but soon recovers from such sickly moods. I + myself see clearly enough the crude, defective streaks in all the strata + of the common people; the specimens and vast collections of the ignorant, + the credulous, the unfit and uncouth, the incapable, and the very low and + poor. The eminent person just mention'd sneeringly asks whether we expect + to elevate and improve a nation's politics by absorbing such morbid + collections and qualities therein. The point is a formidable one, and + there will doubtless always be numbers of solid and reflective citizens + who will never get over it. Our answer is general, and is involved in the + scope and letter of this essay. We believe the ulterior object of + political and all other government, (having, of course, provided for the + police, the safety of life, property, and for the basic statute and common + law, and their administration, always first in order,) to be among the + rest, not merely to rule, to repress disorder, &c., but to develop, to + open up to cultivation, to encourage the possibilities of all beneficent + and manly outcroppage, and of that aspiration for independence, and the + pride and self-respect latent in all characters. (Or, if there be + exceptions, we cannot, fixing our eyes on them alone, make theirs the rule + for all.) + </p> + <p> + I say the mission of government, henceforth, in civilized lands, is not + repression alone, and not Authority alone, not even of law, nor by that + favorite standard of the eminent writer, the rule of the best men, the + born heroes and captains of the race, (as if such ever, or one time out of + a hundred, get into the big places, elective or dynastic)—but higher + than the highest arbitrary rule, to train communities through all their + grades, beginning with individuals and ending there again, to rule + themselves. What Christ appear'd for in the moral-spiritual field for + human-kind, namely, that in respect to the absolute soul, there is in the + possession of such by each single individual, something so transcendent, + so incapable of gradations, (like life,) that, to that extent, it places + all beings on a common level, utterly regardless of the distinctions of + intellect, virtue, station, or any height or lowliness whatever—is + tallied in like manner, in this other field, by democracy's rule that men, + the nation, as a common aggregate of living identities, affording in each + a separate and complete subject for freedom, worldly thrift and happiness, + and for a fair chance for growth, and for protection in citizenship, &c., + must, to the political extent of the suffrage or vote, if no further, be + placed, in each and in the whole, on one broad, primary, universal, common + platform. + </p> + <p> + The purpose is not altogether direct; perhaps it is more indirect. For it + is not that democracy is of exhaustive account, in itself. Perhaps, + indeed, it is, (like Nature,) of no account in itself. It is that, as we + see, it is the best, perhaps only, fit and full means, formulater, general + caller-forth, trainer, for the million, not for grand material + personalities only, but for immortal souls. To be a voter with the rest is + not so much; and this, like every institute, will have its imperfections. + </p> + <p> + But to become an enfranchised man, and now, impediments removed, to stand + and start without humiliation, and equal with the rest; to commence, or + have the road clear'd to commence, the grand experiment of development, + whose end, (perhaps requiring several generations,) may be the forming of + a full-grown man or woman—that <i>is</i> something. To ballast the + State is also secured, and in our times is to be secured, in no other way. + </p> + <p> + We do not, (at any rate I do not,) put it either on the ground that the + People, the masses, even the best of them, are, in their latent or + exhibited qualities, essentially sensible and good—nor on the ground + of their rights; but that good or bad, rights or no rights, the democratic + formula is the only safe and preservative one for coming times. We endow + the masses with the suffrage for their own sake, no doubt; then, perhaps + still more, from another point of view, for community's sake. Leaving the + rest to the sentimentalists, we present freedom as sufficient in its + scientific aspect, cold as ice, reasoning, deductive, clear and + passionless as crystal. + </p> + <p> + Democracy too is law, and of the strictest, amplest kind. Many suppose, + (and often in its own ranks the error,) that it means a throwing aside of + law, and running riot. But, briefly, it is the superior law, not alone + that of physical force, the body, which, adding to, it supersedes with + that of the spirit. Law is the unshakable order of the universe forever; + and the law over all, and law of laws, is the law of successions; that of + the superior law, in time, gradually supplanting and overwhelming the + inferior one. (While, for myself, I would cheerfully agree—first + covenanting that the formative tendencies shall be administer'd in favor, + or at least not against it, and that this reservation be closely construed—that + until the individual or community show due signs, or be so minor and + fractional as not to endanger the State, the condition of authoritative + tutelage may continue, and self-government must abide its time.) Nor is + the esthetic point, always an important one, without fascination for + highest aiming souls. The common ambition strains for elevations, to + become some privileged exclusive. The master sees greatness and health in + being part of the mass; nothing will do as well as common ground. Would + you have in yourself the divine, vast, general law? Then merge yourself in + it. + </p> + <p> + And, topping democracy, this most alluring record, that it alone can bind, + and ever seeks to bind, all nations, all men, of however various and + distant lands, into a brotherhood, a family. It is the old, yet + ever-modern dream of earth, out of her eldest and her youngest, her fond + philosophers and poets. Not that half only, individualism, which isolates. + There is another half, which is adhesiveness or love, that fuses, ties and + aggregates, making the races comrades, and fraternizing all. Both are to + be vitalized by religion, (sole worthiest elevator of man or State,) + breathing into the proud, material tissues, the breath of life. For I say + at the core of democracy, finally, is the religious element. All the + religions, old and new, are there. Nor may the scheme step forth, clothed + in resplendent beauty and command, till these, bearing the best, the + latest fruit, the spiritual, shall fully appear. + </p> + <p> + A portion of our pages we might indite with reference toward Europe, + especially the British part of it, more than our own land, perhaps not + absolutely needed for the home reader. But the whole question hangs + together, and fastens and links all peoples. The liberalist of to-day has + this advantage over antique or mediaeval times, that his doctrine seeks + not only to individualize but to universalize. The great word Solidarity + has arisen. Of all dangers to a nation, as things exist in our day, there + can be no greater one than having certain portions of the people set off + from the rest by a line drawn—they not privileged as others, but + degraded, humiliated, made of no account. Much quackery teems, of course, + even on democracy's side, yet does not really affect the orbic quality of + the matter. To work in, if we may so term it, and justify God, his divine + aggregate, the People, (or, the veritable horn'd and sharp-tail'd Devil, + <i>his</i> aggregate, if there be who convulsively insist upon it)—this, + I say, is what democracy is for; and this is what our America means, and + is doing—may I not say, has done? If not, she means nothing more, + and does nothing more, than any other land. And as, by virtue of its + kosmical, antiseptic power, Nature's stomach is fully strong enough not + only to digest the morbific matter always presented, not to be turn'd + aside, and perhaps, indeed, intuitively gravitating thither—but even + to change such contributions into nutriment for highest use and life—so + American democracy's. That is the lesson we, these days, send over to + European lands by every western breeze. + </p> + <p> + And, truly, whatever may be said in the way of abstract argument, for or + against the theory of a wider democratizing of institutions in any + civilized country, much trouble might well be saved to all European lands + by recognizing this palpable fact, (for a palpable fact it is,) that some + form of such democratizing is about the only resource now left. <i>That</i>, + or chronic dissatisfaction continued, mutterings which grow annually + louder and louder, till, in due course, and pretty swiftly in most cases, + the inevitable crisis, crash, dynastic ruin. Anything worthy to be call'd + statesmanship in the Old World, I should say, among the advanced students, + adepts, or men of any brains, does not debate to-day whether to hold on, + attempting to lean back and monarchize, or to look forward and democratize—but + <i>how</i>, and in what degree and part, most prudently to democratize. + </p> + <p> + The eager and often inconsiderate appeals of reformers and revolutionists + are indispensable, to counterbalance the inertness and fossilism making so + large a part of human institutions. The latter will always take care of + themselves—the danger being that they rapidly tend to ossify us. The + former is to be treated with indulgence, and even with respect. As + circulation to air, so is agitation and a plentiful degree of speculative + license to political and moral sanity. Indirectly, but surely, goodness, + virtue, law, (of the very best,) follow freedom. These, to democracy, are + what the keel is to the ship, or saltness to the ocean. + </p> + <p> + The true gravitation-hold of liberalism in the United States will be a + more universal ownership of property, general homesteads, general comfort—a + vast, intertwining reticulation of wealth. As the human frame, or, indeed, + any object in this manifold universe, is best kept together by the simple + miracle of its own cohesion, and the necessity, exercise and profit + thereof, so a great and varied nationality, occupying millions of square + miles, were firmest held and knit by the principle of the safety and + endurance of the aggregate of its middling property owners. So that, from + another point of view, ungracious as it may sound, and a paradox after + what we have been saying, democracy looks with suspicious, ill-satisfied + eye upon the very poor, the ignorant, and on those out of business. She + asks for men and women with occupations, well-off, owners of houses and + acres, and with cash in the bank—and with some cravings for + literature, too; and must have them, and hastens to make them. Luckily, + the seed is already well-sown, and has taken ineradicable root.{25} + </p> + <p> + Huge and mighty are our days, our republican lands—and most in their + rapid shiftings, their changes, all in the interest of the cause. As I + write this particular passage, (November, 1868,) the din of disputation + rages around me. Acrid the temper of the parties, vital the pending + questions. Congress convenes; the President sends his message; + reconstruction is still in abeyance; the nomination and the contest for + the twenty-first Presidentiad draw close, with loudest threat and bustle. + Of these, and all the like of these, the eventuations I know not; but well + I know that behind them, and whatever their eventuations, the vital things + remain safe and certain, and all the needed work goes on. Time, with soon + or later superciliousness, disposes of Presidents, Congressmen, party + platforms, and such. Anon, it clears the stage of each and any mortal + shred that thinks itself so potent to its day; and at and after which, + (with precious, golden exceptions once or twice in a century,) all that + relates to sir potency is flung to moulder in a burial-vault, and no one + bothers himself the least bit about it afterward. But the People ever + remain, tendencies continue, and all the idiocratic transfers in unbroken + chain go on. + </p> + <p> + In a few years the dominion-heart of America will be far inland, toward + the west. Our future national capital may not be where the present one is. + It is possible, nay likely, that in less than fifty years, it will migrate + a thousand or two miles, will be re-founded, and every thing belonging to + it made on a different plan, original, far more superb. The main social, + political, spine-character of the States will probably run along the Ohio, + Missouri and Mississippi rivers, and west and north of them, including + Canada. Those regions, with the group of powerful brothers toward the + Pacific, (destined to the mastership of that sea and its countless + paradises of islands,) will compact and settle the traits of America, with + all the old retain'd, but more expanded, grafted on newer, hardier, purely + native stock. A giant growth, composite from the rest, getting their + contribution, absorbing it, to make it more illustrious. From the north, + intellect, the sun of things, also the idea of unswayable justice, anchor + amid the last, the wildest tempests. From the south the living soul, the + animus of good and bad, haughtily admitting no demonstration but its own. + While from the west itself comes solid personality, with blood and brawn, + and the deep quality of all-accepting fusion. + </p> + <p> + Political democracy, as it exists and practically works in America, with + all its threatening evils, supplies a training-school for making + first-class men. It is life's gymnasium, not of good only, but of all. We + try often, though we fall back often. A brave delight, fit for freedom's + athletes, fills these arenas, and fully satisfies, out of the action in + them, irrespective of success. Whatever we do not attain, we at any rate + attain the experiences of the fight, the hardening of the strong campaign, + and throb with currents of attempt at least. Time is ample. Let the + victors come after us. Not for nothing does evil play its part among us. + Judging from the main portions of the history of the world, so far, + justice is always in jeopardy, peace walks amid hourly pitfalls, and of + slavery, misery, meanness, the craft of tyrants and the credulity of the + populace, in some of their protean forms, no voice can at any time say, + They are not. The clouds break a little, and the sun shines out—but + soon and certain the lowering darkness falls again, as if to last forever. + Yet is there an immortal courage and prophecy in every sane soul that + cannot, must not, under any circumstances, capitulate. <i>Vive</i>, the + attack—the perennial assault! <i>Vive</i>, the unpopular cause—the + spirit that audaciously aims—the never-abandon'd efforts, pursued + the same amid opposing proofs and precedents. + </p> + <p> + Once, before the war, (alas! I dare not say how many times the mood has + come!) I, too, was fill'd with doubt and gloom. A foreigner, an acute and + good man, had impressively said to me, that day—putting in form, + indeed, my own observations: "I have travel'd much in the United States, + and watch'd their politicians, and listen'd to the speeches of the + candidates, and read the journals, and gone into the public houses, and + heard the unguarded talk of men. And I have found your vaunted America + honeycomb'd from top to toe with infidelism, even to itself and its own + programme. I have mark'd the brazen hell-faces of secession and slavery + gazing defiantly from all the windows and doorways. I have everywhere + found, primarily, thieves and scalliwags arranging the nominations to + offices, and sometimes filling the offices themselves. I have found the + north just as full of bad stuff as the south. Of the holders of public + office in the Nation or the States or their municipalities, I have found + that not one in a hundred has been chosen by any spontaneous selection of + the outsiders, the people, but all have been nominated and put through by + little or large caucuses of the politicians, and have got in by corrupt + rings and electioneering, not capacity or desert. I have noticed how the + millions of sturdy farmers and mechanics are thus the helpless + supple-jacks of comparatively few politicians. And I have noticed more and + more, the alarming spectacle of parties usurping the government, and + openly and shamelessly wielding it for party purposes." + </p> + <p> + Sad, serious, deep truths. Yet are there other, still deeper, amply + confronting, dominating truths. Over those politicians and great and + little rings, and over all their insolence and wiles, and over the + powerfulest parties, looms a power, too sluggish maybe, but ever holding + decisions and decrees in hand, ready, with stern process, to execute them + as soon as plainly needed—and at times, indeed, summarily crushing + to atoms the mightiest parties, even in the hour of their pride. + </p> + <p> + In saner hours far different are the amounts of these things from what, at + first sight, they appear. Though it is no doubt important who is elected + governor, mayor, or legislator, (and full of dismay when incompetent or + vile ones get elected, as they sometimes do,) there are other, quieter + contingencies, infinitely more important. Shams, &c., will always be + the show, like ocean's scum; enough, if waters deep and clear make up the + rest. Enough, that while the piled embroider'd shoddy gaud and fraud + spreads to the superficial eye, the hidden warp and weft are genuine, and + will wear forever. Enough, in short, that the race, the land which could + raise such as the late rebellion, could also put it down. The average man + of a land at last only is important. He, in these States, remains immortal + owner and boss, deriving good uses, somehow, out of any sort of servant in + office, even the basest; (certain universal requisites, and their settled + regularity and protection, being first secured,) a nation like ours, in a + sort of geological formation state, trying continually new experiments, + choosing new delegations, is not served by the best men only, but + sometimes more by those that provoke it—by the combats they arouse. + Thus national rage, fury, discussions, &c., better than content. Thus, + also, the warning signals, invaluable for after times. + </p> + <p> + What is more dramatic than the spectacle we have seen repeated, and + doubtless long shall see—the popular judgment taking the successful + candidates on trial in the offices—standing off, as it were, and + observing them and their doings for a while, and always giving, finally, + the fit, exactly due reward? I think, after all, the sublimest part of + political history, and its culmination, is currently issuing from the + American people. I know nothing grander, better exercise, better + digestion, more positive proof of the past, the triumphant result of faith + in human-kind, than a well-contested American national election. + </p> + <p> + Then still the thought returns, (like the thread-passage in overtures,) + giving the key and echo to these pages. When I pass to and fro, different + latitudes, different seasons, beholding the crowds of the great cities, + New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, Chicago, St. Louis, San + Francisco, New Orleans, Baltimore—when I mix with these interminable + swarms of alert, turbulent, good-natured, independent citizens, mechanics, + clerks, young persons—at the idea of this mass of men, so fresh and + free, so loving and so proud, a singular awe falls upon me. I feel, with + dejection and amazement, that among our geniuses and talented writers or + speakers, few or none have yet really spoken to this people, created a + single image-making work for them, or absorb'd the central spirit and the + idiosyncrasies which are theirs—and which, thus, in highest ranges, + so far remain entirely uncelebrated, unexpress'd. + </p> + <p> + Dominion strong is the body's; dominion stronger is the mind's. What has + fill'd, and fills to-day our intellect, our fancy, furnishing the + standards therein, is yet foreign. The great poems, Shakspere included, + are poisonous to the idea of the pride and dignity of the common people, + the life-blood of democracy. The models of our literature, as we get it + from other lands, ultra-marine, have had their birth in courts, and bask'd + and grown in castle sunshine; all smells of princes' favors. Of workers of + a certain sort, we have, indeed, plenty, contributing after their kind; + many elegant, many learn'd, all complacent. But touch'd by the national + test, or tried by the standards of democratic personality, they wither to + ashes. I say I have not seen a single writer, artist, lecturer, or + what-not, that has confronted the voiceless but ever erect and active, + pervading, underlying will and typic aspiration of the land, in a spirit + kindred to itself. Do you call those genteel little creatures American + poets? Do you term that perpetual, pistareen, paste-pot work, American + art, American drama, taste, verse? I think I hear, echoed as from some + mountain-top afar in the west, the scornful laugh of the Genius of these + States. + </p> + <p> + Democracy, in silence, biding its time, ponders its own ideals, not of + literature and art only—not of men only, but of women. The idea of + the women of America, (extricated from this daze, this fossil and + unhealthy air which hangs about the word <i>lady</i>,) develop'd, raised + to become the robust equals, workers, and, it may be, even practical and + political deciders with the men—greater than man, we may admit, + through their divine maternity, always their towering, emblematical + attribute—but great, at any rate, as man, in all departments; or, + rather, capable of being so, soon as they realize it, and can bring + themselves to give up toys and fictions, and launch forth, as men do, amid + real, independent, stormy life. + </p> + <p> + Then, as towards our thought's finalé, (and, in that, overarching the true + scholar's lesson,) we have to say there can be no complete or epical + presentation of democracy in the aggregate, or anything like it, at this + day, because its doctrines will only be effectually incarnated in any one + branch, when, in all, their spirit is at the root and centre. Far, far, + indeed, stretch, in distance, our Vistas! How much is still to be + disentangled, freed! How long it takes to make this American world see + that it is, in itself, the final authority and reliance! + </p> + <p> + Did you, too, O friend, suppose democracy was only for elections, for + politics, and for a party name? I say democracy is only of use there that + it may pass on and come to its flower and fruits in manners, in the + highest forms of interaction between men, and their beliefs—in + religion, literature, colleges, and schools—democracy in all public + and private life, and in the army and navy.{26} I have intimated that, as + a paramount scheme, it has yet few or no full realizers and believers. I + do not see, either, that it owes any serious thanks to noted propagandists + or champions, or has been essentially help'd, though often harm'd, by + them. It has been and is carried on by all the moral forces, and by trade, + finance, machinery, intercommunications, and, in fact, by all the + developments of history, and can no more be stopp'd than the tides, or the + earth in its orbit. Doubtless, also, it resides, crude and latent, well + down in the hearts of the fair average of the American-born people, mainly + in the agricultural regions. But it is not yet, there or anywhere, the + fully-receiv'd, the fervid, the absolute faith. + </p> + <p> + I submit, therefore, that the fruition of democracy, on aught like a grand + scale, resides altogether in the future. As, under any profound and + comprehensive view of the gorgeous-composite feudal world, we see in it, + through the long ages and cycles of ages, the results of a deep, integral, + human and divine principle, or fountain, from which issued laws, ecclesia, + manners, institutes, costumes, personalities, poems, (hitherto + unequall'd,) faithfully partaking of their source, and indeed only arising + either to betoken it, or to furnish parts of that varied-flowing display, + whose centre was one and absolute—so, long ages hence, shall the due + historian or critic make at least an equal retrospect, an equal history + for the democratic principle. It too must be adorn'd, credited with its + results—then, when it, with imperial power, through amplest time, + has dominated mankind—has been the source and test of all the moral, + esthetic, social, political, and religious expressions and institutes of + the civilized world—has begotten them in spirit and in form, and has + carried them to its own unprecedented heights—has had, (it is + possible,) monastics and ascetics, more numerous, more devout than the + monks and priests of all previous creeds—has sway'd the ages with a + breadth and rectitude tallying Nature's own—has fashion'd, + systematized, and triumphantly finish'd and carried out, in its own + interest, and with unparallel'd success, a new earth and a new man. + </p> + <p> + Thus we presume to write, as it were, upon things that exist not, and + travel by maps yet unmade, and a blank. But the throes of birth are upon + us; and we have something of this advantage in seasons of strong + formations, doubts, suspense—for then the afflatus of such themes + haply may fall upon us, more or less; and then, hot from surrounding war + and revolution, our speech, though without polish'd coherence, and a + failure by the standard called criticism, comes forth, real at least as + the lightnings. + </p> + <p> + And may-be we, these days, have, too, our own reward—(for there are + yet some, in all lands, worthy to be so encouraged.) Though not for us the + joy of entering at the last the conquer'd city—not ours the chance + ever to see with our own eyes the peerless power and splendid <i>eclat</i> + of the democratic principle, arriv'd at meridian, filling the world with + effulgence and majesty far beyond those of past history's kings, or all + dynastic sway—there is yet, to whoever is eligible among us, the + prophetic vision, the joy of being toss'd in the brave turmoil of these + times—the promulgation and the path, obedient, lowly reverent to the + voice, the gesture of the god, or holy ghost, which others see not, hear + not—with the proud consciousness that amid whatever clouds, + seductions, or heart-wearying postponements, we have never deserted, never + despair'd, never abandon'd the faith. + </p> + <p> + So much contributed, to be conn'd well, to help prepare and brace our + edifice, our plann'd Idea—we still proceed to give it in another of + its aspects—perhaps the main, the high façade of all. For to + democracy, the leveler, the unyielding principle of the average, is surely + join'd another principle, equally unyielding, closely tracking the first, + indispensable to it, opposite, (as the sexes are opposite,) and whose + existence, confronting and ever modifying the other, often clashing, + paradoxical, yet neither of highest avail without the other, plainly + supplies to these grand cosmic politics of ours, and to the launch'd-forth + mortal dangers of republicanism, to-day or any day, the counterpart and + offset whereby Nature restrains the deadly original relentlessness of all + her first-class laws. This second principle is individuality, the pride + and centripetal isolation of a human being in himself—identity—personalism. + Whatever the name, its acceptance and thorough infusion through the + organizations of political commonalty now shooting Aurora-like about the + world, are of utmost importance, as the principle itself is needed for + very life's sake. It forms, in a sort, or is to form, the compensating + balance-wheel of the successful working machinery of aggregate America. + </p> + <p> + And, if we think of it, what does civilization itself rest upon—and + what object has it, with its religions, arts, schools, &c., but rich, + luxuriant, varied personalism? To that, all bends; and it is because + toward such result democracy alone, on anything like Nature's scale, + breaks up the limitless fallows of humankind, and plants the seed, and + gives fair play, that its claims now precede the rest. The literature, + songs, esthetics, &c., of a country are of importance principally + because they furnish the materials and suggestions of personality for the + women and men of that country, and enforce them in a thousand effective + ways.{27} As the topmost claim of a strong consolidating of the + nationality of these States, is, that only by such powerful compaction can + the separate States secure that full and free swing within their spheres, + which is becoming to them, each after its kind, so will individuality, + with unimpeded branchings, flourish best under imperial republican forms. + </p> + <p> + Assuming Democracy to be at present in its embryo condition, and that the + only large and satisfactory justification of it resides in the future, + mainly through the copious production of perfect characters among the + people, and through the advent of a sane and pervading religiousness, it + is with regard to the atmosphere and spaciousness fit for such characters, + and of certain nutriment and cartoon-draftings proper for them, and + indicating them for New-World purposes, that I continue the present + statement—an exploration, as of new ground, wherein, like other + primitive surveyors, I must do the best I can, leaving it to those who + come after me to do much better. (The service, in fact, if any, must be to + break a sort of first path or track, no matter how rude and + ungeometrical.) + </p> + <p> + We have frequently printed the word Democracy. Yet I cannot too often + repeat that it is a word the real gist of which still sleeps, quite + unawaken'd, notwithstanding the resonance and the many angry tempests out + of which its syllables have come, from pen or tongue. It is a great word, + whose history, I suppose, remains unwritten, because that history has yet + to be enacted. It is, in some sort, younger brother of another great and + often-used word, Nature, whose history also waits unwritten. As I + perceive, the tendencies of our day, in the States, (and I entirely + respect them,) are toward those vast and sweeping movements, influences, + moral and physical, of humanity, now and always current over the planet, + on the scale of the impulses of the elements. Then it is also good to + reduce the whole matter to the consideration of a single self, a man, a + woman, on permanent grounds. Even for the treatment of the universal, in + politics, metaphysics, or anything, sooner or later we come down to one + single, solitary soul. + </p> + <p> + There is, in sanest hours, a consciousness, a thought that rises, + independent, lifted out from all else, calm, like the stars, shining + eternal. This is the thought of identity—yours for you, whoever you + are, as mine for me. Miracle of miracles, beyond statement, most spiritual + and vaguest of earth's dreams, yet hardest basic fact, and only entrance + to all facts. In such devout hours, in the midst of the significant + wonders of heaven and earth, (significant only because of the Me in the + centre,) creeds, conventions, fall away and become of no account before + this simple idea. Under the luminousness of real vision, it alone takes + possession, takes value. Like the shadowy dwarf in the fable, 'once + liberated and look'd upon, it expands over the whole earth, and spreads to + the roof of heaven. + </p> + <p> + The quality of BEING, in the object's self, according to its own central + idea and purpose, and of growing therefrom and thereto—not criticism + by other standards, and adjustments thereto—is the lesson of Nature. + True, the full man wisely gathers, culls, absorbs; but if, engaged + disproportionately in that, he slights or overlays the precious idiocrasy + and special nativity and intention that he is, the man's self, the main + thing, is a failure, however wide his general cultivation. Thus, in our + times, refinement and delicatesse are not only attended to sufficiently, + but threaten to eat us up, like a cancer. Already, the democratic genius + watches, ill-pleased, these tendencies. Provision for a little healthy + rudeness, savage virtue, justification of what one has in one's self, + whatever it is, is demanded. Negative qualities, even deficiencies, would + be a relief. Singleness and normal simplicity and separation, amid this + more and more complex, more and more artificialized state of society—how + pensively we yearn for them! how we would welcome their return! + </p> + <p> + In some such direction, then—at any rate enough to preserve the + balance—we feel called upon to throw what weight we can, not for + absolute reasons, but current ones. To prune, gather, trim, conform, and + ever cram and stuff, and be genteel and proper, is the pressure of our + days. While aware that much can be said even in behalf of all this, we + perceive that we have not now to consider the question of what is demanded + to serve a half-starved and barbarous nation, or set of nations, but what + is most applicable, most pertinent, for numerous congeries of + conventional, over-corpulent societies, already becoming stifled and + rotten with flatulent, infidelistic literature, and polite conformity and + art. In addition to establish'd sciences, we suggest a science as it were + of healthy average personalism, on original-universal grounds, the object + of which should be to raise up and supply through the States a copious + race of superb American men and women, cheerful, religious, ahead of any + yet known. + </p> + <p> + America has yet morally and artistically originated nothing. She seems + singularly unaware that the models of persons, books, manners, &c., + appropriate for former conditions and for European lands, are but exiles + and exotics here. No current of her life, as shown on the surfaces of what + is authoritatively called her society, accepts or runs into social or + esthetic democracy; but all the currents set squarely against it. Never, + in the Old World, was thoroughly upholster'd exterior appearance and show, + mental and other, built entirely on the idea of caste, and on the + sufficiency of mere outside acquisition—never were glibness, verbal + intellect, more the test, the emulation—more loftily elevated as + head and sample—than they are on the surface of our republican + States this day. The writers of a time hint the mottoes of its gods. The + word of the modern, say these voices, is the word Culture. + </p> + <p> + We find ourselves abruptly in close quarters with the enemy. This word + Culture, or what it has come to represent, involves, by contrast, our + whole theme, and has been, indeed, the spur, urging us to engagement. + Certain questions arise. As now taught, accepted and carried out, are not + the processes of culture rapidly creating a class of supercilious + infidels, who believe in nothing? Shall a man lose himself in countless + masses of adjustments, and be so shaped with reference to this, that, and + the other, that the simply good and healthy and brave parts of him are + reduced and clipp'd away, like the bordering of box in a garden? You can + cultivate corn and roses and orchards—but who shall cultivate the + mountain peaks, the ocean, and the tumbling gorgeousness of the clouds? + Lastly—is the readily-given reply that culture only seeks to help, + systematize, and put in attitude, the elements of fertility and power, a + conclusive reply? + </p> + <p> + I do not so much object to the name, or word, but I should certainly + insist, for the purposes of these States, on a radical change of category, + in the distribution of precedence. I should demand a programme of culture, + drawn out, not for a single class alone, or for the parlors or + lecture-rooms, but with an eye to practical life, the west, the + working-men, the facts of farms and jack-planes and engineers, and of the + broad range of the women also of the middle and working strata, and with + reference to the perfect equality of women, and of a grand and powerful + motherhood. I should demand of this programme or theory a scope generous + enough to include the widest human area. It must have for its spinal + meaning the formation of a typical personality of character, eligible to + the uses of the high average of men—and <i>not</i> restricted by + conditions ineligible to the masses. The best culture will always be that + of the manly and courageous instincts, and loving perceptions, and of + self-respect—aiming to form, over this continent, an idiocrasy of + universalism, which, true child of America, will bring joy to its mother, + returning to her in her own spirit, recruiting myriads of offspring, able, + natural, perceptive, tolerant, devout believers in her, America, and with + some definite instinct why and for what she has arisen, most vast, most + formidable of historic births, and is, now and here, with wonderful step, + journeying through Time. + </p> + <p> + The problem, as it seems to me, presented to the New World, is, under + permanent law and order, and after preserving cohesion, + (ensemble-individuality,) at all hazards, to vitalize man's free play of + special Personalism, recognizing in it something that calls ever more to + be consider'd, fed, and adopted as the substratum for the best that + belongs to us, (government indeed is for it,) including the new esthetics + of our future. + </p> + <p> + To formulate beyond this present vagueness—to help line and put + before us the species, or a specimen of the species, of the democratic + ethnology of the future, is a work toward which the genius of our land, + with peculiar encouragement, invites her well-wishers. Already certain + limnings, more or less grotesque, more or less fading and watery, have + appear'd. We too, (repressing doubts and qualms,) will try our hand. + </p> + <p> + Attempting, then, however crudely, a basic model or portrait of + personality for general use for the manliness of the States, (and + doubtless that is most useful which is most simple and comprehensive for + all, and toned low enough,) we should prepare the canvas well beforehand. + Parentage must consider itself in advance. (Will the time hasten when + fatherhood and motherhood shall become a science—and the noblest + science?) To our model, a clear-blooded, strong-fibred physique, is + indispensable; the questions of food, drink, air, exercise, assimilation, + digestion, can never be intermitted. Out of these we descry a + well-begotten selfhood—in youth, fresh, ardent, emotional, aspiring, + full of adventure; at maturity, brave, perceptive, under control, neither + too talkative nor too reticent, neither flippant nor sombre; of the bodily + figure, the movements easy, the complexion showing the best blood, + somewhat flush'd, breast expanded, an erect attitude, a voice whose sound + outvies music, eyes of calm and steady gaze, yet capable also of flashing—and + a general presence that holds its own in the company of the highest. (For + it is native personality, and that alone, that endows a man to stand + before presidents or generals, or in any distinguish'd collection, with <i>aplomb</i>—and + <i>not</i> culture, or any knowledge or intellect whatever.) With regard + to the mental-educational part of our model, enlargement of intellect, + stores of cephalic knowledge, &c., the concentration thitherward of + all the customs of our age, especially in America, is so overweening, and + provides so fully for that part, that, important and necessary as it is, + it really needs nothing from us here—except, indeed, a phrase of + warning and restraint. Manners, costumes, too, though important, we need + not dwell upon here. Like beauty, grace of motion, &c., they are + results. Causes, original things, being attended to, the right manners + unerringly follow. Much is said, among artists, of "the grand style," as + if it were a thing by itself. When a man, artist or whoever, has health, + pride, acuteness, noble aspirations, he has the motive-elements of the + grandest style. The rest is but manipulation, (yet that is no small + matter.) + </p> + <p> + Leaving still unspecified several sterling parts of any model fit for the + future personality of America, I must not fail, again and ever, to + pronounce myself on one, probably the least attended to in modern times—a + hiatus, indeed, threatening its gloomiest consequences after us. I mean + the simple, unsophisticated Conscience, the primary moral element. If I + were asked to specify in what quarter lie the grounds of darkest dread, + respecting the America of our hopes, I should have to point to this + particular. I should demand the invariable application to individuality, + this day and any day, of that old, ever-true plumb-rule of persons, eras, + nations. Our triumphant modern civilizee, with his all-schooling and his + wondrous appliances, will still show himself but an amputation while this + deficiency remains. Beyond, (assuming a more hopeful tone,) the + vertebration of the manly and womanly personalism of our western world, + can only be, and is, indeed, to be, (I hope,) its all-penetrating + Religiousness. + </p> + <p> + The ripeness of Religion is doubtless to be looked for in this field of + individuality, and is a result that no organization or church can ever + achieve. As history is poorly retain'd by what the technists call history, + and is not given out from their pages, except the learner has in himself + the sense of the well-wrapt, never yet written, perhaps impossible to be + written, history—so Religion, although casually arrested, and, after + a fashion, preserv'd in the churches and creeds, does not depend at all + upon them, but is a part of the identified soul, which, when greatest, + knows not bibles in the old way, but in new ways—the identified + soul, which can really confront Religion when it extricates itself + entirely from the churches, and not before. + </p> + <p> + Personalism fuses this, and favors it. I should say, indeed, that only in + the perfect uncontamination and solitariness of individuality may the + spirituality of religion positively come forth at all. Only here, and on + such terms, the meditation, the devout ecstasy, the soaring flight. Only + here, communion with the mysteries, the eternal problems, whence? whither? + Alone, and identity, and the mood—and the soul emerges, and all + statements, churches, sermons, melt away like vapors. Alone, and silent + thought and awe, and aspiration—and then the interior consciousness, + like a hitherto unseen inscription, in magic ink, beams out its wondrous + lines to the sense. Bibles may convey, and priests expound, but it is + exclusively for the noiseless operation of one's isolated Self, to enter + the pure ether of veneration, reach the divine levels, and commune with + the unutterable. + </p> + <p> + To practically enter into politics is an important part of American + personalism. To every young man, north and south, earnestly studying these + things, I should here, as an offset to what I have said in former pages, + now also say, that may be to views of very largest scope, after all, + perhaps the political, (perhaps the literary and sociological,) America + goes best about its development its own way—sometimes, to temporary + sight, appaling enough. It is the fashion among dillettants and fops + (perhaps I myself am not guiltless,) to decry the whole formulation of the + active politics of America, as beyond redemption, and to be carefully kept + away from. See you that you do not fall into this error. America, it may + be, is doing very well upon the whole, notwithstanding these antics of the + parties and their leaders, these half-brain'd nominees, the many ignorant + ballots, and many elected failures and blatherers. It is the dillettants, + and all who shirk their duty, who are not doing well. As for you, I advise + you to enter more strongly yet into politics. I advise every young man to + do so. Always inform yourself; always do the best you can; always vote. + Disengage yourself from parties. They have been useful, and to some extent + remain so; but the floating, uncommitted electors, farmers, clerks, + mechanics, the masters of parties—watching aloof, inclining victory + this side or that side—such are the ones most needed, present and + future. For America, if eligible at all to downfall and ruin, is eligible + within herself, not without; for I see clearly that the combined foreign + world could not beat her down. But these savage, wolfish parties alarm me. + Owning no law but their own will, more and more combative, less and less + tolerant of the idea of ensemble and of equal brotherhood, the perfect + equality of the States, the ever-overarching American ideas, it behooves + you to convey yourself implicitly to no party, nor submit blindly to their + dictators, but steadily hold yourself judge and master over all of them. + </p> + <p> + So much, (hastily toss'd together, and leaving far more unsaid,) for an + ideal, or intimations of an ideal, toward American manhood. But the other + sex, in our land, requires at least a basis of suggestion. + </p> + <p> + I have seen a young American woman, one of a large family of daughters, + who, some years since, migrated from her meagre country home to one of the + northern cities, to gain her own support. She soon became an expert + seamstress, but finding the employment too confining for health and + comfort, she went boldly to work for others, to house-keep, cook, clean, + &c. After trying several places, she fell upon one where she was + suited. She has told me that she finds nothing degrading in her position; + it is not inconsistent with personal dignity, self-respect, and the + respect of others. She confers benefits and receives them. She has good + health; her presence itself is healthy and bracing; her character is + unstain'd; she has made herself understood, and preserves her + independence, and has been able to help her parents, and educate and get + places for her sisters; and her course of life is not without + opportunities for mental improvement, and of much quiet, uncosting + happiness and love. + </p> + <p> + I have seen another woman who, from taste and necessity conjoin'd, has + gone into practical affairs, carries on a mechanical business, partly + works at it herself, dashes out more and more into real hardy life, is not + abash'd by the coarseness of the contact, knows how to be firm and silent + at the same time, holds her own with unvarying coolness and decorum, and + will compare, any day, with superior carpenters, farmers, and even boatmen + and drivers. For all that, she has not lost the charm of the womanly + nature, but preserves and bears it fully, though through such rugged + presentation. + </p> + <p> + Then there is the wife of a mechanic, mother of two children, a woman of + merely passable English education, but of fine wit, with all her sex's + grace and intuitions, who exhibits, indeed, such a noble female + personality, that I am fain to record it here. Never abnegating her own + proper independence, but always genially preserving it, and what belongs + to it—cooking, washing, child-nursing, house-tending—she beams + sunshine out of all these duties, and makes them illustrious. + Physiologically sweet and sound, loving work, practical, she yet knows + that there are intervals, however few, devoted to recreation, music, + leisure, hospitality—and affords such intervals. Whatever she does, + and wherever she is, that charm, that indescribable perfume of genuine + womanhood attends her, goes with her, exhales from her, which belongs of + right to all the sex, and is, or ought to be, the invariable atmosphere + and common aureola of old as well as young. + </p> + <p> + My dear mother once described to me a resplendent person, down on Long + Island, whom she knew in early days. She was known by the name of the + Peacemaker. She was well toward eighty years old, of happy and sunny + temperament, had always lived on a farm, and was very neighborly, sensible + and discreet, an invariable and welcom'd favorite, especially with young + married women. She had numerous children and grandchildren. She was + uneducated, but possess'd a native dignity. She had come to be a tacitly + agreed upon domestic regulator, judge, settler of difficulties, + shepherdess, and reconciler in the land. She was a sight to draw near and + look upon, with her large figure, her profuse snow-white hair, (uncoil'd + by any head-dress or cap,) dark eyes, clear complexion, sweet breath, and + peculiar personal magnetism. + </p> + <p> + The foregoing portraits, I admit, are frightfully out of line from these + imported models of womanly personality—the stock feminine characters + of the current novelists, or of the foreign court poems, (Ophelias, Enids, + princesses, or ladies of one thing or another,) which fill the envying + dreams of so many poor girls, and are accepted by our men, too, as supreme + ideals of feminine excellence to be sought after. But I present mine just + for a change. + </p> + <p> + Then there are mutterings, (we will not now stop to heed them here, but + they must be heeded,) of something more revolutionary. The day is coming + when the deep questions of woman's entrance amid the arenas of practical + life, politics, the suffrage, &c., will not only be argued all around + us, but may be put to decision, and real experiment. + </p> + <p> + Of course, in these States, for both man and woman, we must entirely + recast the types of highest personality from what the oriental, feudal, + ecclesiastical worlds bequeath us, and which yet possess the imaginative + and esthetic fields of the United States, pictorial and melodramatic, not + without use as studies, but making sad work, and forming a strange + anachronism upon the scenes and exigencies around us. Of course, the old + undying elements remain. The task is, to successfully adjust them to new + combinations, our own days. Nor is this so incredible. I can conceive a + community, to-day and here, in which, on a sufficient scale, the perfect + personalities, without noise meet; say in some pleasant western settlement + or town, where a couple of hundred best men and women, of ordinary worldly + status, have by luck been drawn together, with nothing extra of genius or + wealth, but virtuous, chaste, industrious, cheerful, resolute, friendly + and devout. I can conceive such a community organized in running order, + powers judiciously delegated—farming, building, trade, courts, + mails, schools, elections, all attended to; and then the rest of life, the + main thing, freely branching and blossoming in each individual, and + bearing golden fruit. I can see there, in every young and old man, after + his kind, and in every woman after hers, a true personality, develop'd, + exercised proportionately in body, mind, and spirit. I can imagine this + case as one not necessarily rare or difficult, but in buoyant accordance + with the municipal and general requirements of our times. And I can + realize in it the culmination of something better than any stereotyped <i>eclat</i> + of history or poems. Perhaps, unsung, undramatized, unput in essays or + biographies—perhaps even some such community already exists, in + Ohio, Illinois, Missouri, or somewhere, practically fulfilling itself, and + thus outvying, in cheapest vulgar life, all that has been hitherto shown + in best ideal pictures. + </p> + <p> + In short, and to sum up, America, betaking herself to formative action, + (as it is about time for more solid achievement, and less windy promise,) + must, for her purposes, cease to recognize a theory of character grown of + feudal aristocracies, or form'd by merely literary standards, or from any + ultramarine, full-dress formulas of culture, polish, caste, &c., and + must sternly promulgate her own new standard, yet old enough, and + accepting the old, the perennial elements, and combining them into groups, + unities, appropriate to the modern, the democratic, the west, and to the + practical occasions and needs of our own cities, and of the agricultural + regions. Ever the most precious in the common. Ever the fresh breeze of + field, or hill, or lake, is more than any palpitation of fans, though of + ivory, and redolent with perfume; and the air is more than the costliest + perfumes. + </p> + <p> + And now, for fear of mistake, we may not intermit to beg our absolution + from all that genuinely is, or goes along with, even Culture. Pardon us, + venerable shade! if we have seem'd to speak lightly of your office. The + whole civilization of the earth, we know, is yours, with all the glory and + the light thereof. It is, indeed, in your own spirit, and seeking to tally + the loftiest teachings of it, that we aim these poor utterances. For you, + too, mighty minister! know that there is something greater than you, + namely, the fresh, eternal qualities of Being. From them, and by them, as + you, at your best, we too evoke the last, the needed help, to vitalize our + country and our days. Thus we pronounce not so much against the principle + of culture; we only supervise it, and promulge along with it, as deep, + perhaps a deeper, principle. As we have shown the New World including in + itself the all-leveling aggregate of democracy, we show it also including + the all-varied, all-permitting, all-free theorem of individuality, and + erecting therefor a lofty and hitherto unoccupied framework or platform, + broad enough for all, eligible to every farmer and mechanic—to the + female equally with the male—a towering selfhood, not physically + perfect only—not satisfied with the mere mind's and learning's + stores, but religious, possessing the idea of the infinite, (rudder and + compass sure amid this troublous voyage, o'er darkest, wildest wave, + through stormiest wind, of man's or nation's progress)—realizing, + above the rest, that known humanity, in deepest sense, is fair adhesion to + itself, for purposes beyond—and that, finally, the personality of + mortal life is most important with reference to the immortal, the unknown, + the spiritual, the only permanently real, which as the ocean waits for and + receives the rivers, waits for us each and all. + </p> + <p> + Much is there, yet, demanding line and outline in our Vistas, not only on + these topics, but others quite unwritten. Indeed, we could talk the + matter, and expand it, through lifetime. But it is necessary to return to + our original premises. In view of them, we have again pointedly to confess + that all the objective grandeurs of the world, for highest purposes, yield + themselves up, and depend on mentality alone. Here, and here only, all + balances, all rests. For the mind, which alone builds the permanent + edifice, haughtily builds it to itself. By it, with what follows it, are + convey'd to mortal sense the culminations of the materialistic, the known, + and a prophecy of the unknown. To take expression, to incarnate, to endow + a literature with grand and archetypal models—to fill with pride and + love the utmost capacity, and to achieve spiritual meanings, and suggest + the future—these, and these only, satisfy the soul. We must not say + one word against real materials; but the wise know that they do not become + real till touched by emotions, the mind. Did we call the latter + imponderable? Ah, let us rather proclaim that the slightest song-tune, the + countless ephemera of passions arous'd by orators and tale-tellers, are + more dense, more weighty than the engines there in the great factories, or + the granite blocks in their foundations. + </p> + <p> + Approaching thus the momentous spaces, and considering with reference to a + new and greater personalism, the needs and possibilities of American + imaginative literature, through the medium-light of what we have already + broach'd, it will at once be appreciated that a vast gulf of difference + separates the present accepted condition of these spaces, inclusive of + what is floating in them, from any condition adjusted to, or fit for, the + world, the America, there sought to be indicated, and the copious races of + complete men and women, along these Vistas crudely outlined. It is, in + some sort, no less a difference than lies between that long-continued + nebular state and vagueness of the astronomical worlds, compared with the + subsequent state, the definitely-form'd worlds themselves, duly compacted, + clustering in systems, hung up there, chandeliers of the universe, + beholding and mutually lit by each other's lights, serving for ground of + all substantial foothold, all vulgar uses—yet serving still more as + an undying chain and echelon of spiritual proofs and shows. A boundless + field to fill! A new creation, with needed orbic works launch'd forth, to + revolve in free and lawful circuits—to move, self-poised, through + the ether, and shine like heaven's own suns! With such, and nothing less, + we suggest that New World literature, fit to rise upon, cohere, and + signalize in time, these States. + </p> + <p> + What, however, do we more definitely mean by New World literature? Are we + not doing well enough here already? Are not the United States this day + busily using, working, more printer's type, more presses, than any other + country? uttering and absorbing more publications than any other? Do not + our publishers fatten quicker and deeper? (helping themselves, under + shelter of a delusive and sneaking law, or rather absence of law, to most + of their forage, poetical, pictorial, historical, romantic, even comic, + without money and without price—and fiercely resisting the timidest + proposal to pay for it.) Many will come under this delusion—but my + purpose is to dispel it. I say that a nation may hold and circulate rivers + and oceans of very readable print, journals, magazines, novels, + library-books, "poetry," &c.—such as the States to-day possess + and circulate—of unquestionable aid and value—hundreds of new + volumes annually composed and brought out here, respectable enough, indeed + unsurpass'd in smartness and erudition—with further hundreds, or + rather millions, (as by free forage or theft aforemention'd,) also thrown + into the market—and yet, all the while, the said nation, land, + strictly speaking, may possess no literature at all. + </p> + <p> + Repeating our inquiry, what, then, do we mean by real literature? + especially the democratic literature of the future? Hard questions to + meet. The clues are inferential, and turn us to the past. At best, we can + only offer suggestions, comparisons, circuits. + </p> + <p> + It must still be reiterated, as, for the purpose of these memoranda, the + deep lesson of history and time, that all else in the contributions of a + nation or age, through its politics, materials, heroic personalities, + military eclat, &c., remains crude, and defers, in any close and + thorough-going estimate, until vitalized by national, original archetypes + in literature. They only put the nation in form, finally tell anything—prove, + complete anything—perpetuate anything. Without doubt, some of the + richest and most powerful and populous communities of the antique world, + and some of the grandest personalities and events, have, to after and + present times, left themselves entirely unbequeath'd. Doubtless, greater + than any that have come down to us, were among those lands, heroisms, + persons, that have not come down to us at all, even by name, date, or + location. Others have arrived safely, as from voyages over wide, + century-stretching seas. The little ships, the miracles that have buoy'd + them, and by incredible chances safely convey'd them, (or the best of + them, their meaning and essence,) overlong wastes, darkness, lethargy, + ignorance, &c., have been a few inscriptions—a few immortal + compositions, small in size, yet compassing what measureless values of + reminiscence, contemporary portraitures, manners, idioms and beliefs, with + deepest inference, hint and thought, to tie and touch forever the old, new + body, and the old, new soul! These! and still these! bearing the freight + so dear—dearer than pride—dearer than love. All the best + experience of humanity, folded, saved, freighted to us here. Some of these + tiny ships we call Old and New Testament, Homer, Eschylus, Plato, Juvenal, + &c. Precious minims! I think, if we were forced to choose, rather than + have you, and the likes of you, and what belongs to, and has grown of you, + blotted out and gone, we could better afford, appaling as that would be, + to lose all actual ships, this day fasten'd by wharf, or floating on wave, + and see them, with all their cargoes, scuttled and sent to the bottom. + </p> + <p> + Gather'd by geniuses of city, race or age, and put by them in highest of + art's forms, namely, the literary form, the peculiar combinations and the + outshows of that city, age, or race, its particular modes of the universal + attributes and passions, its faiths, heroes, lovers and gods, wars, + traditions, struggles, crimes, emotions, joys, (or the subtle spirit of + these,) having been pass'd on to us to illumine our own selfhood, and its + experiences—what they supply, indispensable and highest, if taken + away, nothing else in all the world's boundless store-houses could make up + to us, or ever again return. + </p> + <p> + For us, along the great highways of time, those monuments stand—those + forms of majesty and beauty. For us those beacons burn through all the + nights. Unknown Egyptians, graving hieroglyphs; Hindus, with hymn and + apothegm and endless epic; Hebrew prophet, with spirituality, as in + flashes of lightning, conscience like red-hot iron, plaintive songs and + screams of vengeance for tyrannies and enslavement; Christ, with bent + head, brooding love and peace, like a dove; Greek, creating eternal shapes + of physical and esthetic proportion; Roman, lord of satire, the sword, and + the codex;—of the figures, some far off and veil'd, others nearer + and visible; Dante, stalking with lean form, nothing but fibre, not a + grain of superfluous flesh; Angelo, and the great painters, architects, + musicians; rich Shakspere, luxuriant as the sun, artist and singer of + feudalism in its sunset, with all the gorgeous colors, owner thereof, and + using them at will; and so to such as German Kant and Hegel, where they, + though near us, leaping over the ages, sit again, impassive, + imperturbable, like the Egyptian gods. Of these, and the like of these, is + it too much, indeed, to return to our favorite figure, and view them as + orbs and systems of orbs, moving in free paths in the spaces of that other + heaven, the kosmic intellect, the soul? + </p> + <p> + Ye powerful and resplendent ones! ye were, in your atmospheres, grown not + for America, but rather for her foes, the feudal and the old—while + our genius is democratic and modern. Yet could ye, indeed, but breathe + your breath of life into our New World's nostrils—not to enslave us, + as now, but, for our needs, to breed a spirit like your own—perhaps, + (dare we to say it?) to dominate, even destroy, what you yourselves have + left! On your plane, and no less, but even higher and wider, must we mete + and measure for to-day and here. I demand races of orbic bards, with + unconditional uncompromising sway. Come forth, sweet democratic despots of + the west! + </p> + <p> + By points like these we, in reflection, token what we mean by any land's + or people's genuine literature. And thus compared and tested, judging amid + the influence of loftiest products only, what do our current copious + fields of print, covering in manifold forms, the United States, better, + for an analogy, present, than, as in certain regions of the sea, those + spreading, undulating masses of squid, through which the whale swimming, + with head half out, feeds? + </p> + <p> + Not but that doubtless our current so-called literature, (like an endless + supply of small coin,) performs a certain service, and may-be, too, the + service needed for the time, (the preparation-service, as children learn + to spell.) Everybody reads, and truly nearly everybody writes, either + books, or for the magazines or journals. The matter has magnitude, too, + after a sort. But is it really advancing? or, has it advanced for a long + while? There is something impressive about the huge editions of the + dailies and weeklies, the mountain-stacks of white paper piled in the + press-vaults, and the proud, crashing, ten-cylinder presses, which I can + stand and watch any time by the half hour. Then, (though the States in the + field of imagination present not a single first-class work, not a single + great literatus,) the main objects, to amuse, to titillate, to pass away + time, to circulate the news, and rumors of news, to rhyme and read rhyme, + are yet attain'd, and on a scale of infinity. To-day, in books, in the + rivalry of writers, especially novelists, success, (so-call'd,) is for him + or her who strikes the mean flat average, the sensational appetite for + stimulus, incident, persiflage, &c., and depicts, to the common + calibre, sensual, exterior life. To such, or the luckiest of them, as we + see, the audiences are limitless and profitable; but they cease presently. + While this day, or any day, to workmen portraying interior or spiritual + life, the audiences were limited, and often laggard—but they last + forever. + </p> + <p> + Compared with the past, our modern science soars, and our journals serve—but + ideal and even ordinary romantic literature, does not, I think, + substantially advance. Behold the prolific brood of the contemporary + novel, magazine-tale, theatre-play, &c. The same endless thread of + tangled and superlative love-story, inherited, apparently from the + Amadises and Palmerins of the 13th, 14th, and 15th centuries over there in + Europe. The costumes and associations brought down to date, the seasoning + hotter and more varied, the dragons and ogres left out—but the <i>thing</i>, + I should say, has not advanced—is just as sensational, just as + strain'd—remains about the same, nor more, nor less. + </p> + <p> + What is the reason our time, our lands, that we see no fresh local + courage, sanity, of our own—the Mississippi, stalwart Western men, + real mental and physical facts, Southerners, &c., in the body of our + literature? especially the poetic part of it. But always, instead, a + parcel of dandies and ennuyees, dapper little gentlemen from abroad, who + flood us with their thin sentiment of parlors, parasols, piano-songs, + tinkling rhymes, the five-hundredth importation—or whimpering and + crying about something, chasing one aborted conceit after another, and + forever occupied in dyspeptic amours with dyspeptic women. While, current + and novel, the grandest events and revolutions and stormiest passions of + history, are crossing to-day with unparallel'd rapidity and magnificence + over the stages of our own and all the continents, offering new materials, + opening new vistas, with largest needs, inviting the daring launching + forth of conceptions in literature, inspired by them, soaring in highest + regions, serving art in its highest (which is only the other name for + serving God, and serving humanity,) where is the man of letters, where is + the book, with any nobler aim than to follow in the old track, repeat what + has been said before—and, as its utmost triumph, sell well, and be + erudite or elegant? + </p> + <p> + Mark the roads, the processes, through which these States have arrived, + standing easy, henceforth ever-equal, ever-compact in their range to-day. + European adventures? the most antique? Asiatic or African? old history—miracles—romances? + Rather our own unquestion'd facts. They hasten, incredible, blazing bright + as fire. From the deeds and days of Columbus down to the present, and + including the present—and especially the late secession war—when + I con them, I feel, every leaf, like stopping to see if I have not made a + mistake, and fall'n on the splendid figments of some dream. But it is no + dream. We stand, live, move, in the huge flow of our age s materialism—in + its spirituality. We have had founded for us the most positive of lands. + The founders have pass'd to other spheres—but what are these + terrible duties they have left us? + </p> + <p> + Their politics the United States have, in my opinion, with all their + faults, already substantially establish'd, for good, on their own native, + sound, long-vista'd principles, never to be overturn'd, offering a sure + basis for all the rest. With that, their future religious forms sociology, + literature, teachers, schools, costumes, &c., are of course to make a + compact whole, uniform, on tallying principles. For how can we remain, + divided, contradicting ourselves, this way?{28} I say we can only attain + harmony and stability by consulting ensemble and the ethic purports, and + faithfully building upon them. For the New World, indeed, after two grand + stages of preparation-strata, I perceive that now a third stage, being + ready for, (and without which the other two were useless,) with + unmistakable signs appears. The First stage was the planning and putting + on record the political foundation rights of immense masses of people—indeed + all people—in the organization of republican National, State, and + municipal governments, all constructed with reference to each, and each to + all. This is the American programme, not for classes, but for universal + man, and is embodied in the compacts of the Declaration of Independence, + and, as it began and has now grown, with its amendments, the Federal + Constitution—and in the State governments, with all their interiors, + and with general suffrage; those having the sense not only of what is in + themselves, but that their certain several things started, planted, + hundreds of others in the same direction duly arise and follow. The Second + stage relates to material prosperity, wealth, produce, labor-saving + machines, iron, cotton, local, State and continental railways, + intercommunication and trade with all lands, steamships, mining, general + employment, organization of great cities, cheap appliances for comfort, + numberless technical schools, books, newspapers, a currency for money + circulation, &c. The Third stage, rising out of the previous ones, to + make them and all illustrious, I, now, for one, promulge, announcing a + native expression-spirit, getting into form, adult, and through mentality, + for these States, self-contain'd, different from others, more expansive, + more rich and free, to be evidenced by original authors and poets to come, + by American personalities, plenty of them, male and female, traversing the + States, none excepted—and by native superber tableaux and growths of + language, songs, operas, orations, lectures, architecture—and by a + sublime and serious Religious Democracy sternly taking command, dissolving + the old, sloughing off surfaces, and from its own interior and vital + principles, reconstructing, democratizing society. + </p> + <p> + For America, type of progress, and of essential faith in man, above all + his errors and wickedness—few suspect how deep, how deep it really + strikes. The world evidently supposes, and we have evidently supposed so + too, that the States are merely to achieve the equal franchise, an + elective government—to inaugurate the respectability of labor, and + become a nation of practical operatives, law-abiding, orderly and well + off. Yes, those are indeed parts of the task of America; but they not only + do not exhaust the progressive conception, but rather arise, teeming with + it, as the mediums of deeper, higher progress. Daughter of a physical + revolution—mother of the true revolutions, which are of the interior + life, and of the arts. For so long as the spirit is not changed, any + change of appearance is of no avail. + </p> + <p> + The old men, I remember as a boy, were always talking of American + independence. What is independence? Freedom from all laws or bonds except + those of one's own being, control'd by the universal ones. To lands, to + man, to woman, what is there at last to each, but the inherent soul, + nativity, idiocrasy, free, highest-poised, soaring its own flight, + following out itself? + </p> + <p> + At present, these States, in their theology and social standards, (of + greater importance than their political institutions,) are entirely held + possession of by foreign lands. We see the sons and daughters of the New + World, ignorant of its genius, not yet inaugurating the native, the + universal, and the near, still importing the distant, the partial, and the + dead. We see London, Paris, Italy—not original, superb, as where + they belong—but second-hand here, where they do not belong. We see + the shreds of Hebrews, Romans, Greeks; but where, on her own soil, do we + see, in any faithful, highest, proud expression, America herself? I + sometimes question whether she has a corner in her own house. + </p> + <p> + Not but that in one sense, and a very grand one, good theology, good art, + or good literature, has certain features shared in common. The combination + fraternizes, ties the races—is, in many particulars, under laws + applicable indifferently to all, irrespective of climate or date, and, + from whatever source, appeals to emotions, pride, love, spirituality, + common to human kind. Nevertheless, they touch a man closest, (perhaps + only actually touch him,) even in these, in their expression through + autochthonic lights and shades, flavors, fondnesses, aversions, specific + incidents, illustrations, out of his own nationality, geography, + surroundings, antecedents, &c. The spirit and the form are one, and + depend far more on association, identity and place, than is supposed. + Subtly interwoven with the materiality and personality of a land, a race—Teuton, + Turk, Californian, or what-not—there is always something—I can + hardly tell what it is—history but describes the results of it—it + is the same as the untellable look of some human faces. Nature, too, in + her stolid forms, is full of it—but to most it is there a secret. + This something is rooted in the invisible roots, the profoundest meanings + of that place, race, or nationality; and to absorb and again effuse it, + uttering words and products as from its midst, and carrying it into + highest regions, is the work, or a main part of the work, of any country's + true author, poet, historian, lecturer, and perhaps even priest and + philosoph. Here, and here only, are the foundations for our really + valuable and permanent verse, drama, &c. + </p> + <p> + But at present, (judged by any higher scale than that which finds the + chief ends of existence to be to feverishly make money during one-half of + it, and by some "amusement," or perhaps foreign travel, flippantly kill + time, the other half,) and consider'd with reference to purposes of + patriotism, health, a noble personality, religion, and the democratic + adjustments, all these swarms of poems, literary magazines, dramatic + plays, resultant so far from American intellect, and the formation of our + best ideas, are useless and a mockery. They strengthen and nourish no one, + express nothing characteristic, give decision and purpose to no one, and + suffice only the lowest level of vacant minds. + </p> + <p> + Of what is called the drama, or dramatic presentation in the United + States, as now put forth at the theatres, I should say it deserves to be + treated with the same gravity, and on a par with the questions of + ornamental confectionery at public dinners, or the arrangement of curtains + and hangings in a ball-room—nor more, nor less. Of the other, I will + not insult the reader's intelligence, (once really entering into the + atmosphere of these Vistas,) by supposing it necessary to show, in detail, + why the copious dribble, either of our little or well-known rhymesters, + does not fulfil, in any respect, the needs and august occasions of this + land. America demands a poetry that is bold, modern, and all-surrounding + and kosmical, as she is herself. It must in no respect ignore science or + the modern, but inspire itself with science and the modern. It must bend + its vision toward the future, more than the past. Like America, it must + extricate itself from even the greatest models of the past, and, while + courteous to them, must have entire faith in itself, and the products of + its own democratic spirit only. Like her, it must place in the van, and + hold up at all hazards, the banner of the divine pride of man in himself, + (the radical foundation of the new religion.) Long enough have the People + been listening to poems in which common humanity, deferential, bends low, + humiliated, acknowledging superiors. But America listens to no such poems. + Erect, inflated, and fully self-esteeming be the chant; and then America + will listen with pleased ears. + </p> + <p> + Nor may the genuine gold, the gems, when brought to light at last, be + probably usher'd forth from any of the quarters currently counted on. + To-day, doubtless, the infant genius of American poetic expression, + (eluding those highly-refined imported and gilt-edged themes, and + sentimental and butterfly flights, pleasant to orthodox publishers—causing + tender spasms in the coteries, and warranted not to chafe the sensitive + cuticle of the most exquisitely artificial gossamer delicacy,) lies + sleeping far away, happily unrecognized and uninjur'd by the coteries, the + art-writers, the talkers and critics of the saloons, or the lecturers in + the colleges—lies sleeping, aside, unrecking itself, in some western + idiom, or native Michigan or Tennessee repartee, or stumpspeech—or + in Kentucky or Georgia, or the Carolinas—or in some slang or local + song or allusion of the Manhattan, Boston, Philadelphia or Baltimore + mechanic—or up in the Maine woods—or off in the hut of the + California miner, or crossing the Rocky mountains, or along the Pacific + railroad—or on the breasts of the young farmers of the northwest, or + Canada, or boatmen of the lakes. Rude and coarse nursing-beds, these; but + only from such beginnings and stocks, indigenous here, may haply arrive, + be grafted, and sprout, in time, flowers of genuine American aroma, and + fruits truly and fully our own. + </p> + <p> + I say it were a standing disgrace to these States—I say it were a + disgrace to any nation, distinguish'd above others by the variety and + vastness of its territories, its materials, its inventive activity, and + the splendid practicality of its people, not to rise and soar above others + also in its original styles in literature and art, and its own supply of + intellectual and esthetic masterpieces, archetypal, and consistent with + itself. I know not a land except ours that has not, to some extent, + however small, made its title clear. The Scotch have their born ballads, + subtly expressing their past and present, and expressing character. The + Irish have theirs. England, Italy, France, Spain, theirs. What has + America? With exhaustless mines of the richest ore of epic, lyric, tale, + tune, picture, etc., in the Four Years' War; with, indeed, I sometimes + think, the richest masses of material ever afforded a nation, more + variegated, and on a larger scale—the first sign of proportionate, + native, imaginative Soul, and first-class works to match, is, (I cannot + too often repeat,) so far wanting. + </p> + <p> + Long ere the second centennial arrives, there will be some forty to fifty + great States, among them Canada and Cuba. When the present century closes, + our population will be sixty or seventy millions. The Pacific will be + ours, and the Atlantic mainly ours. There will be daily electric + communication with every part of the globe. What an age! What a land! + Where, elsewhere, one so great? The individuality of one nation must then, + as always, lead the world. Can there be any doubt who the leader ought to + be? Bear in mind, though, that nothing less than the mightiest original + non-subordinated SOUL has ever really, gloriously led, or ever can lead. + (This Soul—its other name, in these Vistas, is LITERATURE.) + </p> + <p> + In fond fancy leaping those hundred years ahead, let us survey America's + works, poems, philosophies, fulfilling prophecies, and giving form and + decision to best ideals. Much that is now undream'd of, we might then + perhaps see establish'd, luxuriantly cropping forth, richness, vigor of + letters and of artistic expression, in whose products character will be a + main requirement, and not merely erudition or elegance. + </p> + <p> + Intense and loving comradeship, the personal and passionate attachment of + man to man—which, hard to define, underlies the lessons and ideals + of the profound saviours of every land and age, and which seems to + promise, when thoroughly develop'd, cultivated and recognized in manners + and literature, the most substantial hope and safety of the future of + these States, will then be fully express'd.{29} + </p> + <p> + A strong fibred joyousness and faith, and the sense of health <i>al fresco</i>, + may well enter into the preparation of future noble American authorship. + Part of the test of a great literatus shall be the absence in him of the + idea of the covert, the lurid, the maleficent, the devil, the grim + estimates inherited from the Puritans, hell, natural depravity, and the + like. The great literatus will be known, among the rest, by his cheerful + simplicity, his adherence to natural standards, his limitless faith in + God, his reverence, and by the absence in him of doubt, ennui, burlesque, + persiflage, or any strain'd and temporary fashion. + </p> + <p> + Nor must I fail, again and yet again, to clinch, reiterate more plainly + still, (O that indeed such survey as we fancy, may show in time this part + completed also!) the lofty aim, surely the proudest and the purest, in + whose service the future literatus, of whatever field, may gladly labor. + As we have intimated, offsetting the material civilization of our race, + our nationality, its wealth, territories, factories, population, products, + trade, and military and naval strength, and breathing breath of life into + all these, and more, must be its moral civilization—the formulation, + expression, and aidancy whereof, is the very highest height of literature. + The climax of this loftiest range of civilization, rising above all the + gorgeous shows and results of wealth, intellect, power, and art, as such—above + even theology and religious fervor—is to be its development, from + the eternal bases, and the fit expression, of absolute Conscience, moral + soundness, Justice. Even in religious fervor there is a touch of animal + heat. But moral conscientiousness, crystalline, without flaw, not Godlike + only, entirely human, awes and enchants forever. Great is emotional love, + even in the order of the rational universe. But, if we must make + gradations, I am clear there is something greater. Power, love, + veneration, products, genius, esthetics, tried by subtlest comparisons, + analyses, and in serenest moods, somewhere fail, somehow become vain. Then + noiseless, withflowing steps, the lord, the sun, the last ideal comes. By + the names right, justice, truth, we suggest, but do not describe it. To + the world of men it remains a dream, an idea as they call it. But no dream + is it to the wise—but the proudest, almost only solid, lasting thing + of all. Its analogy in the material universe is what holds together this + world, and every object upon it, and carries its dynamics on forever sure + and safe. Its lack, and the persistent shirking of it, as in life, + sociology, literature, politics, business, and even sermonizing, these + times, or any times, still leaves the abysm, the mortal flaw and smutch, + mocking civilization to-day, with all its unquestion'd triumphs, and all + the civilization so far known.{30} + </p> + <p> + Present literature, while magnificently fulfilling certain popular + demands, with plenteous knowledge and verbal smartness, is profoundly + sophisticated, insane, and its very joy is morbid. It needs tally and + express Nature, and the spirit of Nature, and to know and obey the + standards. I say the question of Nature, largely consider'd, involves the + questions of the esthetic, the emotional, and the religious—and + involves happiness. A fitly born and bred race, growing up in right + conditions of out-door as much as in-door harmony, activity and + development, would probably, from and in those conditions, find it enough + merely <i>to live</i>—and would, in their relations to the sky, air, + water, trees, &c., and to the countless common shows, and in the fact + of life itself, discover and achieve happiness—with Being suffused + night and day by wholesome extasy, surpassing all the pleasures that + wealth, amusement, and even gratified intellect, erudition, or the sense + of art, can give. + </p> + <p> + In the prophetic literature of these States, (the reader of my + speculations will miss their principal stress unless he allows well for + the point that a new Literature, perhaps a new Metaphysics, certainly a + new Poetry, are to be, in my opinion, the only sure and worthy supports + and expressions of the American Democracy,) Nature, true Nature, and the + true idea of Nature, long absent, must, above all, become fully restored, + enlarged, and must furnish the pervading atmosphere to poems, and the test + of all high literary and esthetic compositions. I do not mean the smooth + walks, trimm'd hedges, poseys and nightingales of the English poets, but + the whole orb, with its geologic history, the kosmos, carrying fire and + snow, that rolls through the illimitable areas, light as a feather, though + weighing billions of tons. Furthermore, as by what we now partially call + Nature is intended, at most, only what is entertainable by the physical + conscience, the sense of matter, and of good animal health—on these + it must be distinctly accumulated, incorporated, that man, comprehending + these, has, in towering superaddition, the moral and spiritual + consciences, indicating his destination beyond the ostensible, the mortal. + </p> + <p> + To the heights of such estimate of Nature indeed ascending, we proceed to + make observations for our Vistas, breathing rarest air. What is I believe + called Idealism seems to me to suggest, (guarding against extravagance, + and ever modified even by its opposite,) the course of inquiry and desert + of favor for our New World metaphysics, their foundation of and in + literature, giving hue to all.{31} + </p> + <p> + The elevating and etherealizing ideas of the unknown and of unreality must + be brought forward with authority, as they are the legitimate heirs of the + known, and of reality, and at least as great as their parents. Fearless of + scoffing, and of the ostent, let us take our stand, our ground, and never + desert it, to confront the growing excess and arrogance of realism. To the + cry, now victorious—the cry of sense, science, flesh, incomes, + farms, merchandise, logic, intellect, demonstrations, solid perpetuities, + buildings of brick and iron, or even the facts of the shows of trees, + earth, rocks, &c., fear not, my brethren, my sisters, to sound out + with equally determin'd voice, that conviction brooding within the + recesses of every envision'd soul—illusions! apparitions! figments + all! True, we must not condemn the show, neither absolutely deny it, for + the indispensability of its meanings; but how clearly we see that, migrate + in soul to what we can already conceive of superior and spiritual points + of view, and, palpable as it seems under present relations, it all and + several might, nay certainly would, fall apart and vanish. + </p> + <p> + I hail with joy the oceanic, variegated, intense practical energy, the + demand for facts, even the business materialism of the current age, our + States. But we to the age or land in which these things, movements, + stopping at themselves, do not tend to ideas. As fuel to flame, and flame + to the heavens, so must wealth, science, materialism—even this + democracy of which we make so much—unerringly feed the highest mind, + the soul. Infinitude the flight: fathomless the mystery. Man, so + diminutive, dilates beyond the sensible universe, competes with, outcopes + space and time, meditating even one great idea. Thus, and thus only, does + a human being, his spirit, ascend above, and justify, objective Nature, + which, probably nothing in itself, is incredibly and divinely serviceable, + indispensable, real, here. And as the purport of objective Nature is + doubtless folded, hidden, somewhere here—as somewhere here is what + this globe and its manifold forms, and the light of day, and night's + darkness, and life itself, with all its experiences, are for—it is + here the great literature, especially verse, must get its inspiration and + throbbing blood. Then may we attain to a poetry worthy the immortal soul + of man, and widen, while absorbing materials, and, in their own sense, the + shows of Nature, will, above all, have, both directly and indirectly, a + freeing, fluidizing, expanding, religious character, exulting with + science, fructifying the moral elements, and stimulating aspirations, and + meditations on the unknown. + </p> + <p> + The process, so far, is indirect and peculiar, and though it may be + suggested, cannot be defined. Observing, rapport, and with intuition, the + shows and forms presented by Nature, the sensuous luxuriance, the + beautiful in living men and women, the actual play of passions, in history + and life—and, above all, from those developments either in Nature or + human personality in which power, (dearest of all to the sense of the + artist,) transacts itself-out of these, and seizing what is in them, the + poet, the esthetic worker in any field, by the divine magic of his genius, + projects them, their analogies, by curious removes, indirections, in + literature and art. (No useless attempt to repeat the material creation, + by daguerreotyping the exact likeness by mortal mental means.) This is the + image-making faculty, coping with material creation, and rivaling, almost + triumphing over it. This alone, when all the other parts of a specimen of + literature or art are ready and waiting, can breathe into it the breath of + life, and endow it with identity. + </p> + <p> + "The true question to ask," says the librarian of Congress in a paper read + before the Social Science Convention at New York, October, 1869, "The true + question to ask respecting a book, is, <i>has it help'd any human soul?</i>" + This is the hint, statement, not only of the great literatus, his book, + but of every great artist. It may be that all works of art are to be first + tried by their art qualities, their image-forming talent, and their + dramatic, pictorial, plot-constructing, euphonious and other talents. + Then, whenever claiming to be first-class works, they are to be strictly + and sternly tried by their foundation in, and radiation, in the highest + sense, and always indirectly, of the ethic principles, and eligibility to + free, arouse, dilate. + </p> + <p> + As, within the purposes of the Kosmos, and vivifying all meteorology, and + all the congeries of the mineral, vegetable and animal worlds—all + the physical growth and development of man, and all the history of the + race in politics, religions, wars, &c., there is a moral purpose, a + visible or invisible intention, certainly underlying all—its results + and proof needing to be patiently waited for—needing intuition, + faith, idiosyncrasy, to its realization, which many, and especially the + intellectual, do not have—so in the product, or congeries of the + product, of the greatest literatus. This is the last, profoundest measure + and test of a first-class literary or esthetic achievement, and when + understood and put in force must fain, I say, lead to works, books, nobler + than any hitherto known. Lo! Nature, (the only complete, actual poem,) + existing calmly in the divine scheme, containing all, content, careless of + the criticisms of a day, or these endless and wordy chatterers. And lo! to + the consciousness of the soul, the permanent identity, the thought, the + something, before which the magnitude even of democracy, art, literature, + &c., dwindles, becomes partial, measurable—something that fully + satisfies, (which those do not.) That something is the All, and the idea + of All, with the accompanying idea of eternity, and of itself, the soul, + buoyant, indestructible, sailing space forever, visiting every region, as + a ship the sea. And again lo! the pulsations in all matter, all spirit, + throbbing forever—the eternal beats, eternal systole and diastole of + life in things—wherefrom I feel and know that death is not the + ending, as was thought, but rather the real beginning—and that + nothing ever is or can be lost, nor ever die, nor soul, nor matter. + </p> + <p> + In the future of these States must arise poets immenser far, and make + great poems of death. The poems of life are great, but there must be the + poems of the purports of life, not only in itself, but beyond itself. I + have eulogized Homer, the sacred bards of Jewry, Eschylus, Juvenal, + Shakspere, &c., and acknowledged their inestimable value. But, (with + perhaps the exception, in some, not all respects, of the + second-mention'd,) I say there must, for future and democratic purposes, + appear poets, (dare I to say so?) of higher class even than any of those—poets + not only possess'd of the religious fire and abandon of Isaiah, luxuriant + in the epic talent of Homer, or for proud characters as in Shakspere, but + consistent with the Hegelian formulas, and consistent with modern science. + America needs, and the world needs, a class of bards who will, now and + ever, so link and tally the rational physical being of man, with the + ensembles of time and space, and with this vast and multiform show, + Nature, surrounding him, ever tantalizing him, equally a part, and yet not + a part of him, as to essentially harmonize, satisfy, and put at rest. + Faith, very old, now scared away by science, must be restored, brought + back by the same power that caused her departure—restored with new + sway, deeper, wider, higher than ever. Surely, this universal ennui, this + coward fear, this shuddering at death, these low, degrading views, are not + always to rule the spirit pervading future society, as it has the past, + and does the present. What the Roman Lucretius sought most nobly, yet all + too blindly, negatively to do for his age and its successors, must be done + positively by some great coming literatus, especially poet, who, while + remaining fully poet, will absorb whatever science indicates, with + spiritualism, and out of them, and out of his own genius, will compose the + great poem of death. Then will man indeed confront Nature, and confront + time and space, both with science, and <i>con amore</i>, and take his + right place, prepared for life, master of fortune and misfortune. And then + that which was long wanted will be supplied, and the ship that had it not + before in all her voyages, will have an anchor. + </p> + <p> + There are still other standards, suggestions, for products of high + literatuses. That which really balances and conserves the social and + political world is not so much legislation, police, treaties, and dread of + punishment, as the latent eternal intuitional sense, in humanity, of + fairness, manliness, decorum, &c. Indeed, this perennial regulation, + control, and oversight, by self-suppliance, is <i>sine qua non</i> to + democracy; and a highest widest aim of democratic literature may well be + to bring forth, cultivate, brace, and strengthen this sense, in + individuals and society. A strong mastership of the general inferior self + by the superior self, is to be aided, secured, indirectly, but surely, by + the literatus, in his works, shaping, for individual or aggregate + democracy, a great passionate body, in and along with which goes a great + masterful spirit. + </p> + <p> + And still, providing for contingencies, I fain confront the fact, the need + of powerful native philosophs and orators and bards, these States, as + rallying points to come, in times of danger, and to fend off ruin and + defection. For history is long, long, long. Shift and turn the + combinations of the statement as we may, the problem of the future of + America is in certain respects as dark as it is vast. Pride, competition, + segregation, vicious wilfulness, and license beyond example, brood already + upon us. Unwieldy and immense, who shall hold in behemoth? who bridle + leviathan? Flaunt it as we choose, athwart and over the roads of our + progress loom huge uncertainty, and dreadful, threatening gloom. It is + useless to deny it: Democracy grows rankly up the thickest, noxious, + deadliest plants and fruits of all—brings worse and worse invaders—needs + newer, larger, stronger, keener compensations and compellers. + </p> + <p> + Our lands, embracing so much, (embracing indeed the whole, rejecting + none,) hold in their breast that flame also, capable of consuming + themselves, consuming us all. Short as the span of our national life has + been, already have death and downfall crowded close upon us—and will + again crowd close, no doubt, even if warded off. Ages to come may never + know, but I know, how narrowly during the late secession war—and + more than once, and more than twice or thrice—our Nationality, + (wherein bound up, as in a ship in a storm, depended, and yet depend, all + our best life, all hope, all value,) just grazed, just by a hair escaped + destruction. Alas! to think of them! the agony and bloody sweat of certain + of those hours! those cruel, sharp, suspended crises! + </p> + <p> + Even to-day, amid these whirls, incredible flippancy, and blind fury of + parties, infidelity, entire lack of first-class captains and leaders, + added to the plentiful meanness and vulgarity of the ostensible masses—that + problem, the labor question, beginning to open like a yawning gulf, + rapidly widening every year—what prospect have we? We sail a + dangerous sea of seething currents, cross and under-currents, vortices—all + so dark, untried—and whither shall we turn? It seems as if the + Almighty had spread before this nation charts of imperial destinies, + dazzling as the sun, yet with many a deep intestine difficulty, and human + aggregate of cankerous imperfection-saying, lo! the roads, the only plans + of development, long and varied with all terrible balks and ebullitions. + You said in your soul, I will be empire of empires, overshadowing all + else, past and present, putting the history of Old-World dynasties, + conquests behind me, as of no account—making a new history, a + history of democracy, making old history a dwarf—I alone + inaugurating largeness, culminating time. If these, O lands of America, + are indeed the prizes, the determinations of your soul, be it so. But + behold the cost, and already specimens of the cost. Thought you greatness + was to ripen for you like a pear? If you would have greatness, know that + you must conquer it through ages, centuries—must pay for it with a + proportionate price. For you too, as for all lands, the struggle, the + traitor, the wily person in office, scrofulous wealth, the surfeit of + prosperity, the demonism of greed, the hell of passion, the decay of + faith, the long postponement, the fossil-like lethargy, the ceaseless need + of revolutions, prophets, thunder-storms, deaths, births, new projections + and invigorations of ideas and men. + </p> + <p> + Yet I have dream'd, merged in that hidden-tangled problem of our fate, + whose long unraveling stretches mysteriously through time—dream'd + out, portray'd, hinted already—a little or a larger band—a + band of brave and true, unprecedented yet—arm'd and equipt at every + point—the members separated, it may be, by different dates and + States, or south, or north, or east, or west—Pacific, Atlantic, + Southern, Canadian—a year, a century here, and other centuries there—but + always one, compact in soul, conscience-conserving, God-inculcating, + inspirid achievers, not only in literature, the greatest art, but + achievers in all art—a new, undying order, dynasty, from age to age + transmitted—a band, a class, at least as fit to cope with current + years, our dangers, needs, as those who, for their times, so long, so + well, in armor or in cowl, upheld and made illustrious, that far-back + feudal, priestly world. To offset chivalry, indeed, those vanish'd + countless knights, old altars, abbeys, priests, ages and strings of ages, + a knightlier and more sacred cause to-day demands, and shall supply, in a + New World, to larger, grander work, more than the counterpart and tally of + them. + </p> + <p> + Arrived now, definitely, at an apex for these Vistas, I confess that the + promulgation and belief in such a class or institution—a new and + greater literatus order—its possibility, (nay certainty,) underlies + these entire speculations—and that the rest, the other parts, as + superstructures, are all founded upon it. It really seems to me the + condition, not only of our future national and democratic development, but + of our perpetuation. In the highly artificial and materialistic bases of + modern civilization, with the corresponding arrangements and methods of + living, the force-infusion of intellect alone, the depraving influences of + riches just as much as poverty, the absence of all high ideals in + character—with the long series of tendencies, shapings, which few + are strong enough to resist, and which now seem, with steam-engine speed, + to be everywhere turning out the generations of humanity like uniform iron + castings—all of which, as compared with the feudal ages, we can yet + do nothing better than accept, make the best of, and even welcome, upon + the whole, for their oceanic practical grandeur, and their restless + wholesale kneading of the masses—I say of all this tremendous and + dominant play of solely materialistic bearings upon current life in the + United States, with the results as already seen, accumulating, and + reaching far into the future, that they must either be confronted and met + by at least an equally subtle and tremendous force-infusion for purposes + of spiritualization, for the pure conscience, for genuine esthetics, and + for absolute and primal manliness and womanliness—or else our modern + civilization, with all its improvements, is in vain, and we are on the + road to a destiny, a status, equivalent, in its real world, to that of the + fabled damned. + </p> + <p> + Prospecting thus the coming unsped days, and that new order in them—marking + the endless train of exercise, development, unwind, in nation as in man, + which life is for—we see, fore-indicated, amid these prospects and + hopes, new law-forces of spoken and written language—not merely the + pedagogue-forms, correct, regular, familiar with precedents, made for + matters of outside propriety, fine words, thoughts definitely told out—but + a language fann'd by the breath of Nature, which leaps overhead, cares + mostly for impetus and effects, and for what it plants and invigorates to + grow—tallies life and character, and seldomer tells a thing than + suggests or necessitates it. In fact, a new theory of literary composition + for imaginative works of the very first class, and especially for highest + poems, is the sole course open to these States. Books are to be call'd + for, and supplied, on the assumption that the process of reading is not a + half-sleep, but, in highest sense, an exercise, a gymnast's struggle; that + the reader is to do something for himself, must be on the alert, must + himself or herself construct indeed the poem, argument, history, + metaphysical essay—the text furnishing the hints, the clue, the + start or frame-work. Not the book needs so much to be the complete thing, + but the reader of the book does. That were to make a nation of supple and + athletic minds, well-train'd, intuitive, used to depend on themselves, and + not on a few coteries of writers. + </p> + <p> + Investigating here, we see, not that it is a little thing we have, in + having the bequeath'd libraries, countless shelves of volumes, records, + etc.; yet how serious the danger, depending entirely on them, of the + bloodless vein, the nerveless arm, the false application, at second or + third hand. We see that the real interest of this people of ours in the + theology, history, poetry, politics, and personal models of the past, (the + British islands, for instance, and indeed all the past,) is not + necessarily to mould ourselves or our literature upon them, but to attain + fuller, more definite comparisons, warnings, and the insight to ourselves, + our own present, and our own far grander, different, future history, + religion, social customs, &c. We see that almost everything that has + been written, sung, or stated, of old, with reference to humanity under + the feudal and oriental institutes, religions, and for other lands, needs + to be re-written, re-sung, re-stated, in terms consistent with the + institution of these States, and to come in range and obedient uniformity + with them. + </p> + <p> + We see, as in the universes of the material kosmos, after meteorological, + vegetable, and animal cycles, man at last arises, born through them, to + prove them, concentrate them, to turn upon them with wonder and love—to + command them, adorn them, and carry them upward into superior realms—so, + out of the series of the preceding social and political universes, now + arise these States. We see that while many were supposing things + establish'd and completed, really the grandest things always remain; and + discover that the work of the New World is not ended, but only fairly + begun. + </p> + <p> + We see our land, America, her literature, esthetics, &c., as, + substantially, the getting in form, or effusement and statement, of + deepest basic elements and loftiest final meanings, of history and man—and + the portrayal, (under the eternal laws and conditions of beauty,) of our + own physiognomy, the subjective tie and expression of the objective, as + from our own combination, continuation, and points of view—and the + deposit and record of the national mentality, character, appeals, heroism, + wars, and even liberties—where these, and all, culminate in native + literary and artistic formulation, to be perpetuated; and not having which + native, first-class formulation, she will flounder about, and her other, + however imposing, eminent greatness, prove merely a passing gleam; but + truly having which, she will understand herself, live nobly, nobly + contribute, emanate, and, swinging, poised safely on herself, illumin'd + and illuming, become a full-form'd world, and divine Mother not only of + material but spiritual worlds, in ceaseless succession through time—the + main thing being the average, the bodily, the concrete, the democratic, + the popular, on which all the superstructures of the future are to + permanently rest. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {20} "From a territorial area of less than nine hundred thousand square + miles, the Union has expanded into over four millions and a half—fifteen + times larger than that of Great Britain and France combined—with a + shore-line, including Alaska, equal to the entire circumference of the + earth, and with a domain within these lines far wider than that of the + Romans in their proudest days of conquest and renown. With a river, lake, + and coastwise commerce estimated at over two thousand millions of dollars + per year; with a railway traffic of four to six thousand millions per + year, and the annual domestic exchanges of the country running up to + nearly ten thousand millions per year; with over two thousand millions of + dollars invested in manufacturing, mechanical, and mining industry; with + over five hundred millions of acres of land in actual occupancy, valued, + with their appurtenances, at over seven thousand millions of dollars, and + producing annually crops valued at over three thousand millions of + dollars; with a realm which, if the density of Belgium's population were + possible, would be vast enough to include all the present inhabitants of + the world; and with equal rights guaranteed to even the poorest and + humblest of our forty millions of people—we can, with a manly pride + akin to that which distinguish'd the palmiest days of Rome, claim," &c., + &c., &c.—<i>Vice-President Colfax's Speech, July 4, 1870</i>. + </p> + <p> + LATER—<i>London "Times," (Weekly,) June 23, '82</i>. + </p> + <p> + "The wonderful wealth-producing power of the United States defies and sets + at naught the grave drawbacks of a mischievous protective tariff, and has + already obliterated, almost wholly, the traces of the greatest of modern + civil wars. What is especially remarkable in the present development of + American energy and success is its wide and equable distribution. North + and south, east and west, on the shores of the Atlantic and the Pacific, + along the chain of the great lakes, in the valley of the Mississippi, and + on the coasts of the gulf of Mexico, the creation of wealth and the + increase of population are signally exhibited. It is quite true, as has + been shown by the recent apportionment of population in the House of + Representatives, that some sections of the Union have advanced, relatively + to the rest, in an extraordinary and unexpected degree. But this does not + imply that the States which have gain'd no additional representatives or + have actually lost some have been stationary or have receded. The fact is + that the present tide of prosperity has risen so high that it has + overflow' d all barriers, and has fill'd up the back-waters, and + establish'd something like an approach to uniform success." + </p> + <p> + {21} See, for hereditaments, specimens, Walter Scott's Border Minstrelsy, + Percy's collection, Ellis's early English Metrical Romances, the European + continental poems of Walter of Aquitania, and the Nibelungen, of pagan + stock, but monkish-feudal redaction; the history of the Troubadours, by + Fauriel; even the far-back cumbrous old Hindu epics, as indicating the + Asian eggs out of which European chivalry was hatch'd; Ticknor's chapters + on the Cid, and on the Spanish poems and poets of Calderon's time. Then + always, and, of course, as the superbest poetic culmination-expression of + feudalism, the Shaksperean dramas, in the attitudes, dialogue, characters, + &c., of the princes, lords and gentlemen, the pervading atmosphere, + the implied and express'd standard of manners, the high port and proud + stomach, the regal embroidery of style, &c. + </p> + <p> + {22} Of these rapidly-sketch'd hiatuses, the two which seem to me most + serious are, for one, the condition, absence, or perhaps the singular + abeyance, of moral conscientious fibre all through American society; and, + for another, the appaling depletion of women in their powers of sane + athletic maternity, their crowning attribute, and ever making the woman, + in loftiest spheres, superior to the man. + </p> + <p> + I have sometimes thought, indeed, that the sole avenue and means of a + reconstructed sociology depended, primarily, on a new birth, elevation, + expansion, invigoration of woman, affording, for races to come, (as the + conditions that antedate birth are indispensable,) a perfect motherhood. + Great, great, indeed, far greater than they know, is the sphere of women. + But doubtless the question of such new sociology all goes together, + includes many varied and complex influences and premises, and the man as + well as the woman, and the woman as well as the man. + </p> + <p> + {23} The question hinted here is one which time only can answer. Must not + the virtue of modern Individualism, continually enlarging, usurping all, + seriously affect, perhaps keep down entirely, in America, the like of the + ancient virtue of Patriotism, the fervid and absorbing love of general + country? I have no doubt myself that the two will merge, and will mutually + profit and brace each other, and that from them a greater product, a + third, will arise. But I feel that at present they and their oppositions + form a serious problem and paradox in the United States. + </p> + <p> + {24} "SHOOTING NIAGARA."—I was at first roused to much anger and + abuse by this essay from Mr. Carlyle, so insulting to the theory of + America—but happening to think afterwards how I had more than once + been in the like mood, during which his essay was evidently cast, and seen + persons and things in the same light, (indeed some might say there are + signs of the same feeling in these Vistas)—I have since read it + again, not only as a study, expressing as it does certain judgments from + the highest feudal point of view, but have read it with respect as coming + from an earnest soul, and as contributing certain sharp-cutting metallic + grains, which, if not gold or silver, may be good, hard, honest iron. + </p> + <p> + {25} For fear of mistake, I may as well distinctly specify, as cheerfully + included in the model and standard of these Vistas, a practical, stirring, + worldly, money-making, even materialistic character. It is undeniable that + our farms, stores, offices, dry-goods, coal and groceries, enginery, + cash-accounts, trades, earnings, markets, &c., should be attended to + in earnest, and actively pursued, just as if they had a real and permanent + existence. I perceive clearly that the extreme business energy, and this + almost maniacal appetite for wealth prevalent in the United States, are + parts of amelioration and progress, indispensably needed to prepare the + very results I demand. My theory includes riches, and the getting of + riches, and the amplest products, power, activity, inventions, movements, + &c. Upon them, as upon substrata, I raise the edifice design'd in + these Vistas. + </p> + <p> + {26} The whole present system of the officering and personnel of the army + and navy of these States, and the spirit and letter of their + trebly-aristocratic rules and regulations, is a monstrous exotic, a + nuisance and revolt, and belong here just as much as orders of nobility, + or the Pope's council of cardinals. I say if the present theory of our + army and navy is sensible and true, then the rest of America is an + unmitigated fraud. + </p> + <p> + {27} A: After the rest is satiated, all interest culminates in the field + of persons, and never flags there. Accordingly in this field have the + great poets and literatuses signally toil'd. They too, in all ages, all + lands, have been creators, fashioning, making types of men and women, as + Adam and Eve are made in the divine fable. Behold, shaped, bred by + orientalism, feudalism, through their long growth and culmination, and + breeding back in return—(when shall we have an equal series, typical + of democracy?)—behold, commencing in primal Asia, (apparently + formulated, in what beginning we know, in the gods of the mythologies, and + coming down thence,) a few samples out of the countless product, + bequeath'd to the moderns, bequeath'd to America as studies. For the men, + Yudishtura, Rama, Arjuna, Solomon, most of the Old and New Testament + characters; Achilles, Ulysses, Theseus, Prometheus, Hercules, Aeneas, + Plutarch's heroes; the Merlin of Celtic bards; the Cid, Arthur and his + knights, Siegfried and Hagen in the Nibelungen; Roland and Oliver; Roustam + in the Shah-Nemah; and so on to Milton's Satan, Cervantes' Don Quixote, + Shakspere's Hamlet, Richard II., Lear, Marc Antony, &c., and the + modern Faust. These, I say, are models, combined, adjusted to other + standards than America's, but of priceless value to her and hers. + </p> + <p> + Among women, the goddesses of the Egyptian, Indian and Greek mythologies, + certain Bible characters, especially the Holy Mother; Cleopatra, Penelope; + the portraits of Brunhelde and Chriemhilde in the Nibelungen; Oriana, Una, + &c.; the modern Consuelo, Walter Scott's Jeanie and Effie Deans, &c., + &c. (Yet woman portray'd or outlin'd at her best, or as perfect human + mother, does not hitherto, it seems to me, fully appear in literature.) + </p> + <p> + {28} Note, to-day, an instructive, curious spectacle and conflict. + Science, (twin in its fields, of Democracy in its)—Science, testing + absolutely all thoughts, all works, has already burst well upon the world—a + sun, mounting, most illuminating, most glorious—surely never again + to set. But against it, deeply entrench'd, holding possession, yet + remains, (not only through the churches and schools, but by imaginative + literature, and unregenerate poetry,) the fossil theology of the + mythic-materialistic, superstitious, untaught and credulous, fable-loving, + primitive ages of humanity. + </p> + <p> + {29} It is to the development, identification, and general prevalence of + that fervid comradeship, (the adhesive love, at least rivaling the amative + love hitherto possessing imaginative literature, if not going beyond it,) + that I look for the counterbalance and offset of our materialistic and + vulgar American democracy, and for the spiritualization thereof. Many will + say it is a dream, and will not follow my inferences: but I confidently + expect a time when there will be seen, running like a half-hid warp + through all the myriad audible and visible worldly interests of America, + threads of manly friendship, fond and loving, pure and sweet, strong and + life-long, carried to degrees hitherto unknown—not only giving tone + to individual character, and making it unprecedently emotional, muscular, + heroic, and refined, but having the deepest relations to general politics. + I say democracy infers such loving comradeship, as its most inevitable + twin or counterpart, without which it will be incomplete, in vain, and + incapable of perpetuating itself. + </p> + <p> + {30} I am reminded as I write that out of this very conscience, or idea of + conscience, of intense moral right, and in its name and strain'd + construction, the worst fanaticisms, wars, persecutions, murders, &c., + have yet, in all lands, in the past, been broach'd, and have come to their + devilish fruition. Much is to be said—but I may say here, and in + response, that side by side with the unflagging stimulation of the + elements of religion and conscience must henceforth move with equal sway, + science, absolute reason, and the general proportionate development of the + whole man. These scientific facts, deductions, are divine too—precious + counted parts of moral civilization, and, with physical health, + indispensable to it, to prevent fanaticism. For abstract religion, I + perceive, is easily led astray, ever credulous, and is capable of + devouring, remorseless, like fire and flame. Conscience, too, isolated + from all else, and from the emotional nature, may but attain the beauty + and purity of glacial, snowy ice. We want, for these States, for the + general character, a cheerful, religious fervor, endued with the + ever-present modifications of the human emotions, friendship, benevolence, + with a fair field for scientific inquiry, the right of individual + judgment, and always the cooling influences of material Nature. + </p> + <p> + {31} The culmination and fruit of literary artistic expression, and its + final fields of pleasure for the human soul, are in metaphysics, including + the mysteries of the spiritual world, the soul itself, and the question of + the immortal continuation of our identity. In all ages, the mind of man + has brought up here—and always will. Here, at least, of whatever + race or era, we stand on common ground. Applause, too, is unanimous, + antique or modern. Those authors who work well in this field—though + their reward, instead of a handsome percentage, or royalty, may be but + simply the laurel-crown of the victors in the great Olympic games—will + be dearest to humanity, and their works, however esthetically defective, + will be treasur'd forever. The altitude of literature and poetry has + always been religion—and always will be. The Indian Vedas, the + Naçkas of Zoroaster, the Tal mud of the Jews, the Old Testament, the + Gospel of Christ and his disciples, Plato's works, the Koran of Mohammed, + the Edda of Snorro, and so on toward our own day, to Swedenborg, and to + the invaluable contributions of Leibnitz, Kant and Hegel—these, with + such poems only in which, (while singing well of persons and events, of + the passions of man, and the shows of the material universe,) the + religious tone, the consciousness of mystery, the recognition of the + future, of the unknown, of Deity over and under all, and of the divine + purpose, are never absent, but indirectly give tone to all—exhibit + literature's real heights and elevations, towering up like the great + mountains of the earth. + </p> + <p> + Standing on this ground—the last, the highest, only permanent ground—and + sternly criticising, from it, all works, either of the literary, or any + art, we have peremptorily to dismiss every pretensive production, however + fine its esthetic or intellectual points, which violates or ignores, or + even does not celebrate, the central divine idea of All, suffusing + universe, of eternal trains of purpose, in the development, by however + slow degrees, of the physical, moral, and spiritual kosmos. I say he has + studied, meditated to no profit, whatever may be his mere erudition, who + has not absorbed this simple consciousness and faith. It is not entirely + new—but it is for Democracy to elaborate it, and look to build upon + and expand from it, with uncompromising reliance. Above the doors of + teaching the inscription is to appear, Though little or nothing can be + absolutely known, perceiv'd, except from a point of view which is + evanescent, yet we know at least one permanency, that Time and Space, in + the will of God, furnish successive chains, completions of material births + and beginnings, solve all discrepancies, fears and doubts, and eventually + fulfil happiness—and that the prophecy of those births, namely + spiritual results, throws the true arch over all teaching, all science. + The local considerations of sin, disease, deformity, ignorance, death, + &c., and their measurement by the superficial mind, and ordinary + legislation and theology, are to be met by science, boldly accepting, + promulging this faith, and planting the seeds of superber laws—of + the explication of the physical universe through the spiritual—and + clearing the way for a religion, sweet and unimpugnable alike to little + child or great savan. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ORIGINS OF ATTEMPTED SECESSION + </h2> + <p> + <i>Not the whole matter, but some side facts worth conning to-day and any + day</i>. + </p> + <p> + I consider the war of attempted secession, 1860-'65, not as a struggle of + two distinct and separate peoples, but a conflict (often happening, and + very fierce) between the passions and paradoxes of one and the same + identity—perhaps the only terms on which that identity could really + become fused, homogeneous and lasting. The origin and conditions out of + which it arose, are full of lessons, full of warnings yet to the Republic—and + always will be. The underlying and principal of those origins are yet + singularly ignored. The Northern States were really just as responsible + for that war, (in its precedents, foundations, instigations,) as the + South. Let me try to give my view. From the age of 21 to 40, (1840-'60,) I + was interested in the political movements of the land, not so much as a + participant, but as an observer, and a regular voter at the elections. I + think I was conversant with the springs of action, and their workings, not + only in New York city and Brooklyn, but understood them in the whole + country, as I had made leisurely tours through all the middle States, and + partially through the western and southern, and down to New Orleans, in + which city I resided for some time. (I was there at the close of the + Mexican war—saw and talk'd with General Taylor, and the other + generals and officers, who were feted and detain'd several days on their + return victorious from that expedition.) + </p> + <p> + Of course many and very contradictory things, specialties, developments, + constitutional views, &c., went to make up the origin of the war—but + the most significant general fact can be best indicated and stated as + follows: For twenty-five years previous to the outbreak, the controling + "Democratic" nominating conventions of our Republic—starting from + their primaries in wards or districts, and so expanding to counties, + powerful cities, States, and to the great Presidential nominating + conventions—were getting to represent and be composed of more and + more putrid and dangerous materials. Let me give a schedule, or list, of + one of these representative conventions for a long time before, and + inclusive of, that which nominated Buchanan. (Remember they had come to be + the fountains and tissues of the American body politic, forming, as it + were, the whole blood, legislation, office-holding, &c.) One of these + conventions, from 1840 to '60, exhibited a spectacle such as could never + be seen except in our own age and in these States. The members who + composed it were, seven-eighths of them, the meanest kind of bawling and + blowing office-holders, office-seekers, pimps, malignants, conspirators, + murderers, fancy-men, custom-house clerks, contractors, kept-editors, + spaniels well-train'd to carry and fetch, jobbers, infidels, disunionists, + terrorists, mail-riflers, slave-catchers, pushers of slavery, creatures of + the President, creatures of would-be Presidents, spies, bribers, + compromisers, lobbyers, sponges, ruin'd sports, expell'd gamblers, + policy-backers, monte-dealers, duellists, carriers of conceal'd weapons, + deaf men, pimpled men, scarr'd inside with vile disease, gaudy outside + with gold chains made from the people's money and harlots' money twisted + together; crawling, serpentine men, the lousy combings and born + freedom-sellers of the earth. And whence came they? From back-yards and + bar-rooms; from out of the custom-houses, marshals' offices, post-offices, + and gambling-hells; from the President's house, the jail, the + station-house; from unnamed by-places, where devilish disunion was hatch'd + at midnight; from political hearses, and from the coffins inside, and from + the shrouds inside of the coffins; from the tumors and abscesses of the + land; from the skeletons and skulls in the vaults of the federal + almshouses; and from the running sores of the great cities. Such, I say, + form'd, or absolutely controll'd the forming of, the entire personnel, the + atmosphere, nutriment and chyle, of our municipal, State, and National + politics—substantially permeating, handling, deciding, and wielding + everything—legislation, nominations, elections, "public sentiment," + &c.—while the great masses of the people, farmers, mechanics, + and traders, were helpless in their gripe. These conditions were mostly + prevalent in the north and west, and especially in New York and + Philadelphia cities; and the southern leaders, (bad enough, but of a far + higher order,) struck hands and affiliated with, and used them. Is it + strange that a thunder-storm follow'd such morbid and stifling + cloud-strata? + </p> + <p> + I say then, that what, as just outlined, heralded, and made the ground + ready for secession revolt, ought to be held up, through all the future, + as the most instructive lesson in American political history—the + most significant warning and beacon-light to coming generations. I say + that the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth terms of the American + Presidency have shown that the villainy and shallowness of rulers (back'd + by the machinery of great parties) are just as eligible to these States as + to any foreign despotism, kingdom, or empire—there is not a bit of + difference. History is to record those three Presidentiads, and especially + the administrations of Fillmore and Buchanan, as so far our topmost + warning and shame. Never were publicly display'd more deform'd, mediocre, + snivelling, unreliable, false-hearted men. Never were these States so + insulted, and attempted to be betray'd. All the main purposes for which + the government was establish'd were openly denied. The perfect equality of + slavery with freedom was flauntingly preach'd in the north—nay, the + superiority of slavery. The slave trade was proposed to be renew'd. + Everywhere frowns and misunderstandings—everywhere exasperations and + humiliations. (The slavery contest is settled—and the war is long + over—yet do not those putrid conditions, too many of them, still + exist? still result in diseases, fevers, wounds—not of war and army + hospitals—but the wounds and diseases of peace?) + </p> + <p> + Out of those generic influences, mainly in New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, + &c., arose the attempt at disunion. To philosophical examination, the + malignant fever of that war shows its embryonic sources, and the original + nourishment of its life and growth, in the north. I say secession, below + the surface, originated and was brought to maturity in the free States. I + allude to the score of years preceding 1860. My deliberate opinion is now, + that if at the opening of the contest the abstract duality-question of <i>slavery + and quiet</i> could have been submitted to a direct popular vote, as + against their opposite, they would have triumphantly carried the day in a + majority of the northern States—in the large cities, leading off + with New York and Philadelphia, by tremendous majorities. The events of + '61 amazed everybody north and south, and burst all prophecies and + calculations like bubbles. But even then, and during the whole war, the + stern fact remains that (not only did the north put it down, but) <i>the + secession cause had numerically just as many sympathizers in the free as + in the rebel States</i>. + </p> + <p> + As to slavery, abstractly and practically, (its idea, and the + determination to establish and expand it, especially in the new + territories, the future America,) it is too common, I repeat, to identify + it exclusively with the south. In fact down to the opening of the war, the + whole country had about an equal hand in it. The north had at least been + just as guilty, if not more guilty; and the east and west had. The former + Presidents and Congresses had been guilty—the governors and + legislatures of every northern State had been guilty, and the mayors of + New York and other northern cities had all been guilty—their hands + were all stain'd. And as the conflict took decided shape, it is hard to + tell which class, the leading southern or northern disunionists, was more + stunn'd and disappointed at the non-action of the free-State secession + element, so largely existing and counted on by those leaders, both + sections. + </p> + <p> + So much for that point, and for the north. As to the inception and direct + instigation of the war, in the south itself, I shall not attempt interiors + or complications. Behind all, the idea that it was from a resolute and + arrogant determination on the part of the extreme slaveholders, the + Calhounites, to carry the States-rights' portion of the constitutional + compact to its farthest verge, and nationalize slavery, or else disrupt + the Union, and found a new empire, with slavery for its corner-stone, was + and is undoubtedly the true theory. (If successful, this attempt might—I + am not sure, but it might—have destroy'd not only our American + republic, in anything like first-class proportions, in itself and its + prestige, but for ages at least, the cause of Liberty and Equality + everywhere—and would have been the greatest triumph of reaction, and + the severest blow to political and every other freedom, possible to + conceive. Its worst result would have inured to the southern States + themselves.) That our national democratic experiment, principle, and + machinery, could triumphantly sustain such a shock, and that the + Constitution could weather it, like a ship a storm, and come out of it as + sound and whole as before, is by far the most signal proof yet of the + stability of that experiment, Democracy, and of those principles, and that + Constitution. + </p> + <p> + Of the war itself, we know in the ostent what has been done. The numbers + of the dead and wounded can be told or approximated, the debt posted and + put on record, the material events narrated, &c. Meantime, elections + go on, laws are pass'd, political parties struggle, issue their platforms, + &c., just the same as before. But immensest results, not only in + politics, but in literature, poems, and sociology, are doubtless waiting + yet unform'd in the future. How long they will wait I cannot tell. The + pageant of history's retrospect shows us, ages since, all Europe marching + on the crusades, those arm'd uprisings of the people, stirr'd by a mere + idea, to grandest attempt—and, when once baffled in it, returning, + at intervals, twice, thrice, and again. An unsurpass'd series of + revolutionary events, influences. Yet it took over two hundred years for + the seeds of the crusades to germinate, before beginning even to sprout. + Two hundred years they lay, sleeping, not dead, but dormant in the ground. + Then, out of them, unerringly, arts, travel, navigation, politics, + literature, freedom, the spirit of adventure, inquiry, all arose, grew, + and steadily sped on to what we see at present. Far back there, that huge + agitation-struggle of the crusades stands, as undoubtedly the embryo, the + start, of the high preeminence of experiment, civilization and enterprise + which the European nations have since sustain'd, and of which these States + are the heirs. + </p> + <p> + Another illustration—(history is full of them, although the war + itself, the victory of the Union, and the relations of our equal States, + present features of which there are no precedents in the past.) The + conquest of England eight centuries ago, by the Franco-Normans—the + obliteration of the old, (in many respects so needing obliteration)—the + Domesday Book, and the repartition of the land—the old impedimenta + removed, even by blood and ruthless violence, and a new, progressive + genesis establish'd, new seeds sown—time has proved plain enough + that, bitter as they were, all these were the most salutary series of + revolutions that could possibly have happen'd. Out of them, and by them + mainly, have come, out of Albic, Roman and Saxon England—and without + them could not have come—not only the England of the 500 years down + to the present, and of the present—but these States. Nor, except for + that terrible dislocation and overturn, would these States, as they are, + exist to-day. + </p> + <p> + It is certain to me that the United States, by virtue of that war and its + results, and through that and them only, are now ready to enter, and must + certainly enter, upon their genuine career in history, as no more torn and + divided in their spinal requisites, but a great homogeneous Nation—free + States all—a moral and political unity in variety, such as Nature + shows in her grandest physical works, and as much greater than any mere + work of Nature, as the moral and political, the work of man, his mind, his + soul, are, in their loftiest sense, greater than the merely physical. Out + of that war not only has the nationality of the States escaped from being + strangled, but more than any of the rest, and, in my opinion, more than + the north itself, the vital heart and breath of the south have escaped as + from the pressure of a general nightmare, and are henceforth to enter on a + life, development, and active freedom, whose realities are certain in the + future, notwithstanding all the southern vexations of the hour—a + development which could not possibly have been achiev'd on any less terms, + or by any other means than that grim lesson, or something equivalent to + it. And I predict that the south is yet to outstrip the north. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACES TO "LEAVES OF GRASS" + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF2" id="link2H_PREF2"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE, 1855 To first issue of Leaves of Grass. <i>Brooklyn, N.Y.</i> + </h2> + <p> + America does not repel the past, or what the past has produced under its + forms, or amid other politics, or the idea of castes, or the old religions—accepts + the lesson with calmness—is not impatient because the slough still + sticks to opinions and manners in literature, while the life which served + its requirements has passed into the new life of the new forms—perceives + that the corpse is slowly borne from the eating and sleeping rooms of the + house—perceives that it waits a little while in the door—that + it was fittest for its days—that its action has descended to the + stalwart and well-shaped heir who approaches—and that he shall be + fittest for his days. + </p> + <p> + The Americans of all nations at any time upon the earth, have probably the + fullest poetical nature. The United States themselves are essentially the + greatest poem. In the history of the earth hitherto, the largest and most + stirring appear tame and orderly to their ampler largeness and stir. Here + at last is something in the doings of man that corresponds with the + broadcast doings of the day and night. Here is action untied from strings, + necessarily blind to particulars and details, magnificently moving in + masses. Here is the hospitality which for ever indicates heroes. Here the + performance, disdaining the trivial, unapproach'd in the tremendous + audacity of its crowds and groupings, and the push of its perspective, + spreads with crampless and flowing breadth, and showers its prolific and + splendid extravagance. One sees it must indeed own the riches of the + summer and winter, and need never be bankrupt while corn grows from the + ground, or the orchards drop apples, or the bays contain fish, or men + beget children upon women. + </p> + <p> + Other states indicate themselves in their deputies—but the genius of + the United States is not best or most in its executives or legislatures, + nor in its ambassadors or authors, or colleges or churches or parlors, nor + even in its newspapers or inventors—but always most in the common + people, south, north, west, east, in all its States, through all its + mighty amplitude. The largeness of the nation, however, were monstrous + without a corresponding largeness and generosity of the spirit of the + citizen. Not swarming states, nor streets and steamships, nor prosperous + business, nor farms, nor capital, nor learning, may suffice for the ideal + of man—nor suffice the poet. No reminiscences may suffice either. A + live nation can always cut a deep mark, and can have the best authority + the cheapest—namely, from its own soul. This is the sum of the + profitable uses of individuals or states, and of present action and + grandeur, and of the subjects of poets. (As if it were necessary to trot + back generation after generation to the eastern records! As if the beauty + and sacredness of the demonstrable must fall behind that of the mythical! + As if men do not make their mark out of any times! As if the opening of + the western continent by discovery, and what has transpired in North and + South America, were less than the small theatre of the antique, or the + aimless sleep-walking of the middle ages!) The pride of the United States + leaves the wealth and finesse of the cities, and all returns of commerce + and agriculture, and all the magnitude of geography or shows of exterior + victory, to enjoy the sight and realization of full-sized men, or one + full-sized man unconquerable and simple. The American poets are to enclose + old and new, for America is the race of races. The expression of the + American poet is to be transcendent and new. It is to be indirect, and not + direct or descriptive or epic. Its quality goes through these to much + more. Let the age and wars of other nations be chanted, and their eras and + characters be illustrated, and that finish the verse. Not so the great + psalm of the republic. Here the theme is creative, and has vista. Whatever + stagnates in the flat of custom or obedience or legislation, the great + poet never stagnates. Obedience does not master him, he masters it. High + up out of reach he stands, turning a concentrated light—he turns the + pivot with his finger—he baffles the swiftest runners as he stands, + and easily overtakes and envelopes them. The time straying toward + infidelity and confections and persiflage he withholds by steady faith. + Faith is the antiseptic of the soul—it pervades the common people + and preserves them—they never give up believing and expecting and + trusting. There is that indescribable freshness and unconsciousness about + an illiterate person, that humbles and mocks the power of the noblest + expressive genius. The poet sees for a certainty how one not a great + artist may be just as sacred and perfect as the greatest artist. + </p> + <p> + The power to destroy or remould is freely used by the greatest poet, but + seldom the power of attack. What is past is past. If he does not expose + superior models, and prove himself by every step he takes, he is not what + is wanted. The presence of the great poet conquers—not parleying, or + struggling, or any prepared attempts. Now he has passed that way, see + after him! There is not left any vestige of despair, or misanthropy, or + cunning, or exclusiveness, or the ignominy of a nativity or color, or + delusion of hell or the necessity of hell—and no man thenceforward + shall be degraded for ignorance or weakness or sin. The greatest poet + hardly knows pettiness or triviality. If he breathes into anything that + was before thought small, it dilates with the grandeur and life of the + universe. He is a seer—he is individual—he is complete in + himself—the others are as good as he, only he sees it, and they do + not. He is not one of the chorus—he does not stop for any regulation—he + is the president of regulation. What the eyesight does to the rest, he + does to the rest. Who knows the curious mystery of the eyesight? The other + senses corroborate themselves, but this is removed from any proof but its + own, and foreruns the identities of the spiritual world. A single glance + of it mocks all the investigations of man, and all the instruments and + books of the earth, and all reasoning. What is marvellous? what is + unlikely? what is impossible or baseless or vague—after you have + once just open'd the space of a peach-pit, and given audience to far and + near, and to the sunset, and had all things enter with electric swiftness, + softly and duly, without confusion or jostling or jam? + </p> + <p> + The land and sea, the animals, fishes and birds, the sky of heaven and the + orbs, the forests, mountains and rivers, are not small themes—but + folks expect of the poet to indicate more than the beauty and dignity + which always attach to dumb real objects—they expect him to indicate + the path between reality and their souls. Men and women perceive the + beauty well enough—probably as well as he. The passionate tenacity + of hunters, woodmen, early risers, cultivators of gardens and orchards and + fields, the love of healthy women for the manly form, seafaring persons, + drivers of horses, the passion for light and the open air, all is an old + varied sign of the unfailing perception of beauty, and of a residence of + the poetic in out-door people. They can never be assisted by poets to + perceive—some may, but they never can. The poetic quality is not + marshal'd in rhyme or uniformity, or abstract addresses to things, nor in + melancholy complaints or good precepts, but is the life of these and much + else, and is in the soul. The profit of rhyme is that it drops seeds of a + sweeter and more luxuriant rhyme, and of uniformity that it conveys itself + into its own roots in the ground out of sight. The rhyme and uniformity of + perfect poems show the free growth of metrical laws, and bud from them as + unerringly and loosely as lilacs and roses on a bush, and take shapes as + compact as the shapes of chestnuts and oranges, and melons and pears, and + shed the perfume impalpable to form. The fluency and ornaments of the + finest poems or music or orations or recitations, are not independent but + dependent. All beauty comes from beautiful blood and a beautiful brain. If + the greatnesses are in conjunction in a man or woman, it is enough—the + fact will prevail through the universe; but the gaggery and gilt of a + million years will not prevail. Who troubles himself about his ornaments + or fluency is lost. This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and + the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up + for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate + tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the + people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown, or to any man or + number of men—go freely with powerful uneducated persons, and with + the young, and with the mothers of families—re-examine all you have + been told in school or church or in any book, and dismiss whatever insults + your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem, and have the + richest fluency, not only in its words, but in the silent lines of its + lips and face, and between the lashes of your eyes, and in every motion + and joint of your body. The poet shall not spend his time in unneeded + work. He shall know that the ground is already plough'd and manured; + others may not know it, but he shall. He shall go directly to the + creation. His trust shall master the trust of everything he touches—and + shall master all attachment. + </p> + <p> + The known universe has one complete lover, and that is the greatest poet. + He consumes an eternal passion, and is indifferent which chance happens, + and which possible contingency of fortune or misfortune, and persuades + daily and hourly his delicious pay. What balks or breaks others is fuel + for his burning progress to contact and amorous joy. Other proportions of + the reception of pleasure dwindle to nothing to his proportions. All + expected from heaven or from the highest, he is rapport with in the sight + of the daybreak, or the scenes of the winter woods, or the presence of + children playing, or with his arm round the neck of a man or woman. His + love above all love has leisure and expanse—he leaves room ahead of + himself. He is no irresolute or suspicious lover—he is sure—he + scorns intervals. His experience and the showers and thrills are not for + nothing. Nothing can jar him—suffering and darkness cannot—death + and fear cannot. To him complaint and jealousy and envy are corpses buried + and rotten in the earth—he saw them buried. The sea is not surer of + the shore, or the shore of the sea, than he is the fruition of his love, + and of all perfection and beauty. + </p> + <p> + The fruition of beauty is no chance of miss or hit—it is as + inevitable as life—it is exact and plumb as gravitation. From the + eyesight proceeds another eyesight, and from the hearing proceeds another + hearing, and from the voice proceeds another voice, eternally curious of + the harmony of things with man. These understand the law of perfection in + masses and floods—that it is profuse and impartial—that there + is not a minute of the light or dark, nor an acre of the earth and sea, + without it—nor any direction of the sky, nor any trade or + employment, nor any turn of events. This is the reason that about the + proper expression of beauty there is precision and balance. One part does + not need to be thrust above another. The best singer is not the one who + has the most lithe and powerful organ. The pleasure of poems is not in + them that take the handsomest measure and sound. + </p> + <p> + Without effort, and without exposing in the least how it is done, the + greatest poet brings the spirit of any or all events and passions and + scenes and persons, some more and some less, to bear on your individual + character as you hear or read. To do this well is to compete with the laws + that pursue and follow Time. What is the purpose must surely be there, and + the clue of it must be there—and the faintest indication is the + indication of the best, and then becomes the clearest indication. Past and + present and future are not disjoin'd but join'd. The greatest poet forms + the consistence of what is to be, from what has been and is. He drags the + dead out of their coffins and stands them again on their feet. He says to + the past, Rise and walk before me that I may realize you. He learns the + lesson—he places himself where the future becomes present. The + greatest poet does not only dazzle his rays over character and scenes and + passions—he finally ascends, and finishes all—he exhibits the + pinnacles that no man can tell what they are for, or what is beyond—he + glows a moment on the extremest verge. He is most wonderful in his last + half-hidden smile or frown; by that flash of the moment of parting the one + that sees it shall be encouraged or terrified afterward for many years. + The greatest poet does not moralize or make applications of morals—he + knows the soul. The soul has that measureless pride which consists in + never acknowledging any lessons or deductions but its own. But it has + sympathy as measureless as its pride, and the one balances the other, and + neither can stretch too far while it stretches in company with the other. + The inmost secrets of art sleep with the twain. The greatest poet has lain + close betwixt both, and they are vital in his style and thoughts. + </p> + <p> + The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of + letters, is simplicity. Nothing is better than simplicity—nothing + can make up for excess, or for the lack of definiteness. To carry on the + heave of impulse and pierce intellectual depths and give all subjects + their articulations, are powers neither common nor very uncommon. But to + speak in literature with the perfect rectitude and insouciance of the + movements of animals, and the unimpeachableness of the sentiment of trees + in the woods and grass by the roadside, is the flawless triumph of art. If + you have look'd on him who has achiev'd it you have look'd on one of the + masters of the artists of all nations and times. You shall not contemplate + the flight of the gray gull over the bay, or the mettlesome action of the + blood horse, or the tall leaning of sunflowers on their stalk, or the + appearance of the sun journeying through heaven, or the appearance of the + moon afterward, with any more satisfaction than you shall contemplate him. + The great poet has less a mark'd style, and is more the channel of + thoughts and things without increase or diminution, and is the free + channel of himself. He swears to his art, I will not be meddlesome, I will + not have in my writing any elegance, or effect, or originality, to hang in + the way between me and the rest like curtains. I will have nothing hang in + the way, not the richest curtains. What I tell I tell for precisely what + it is. Let who may exalt or startle or fascinate or soothe, I will have + purposes as health or heat or snow has, and be as regardless of + observation. What I experience or portray shall go from my composition + without a shred of my composition. You shall stand by my side and look in + the mirror with me. + </p> + <p> + The old red blood and stainless gentility of great poets will be proved by + their unconstraint. A heroic person walks at his ease through and out of + that custom or precedent or authority that suits him not. Of the traits of + the brotherhood of first-class writers, savans, musicians, inventors and + artists, nothing is finer than silent defiance advancing from new free + forms. In the need of poems, philosophy, politics, mechanism, science, + behavior, the craft of art, an appropriate native grand opera, shipcraft, + or any craft, he is greatest for ever and ever who contributes the + greatest original practical example. The cleanest expression is that which + finds no sphere worthy of itself, and makes one. + </p> + <p> + The messages of great poems to each man and woman are, Come to us on equal + terms, only then can you understand us. We are no better than you, what we + inclose you inclose, what we enjoy you may enjoy. Did you suppose there + could be only one Supreme? We affirm there can be unnumber'd Supremes, and + that one does not countervail another any more than one eyesight + countervails another—and that men can be good or grand only of the + consciousness of their supremacy within them. What do you think is the + grandeur of storms and dismemberments, and the deadliest battles and + wrecks, and the wildest fury of the elements, and the power of the sea, + and the motion of Nature, and the throes of human desires, and dignity and + hate and love? It is that something in the soul which says, Rage on, whirl + on, I tread master here and everywhere—Master of the spasms of the + sky and of the shatter of the sea, Master of nature and passion and death, + and of all terror and all pain. + </p> + <p> + The American bards shall be mark'd for generosity and affection, and for + encouraging competitors. They shall be Kosmos, without monopoly or + secrecy, glad to pass anything to any one—hungry for equals night + and day. They shall not be careful of riches and privilege—they + shall be riches and privilege—they shall perceive who the most + affluent man is. The most affluent man is he that confronts all the shows + he sees by equivalents out of the stronger wealth of himself. The American + bard shall delineate no class of persons, nor one or two out of the strata + of interests, nor love most nor truth most, nor the soul most, nor the + body most—and not be for the Eastern States more than the Western, + or the Northern States more than the Southern. + </p> + <p> + Exact science and its practical movements are no checks on the greatest + poet, but always his encouragement and support. The outset and remembrance + are there—there the arms that lifted him first, and braced him best—there + he returns after all his goings and comings. The sailor and traveler—the + anatomist, chemist, astronomer, geologist, phrenologist, spiritualist, + mathematician, historian, and lexicographer, are not poets, but they are + the lawgivers of poets, and their construction underlies the structure of + every perfect poem. No matter what rises or is utter'd, they sent the seed + of the conception of it—of them and by them stand the visible proofs + of souls. If there shall be love and content between the father and the + son, and if the greatness of the son is the exuding of the greatness of + the father, there shall be love between the poet and the man of + demonstrable science. In the beauty of poems are henceforth the tuft and + final applause of science. + </p> + <p> + Great is the faith of the flush of knowledge, and of the investigation of + the depths of qualities and things. Cleaving and circling here swells the + soul of the poet, yet is president of itself always. The depths are + fathomless, and therefore calm. The innocence and nakedness are resumed—they + are neither modest nor immodest. The whole theory of the supernatural, and + all that was twined with it or educed out of it, departs as a dream. What + has ever happen'd—what happens, and whatever may or shall happen, + the vital laws inclose all. They are sufficient for any case and for all + cases—none to be hurried or retarded—any special miracle of + affairs or persons inadmissible in the vast clear scheme where every + motion and every spear of grass, and the frames and spirits of men and + women and all that concerns them, are unspeakably perfect miracles, all + referring to all, and each distinct and in its place. It is also not + consistent with the reality of the soul to admit that there is anything in + the known universe more divine than men and women. + </p> + <p> + Men and women, and the earth and all upon it, are to be taken as they are, + and the investigation of their past and present and future shall be + unintermitted, and shall be done with perfect candor. Upon this basis + philosophy speculates, ever looking towards the poet, ever regarding the + eternal tendencies of all toward happiness, never inconsistent with what + is clear to the senses and to the soul. For the eternal tendencies of all + toward happiness make the only point of sane philosophy. Whatever + comprehends less than that—whatever is less than the laws of light + and of astronomical motion—or less than the laws that follow the + thief, the liar, the glutton and the drunkard, through this life and + doubtless afterward—or less than vast stretches of time, or the slow + formation of density, or the patient upheaving of strata—is of no + account. Whatever would put God in a poem or system of philosophy as + contending against some being or influence, is also of no account. Sanity + and ensemble characterize the great master—spoilt in one principle, + all is spoilt. The great master has nothing to do with miracles. He sees + health for himself in being one of the mass—he sees the hiatus in + singular eminence. To the perfect shape comes common ground. To be under + the general law is great, for that is to correspond with it. The master + knows that he is unspeakably great, and that all are unspeakably great—that + nothing, for instance, is greater than to conceive children, and bring + them up well—that to <i>be</i> is just as great as to perceive or + tell. + </p> + <p> + In the make of the great masters the idea of political liberty is + indispensable. Liberty takes the adherence of heroes wherever man and + woman exist—but never takes any adherence or welcome from the rest + more than from poets. They are the voice and exposition of liberty. They + out of ages are worthy the grand idea—to them it is confided, and + they must sustain it. Nothing has precedence of it, and nothing can warp + or degrade it. + </p> + <p> + As the attributes of the poets of the kosmos concentre in the real body, + and in the pleasure of things, they possess the superiority of genuineness + over all fiction and romance. As they emit themselves, facts are shower'd + over with light—the daylight is lit with more volatile light—the + deep between the setting and rising sun goes deeper many fold. Each + precise object or condition or combination or process exhibits a beauty—the + multiplication table its—old age its—the carpenter's trade its—the + grand opera its—the huge-hull'd clean-shap'd New York clipper at sea + under steam or full sail gleams with unmatch'd beauty—the American + circles and large harmonies of government gleam with theirs—and the + commonest definite intentions and actions with theirs. The poets of the + kosmos advance through all interpositions and coverings and turmoils and + stratagems to first principles. They are of use—they dissolve + poverty from its need, and riches from its conceit. You large proprietor, + they say, shall not realize or perceive more than any one else. The owner + of the library is not he who holds a legal title to it, having bought and + paid for it. Any one and every one is owner of the library, (indeed he or + she alone is owner,) who can read the same through all the varieties of + tongues and subjects and styles, and in whom they enter with ease, and + make supple and powerful and rich and large. + </p> + <p> + These American States, strong and healthy and accomplish'd, shall receive + no pleasure from violations of natural models, and must not permit them. + In paintings or mouldings or carvings in mineral or wood, or in the + illustrations of books or newspapers, or in the patterns of woven stuffs, + or anything to beautify rooms or furniture or costumes, or to put upon + cornices or monuments, or on the prows or sterns of ships, or to put + anywhere before the human eye indoors or out, that which distorts honest + shapes, or which creates unearthly beings or places or contingencies, is a + nuisance and revolt. Of the human form especially, it is so great it must + never be made ridiculous. Of ornaments to a work nothing outre can be + allow'd—but those ornaments can be allow'd that conform to the + perfect facts of the open air, and that flow out of the nature of the + work, and come irrepressibly from it, and are necessary to the completion + of the work. Most works are most beautiful without ornament. Exaggerations + will be revenged in human physiology. Clean and vigorous children are + jetted and conceiv'd only in those communities where the models of natural + forms are public every day. Great genius and the people of these States + must never be demean'd to romances. As soon as histories are properly + told, no more need of romances. + </p> + <p> + The great poets are to be known by the absence in them of tricks, and by + the justification of perfect personal candor. All faults may be forgiven + of him who has perfect candor. Henceforth let no man of us lie, for we + have seen that openness wins the inner and outer world, and that there is + no single exception, and that never since our earth gather'd itself in a + mass have deceit or subterfuge or prevarication attracted its smallest + particle or the faintest tinge of a shade—and that through the + enveloping wealth and rank of a state, or the whole republic of states, a + sneak or sly person shall be discover'd and despised—and that the + soul has never once been fool'd and never can be fool'd—and thrift + without the loving nod of the soul is only a foetid puff—and there + never grew up in any of the continents of the globe, nor upon any planet + or satellite, nor in that condition which precedes the birth of babes, nor + at any time during the changes of life, nor in any stretch of abeyance or + action of vitality, nor in any process of formation or reformation + anywhere, a being whose instinct hated the truth. + </p> + <p> + Extreme caution or prudence, the soundest organic health, large hope and + comparison and fondness for women and children, large alimentiveness and + destuctiveness and causality, with a perfect sense of the oneness of + nature, and the propriety of the same spirit applied to human affairs, are + called up of the float of the brain of the world to be parts of the + greatest poet from his birth out of his mother's womb, and from her birth + out of her mother's. Caution seldom goes far enough. It has been thought + that the prudent citizen was the citizen who applied himself to solid + gains, and did well for himself and for his family, and completed a lawful + life without debt or crime. The greatest poet sees and admits these + economies as he sees the economies of food and sleep, but has higher + notions of prudence than to think he gives much when he gives a few slight + attentions at the latch of the gate. The premises of the prudence of life + are not the hospitality of it, or the ripeness and harvest of it. Beyond + the independence of a little sum laid aside for burial-money, and of a few + clap-boards around and shingles overhead on a lot of American soil own'd, + and the easy dollars that supply the year's plain clothing and meals, the + melancholy prudence of the abandonment of such a great being as a man is, + to the toss and pallor of years of money-making, with all their scorching + days and icy nights, and all their stifling deceits and underhand + dodgings, or infinitesimals of parlors, or shameless stuffing while others + starve, and all the loss of the bloom and odor of the earth, and of the + flowers and atmosphere, and of the sea, and of the true taste of the women + and men you pass or have to do with in youth or middle age, and the + issuing sickness and desperate revolt at the close of a life without + elevation or naivety, (even if you have achiev'd a secure 10,000 a year, + or election to Congress or the Governorship,) and the ghastly chatter of a + death without serenity or majesty, is the great fraud upon modern + civilization and forethought, blotching the surface and system which + civilization undeniably drafts, and moistening with tears the immense + features it spreads and spreads with such velocity before the reach'd + kisses of the soul. + </p> + <p> + Ever the right explanation remains to be made about prudence. The prudence + of the mere wealth and respectability of the most esteem'd life appears + too faint for the eye to observe at all, when little and large alike drop + quietly aside at the thought of the prudence suitable for immortality. + What is the wisdom that fills the thinness of a year, or seventy or eighty + years—to the wisdom spaced out by ages, and coming back at a certain + time with strong reinforcements and rich presents, and the clear faces of + wedding-guests as far as you can look, in every direction, running gaily + toward you? Only the soul is of itself—all else has reference to + what ensues. All that a person does or thinks is of consequence. Nor can + the push of charity or personal force ever be anything else' than the + profoundest reason, whether it brings argument to hand or no. No + specification is necessary—to add or subtract or divide is in vain. + Little or big, learn'd or unlearn'd, white or black, legal or illegal, + sick or well, from the first inspiration down the windpipe to the last + expiration out of it, all that a male or female does that is vigorous and + benevolent and clean is so much sure profit to him or her in the + unshakable order of the universe, and through the whole scope of it + forever. The prudence of the greatest poet answers at last the craving and + glut of the soul, puts off nothing, permits no let-up for its own case or + any case, has no particular sabbath or judgment day, divides not the + living from the dead, or the righteous from the unrighteous, is satisfied + with the present, matches every thought or act by its correlative, and + knows no possible forgiveness or deputed atonement. + </p> + <p> + The direct trial of him who would be the greatest poet is to-day. If he + does not flood himself with the immediate age as with vast oceanic tides—if + he be not himself the age transfigur'd, and if to him is not open'd the + eternity which gives similitude to all periods and locations and + processes, and animate and inanimate forms, and which is the bond of time, + and rises up from its inconceivable vagueness and infiniteness in the + swimming shapes of to-day, and is held by the ductile anchors of life, and + makes the present spot the passage from what was to what shall be, and + commits itself to the representation of this wave of an hour, and this one + of the sixty beautiful children of the wave—let him merge in the + general run, and wait his development. + </p> + <p> + Still the final test of poems, or any character or work, remains. The + prescient poet projects himself centuries ahead, and judges performer or + performance after the changes of time. Does it live through them? Does it + still hold on untired? Will the same style, and the direction of genius to + similar points, be satisfactory now? Have the marches of tens and hundreds + and thousands of years made willing detours to the right hand and the left + hand for his sake? Is he beloved long and long after he is buried? Does + the young man think often of him? and the young woman think often of him? + and do the middleaged and the old think of him? + </p> + <p> + A great poem is for ages and ages in common, and for all degrees and + complexions, and all departments and sects, and for a woman as much as a + man, and a man as much as a woman. A great poem is no finish to a man or + woman, but rather a beginning. Has any one fancied he could sit at last + under some due authority, and rest satisfied with explanations, and + realize, and be content and full? To no such terminus does the greatest + poet bring—he brings neither cessation nor shelter'd fatness and + ease. The touch of him, like Nature, tells in action. Whom he takes he + takes with firm sure grasp into live regions previously unattain'd—thenceforward + is no rest—they see the space and ineffable sheen that turn the old + spots and lights into dead vacuums. Now there shall be a man cohered out + of tumult and chaos—the elder encourages the younger and shows him + how—they two shall launch off fearlessly together till the new world + fits an orbit for itself, and looks unabash'd on the lesser orbits of the + stars, and sweeps through the ceaseless rings, and shall never be quiet + again. + </p> + <p> + There will soon be no more priests. Their work is done. A new order shall + arise, and they shall be the priests of man, and every man shall be his + own priest. They shall find their inspiration in real objects to-day, + symptoms of the past and future. They shall not deign to defend + immortality or God, or the perfection of things, or liberty, or the + exquisite beauty and reality of the soul. They shall arise in America, and + be responded to from the remainder of the earth. + </p> + <p> + The English language befriends the grand American expression—it is + brawny enough, and limber and full enough. On the tough stock of a race + who through all change of circumstance was never without the idea of + political liberty, which is the animus of all liberty, it has attracted + the terms of daintier and gayer and subtler and more elegant tongues. It + is the powerful language of resistance—it is the dialect of common + sense. It is the speech of the proud and melancholy races, and of all who + aspire. It is the chosen tongue to express growth, faith, self-esteem, + freedom, justice, equality, friendliness, amplitude, prudence, decision, + and courage. It is the medium that shall wellnigh express the + inexpressible. + </p> + <p> + No great literature, nor any like style of behavior or oratory, or social + intercourse or household arrangements, or public institutions, or the + treatment by bosses of employ'd people, nor executive detail, or detail of + the army and navy, nor spirit of legislation or courts, or police or + tuition or architecture, or songs or amusements, can long elude the + jealous and passionate instinct of American standards. Whether or no the + sign appears from the mouths of the people, it throbs a live interrogation + in every freeman's and freewoman's heart, after that which passes by, or + this built to remain. Is it uniform with my country? Are its disposals + without ignominious distinctions? Is it for the ever-growing communes of + brothers and lovers, large, well united, proud, beyond the old models, + generous beyond all models? Is it something grown fresh out of the fields, + or drawn from the sea for use to me to-day here? I know that what answers + for me, an American, in Texas, Ohio, Canada, must answer for any + individual or nation that serves for a part of my materials. Does this + answer? Is it for the nursing of the young of the republic? Does it solve + readily with the sweet milk of the nipples of the breasts of the Mother of + Many Children? + </p> + <p> + America prepares with Composure and good-will for the visitors that have + sent word. It is not intellect that is to be their warrant and welcome. + The talented, the artist, the ingenious, the editor, the statesman, the + erudite, are not unappreciated—they fall in their place and do their + work. The soul of the nation also does its work. It rejects none, it + permits all. Only toward the like of itself will it advance half-way. An + individual is as superb as a nation when he has the qualities which make a + superb nation. The soul of the largest and wealthiest and proudest nation + may well go half-way to meet that of its poets. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF3" id="link2H_PREF3"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE, 1872 To As a Strong Bird on Pinions Free Now Thou Mother with + </h2> + <p> + thy Equal Brood, <i>in permanent edition</i>. + </p> + <p> + The impetus and ideas urging me, for some years past, to an utterance, or + attempt at utterance, of New World songs, and an epic of Democracy, having + already had their publish'd expression, as well as I can expect to give + it, in "Leaves of Grass," the present and any future pieces from me are + really but the surplusage forming after that volume, or the wake eddying + behind it. I fulfill'd in that an imperious conviction, and the commands + of my nature as total and irresistible as those which make the sea flow, + or the globe revolve. But of this supplementary volume, I confess I am not + so certain. Having from early manhood abandon'd the business pursuits and + applications usual in my time and country, and obediently yielded myself + up ever since to the impetus mention'd, and to the work of expressing + those ideas, it may be that mere habit has got dominion of me, when there + is no real need of saying anything further. But what is life but an + experiment? and mortality but an exercise? with reference to results + beyond. And so shall my poems be. If incomplete here, and superfluous + there, <i>n' importe</i>—the earnest trial and persistent + exploration shall at least be mine, and other success failing shall be + success enough. I have been more anxious, anyhow, to suggest the songs of + vital endeavor and manly evolution, and furnish something for races of + outdoor athletes, than to make perfect rhymes, or reign in the parlors. I + ventur'd from the beginning my own way, taking chances—and would + keep on venturing. + </p> + <p> + I will therefore not conceal from any persons, known or unknown to me, who + take an interest in the matter, that I have the ambition of devoting yet a + few years to poetic composition. The mighty present age! To absorb and + express in poetry, anything of it—of its world—America—cities + and States—the years, the events of our Nineteeth century—the + rapidity of movement—the violent contrasts, fluctuations of light + and shade, of hope and fear—the entire revolution made by science in + the poetic method—these great new underlying facts and new ideas + rushing and spreading everywhere;—truly a mighty age! As if in some + colossal drama, acted again like those of old under the open sun, the + Nations of our time, and all the characteristics of Civilization, seem + hurrying, stalking across, flitting from wing to wing, gathering, closing + up, toward some long-prepared, most tremendous denouement. Not to conclude + the infinite scenas of the race's life and toil and happiness and sorrow, + but haply that the boards be clear'd from oldest, worst incumbrances, + accumulations, and Man resume the eternal play anew, and under happier, + freer auspices. To me, the United States are important because in this + colossal drama they are unquestionably designated for the leading parts, + for many a century to come. In them history and humanity seem to seek to + culminate. Our broad areas are even now the busy theatre of plots, + passions, interests, and suspended problems, compared to which the + intrigues of the past of Europe, the wars of dynasties, the scope of kings + and kingdoms, and even the development of peoples, as hitherto, exhibit + scales of measurement comparatively narrow and trivial. And on these areas + of ours, as on a stage, sooner or later, something like an <i>eclairissement</i> + of all the past civilization of Europe and Asia is probably to be evolved. + </p> + <p> + The leading parts. Not to be acted, emulated here, by us again, that role + till now foremost in history—not to become a conqueror nation, or to + achieve the glory of mere military, or diplomatic, or commercial + superiority—but to become the grand producing land of nobler men and + women—of copious races, cheerful, healthy, tolerant, free—to + become the most friendly nation, (the United States indeed)—the + modern composite nation, form'd from all, with room for all, welcoming all + immigrants—accepting the work of our own interior development, as + the work fitly filling ages and ages to come;—the leading nation of + peace, but neither ignorant nor incapable of being the leading nation of + war;—not the man's nation only, but the woman's nation—a land + of splendid mothers, daughters, sisters, wives. + </p> + <p> + Our America to-day I consider in many respects as but indeed a vast + seething mass of <i>materials</i>, ampler, better, (worse also,) than + previously known—eligible to be used to carry towards its crowning + stage, and build for good, the great ideal nationality of the future, the + nation of the body and the soul,{32}—no limit here to land, help, + opportunities, mines, products, demands, supplies, etc.;—with (I + think) our political organization, National, State, and Municipal, + permanently establish'd, as far ahead as we can calculate—but, so + far, no social, literary, religious, or esthetic organizations, consistent + with our politics, or becoming to us—which organizations can only + come, in time, through great democratic ideas, religion—through + science, which now, like a new sunrise, ascending, begins to illuminate + all—and through our own begotten poets and literatuses. (The moral + of a late well-written book on civilization seems to be that the only real + foundation-walls and bases—and also <i>sine qua non</i> afterward—of + true and full civilization, is the eligibility and certainty of boundless + products for feeding, clothing, sheltering everybody—perennial + fountains of physical and domestic comfort, with intercommunication, and + with civil and ecclesiastical freedom—and that then the esthetic and + mental business will take care of itself. Well, the United States have + establish'd this basis, and upon scales of extent, variety, vitality, and + continuity, rivaling those of Nature; and have now to proceed to build an + edifice upon it. I say this edifice is only to be fitly built by new + literatures, especially the poetic. I say a modern image-making creation + is indispensable to fuse and express the modern political and scientific + creations—and then the trinity will be complete.) + </p> + <p> + When I commenced, years ago, elaborating the plan of my poems, and + continued turning over that plan, and shifting it in my mind through many + years, (from the age of twenty-eight to thirty-five,) experimenting much, + and writing and abandoning much, one deep purpose underlay the others, and + has underlain it and its execution ever since—and that has been the + religious purpose. Amid many changes, and a formulation taking far + different shape from what I at first supposed, this basic purpose has + never been departed from in the composition of my verses. Not of course to + exhibit itself in the old ways, as in writing hymns or psalms with an eye + to the church-pew, or to express conventional pietism, or the sickly + yearnings of devotees, but in new ways, and aiming at the widest sub-bases + and inclusions of humanity, and tallying the fresh air of sea and land. I + will see, (said I to myself,) whether there is not, for my purposes as + poet, a religion, and a sound religious germenancy in the average human + race, at least in their modern development in the United States, and in + the hardy common fiber and native yearnings and elements, deeper and + larger, and affording more profitable returns, than all mere sects or + churches—as boundless, joyous, and vital as Nature itself—a + germenancy that has too long been unencouraged, unsung, almost unknown. + With science, the old theology of the East, long in its dotage, begins + evidently to die and disappear. But (to my mind) science—and may-be + such will prove its principal service—as evidently prepares the way + for One indescribably grander—Time's young but perfect offspring—the + new theology—heir of the West—lusty and loving, and wondrous + beautiful. For America, and for today, just the same as any day, the + supreme and final science is the science of God—what we call science + being only its minister—as Democracy is, or shall be also. And a + poet of America (I said) must fill himself with such thoughts, and chant + his best out of them. And as those were the convictions and aims, for good + or bad, of "Leaves of Grass," they are no less the intention of this + volume. As there can be, in my opinion, no sane and complete personality, + nor any grand and electric nationality, without the stock element of + religion imbuing all the other elements, (like heat in chemistry, + invisible itself, but the life of all visible life,) so there can be no + poetry worthy the name without that element behind all. The time has + certainly come to begin to discharge the idea of religion, in the United + States, from mere ecclesiasticism, and from Sundays and churches and + church-going, and assign it to that general position, chiefest, most + indispensable, most exhilarating, to which the others are to be adjusted, + inside of all human character, and education, and affairs. The people, + especially the young men and women of America, must begin to learn that + religion, (like poetry,) is something far, far different from what they + supposed. It is, indeed, too important to the power and perpetuity of the + New World to be consign'd any longer to the churches, old or new, Catholic + or Protestant—Saint this, or Saint that. It must be consign'd + henceforth to democracy <i>en masse</i>, and to literature. It must enter + into the poems of the nation. It must make the nation. + </p> + <p> + The Four Years' War is over—and in the peaceful, strong, exciting, + fresh occasions of to-day, and of the future, that strange, sad war is + hurrying even now to be forgotten. The camp, the drill, the lines of + sentries, the prisons, the hospitals—(ah! the hospitals!)—all + have passed away—all seem now like a dream. A new race, a young and + lusty generation, already sweeps in with oceanic currents, obliterating + the war, and all its scars, its mounded graves, and all its reminiscences + of hatred, conflict, death. So let It be obliterated. I say the life of + the present and the future makes undeniable demands upon us each and all, + south, north, east, west. To help put the United States (even if only in + imagination) hand in hand, in one unbroken circle in a chant—to + rouse them to the unprecedented grandeur of the part they are to play, and + are even now playing—to the thought of their great future, and the + attitude conform'd to it—especially their great esthetic, moral, + scientific future, (of which their vulgar material and political present + is but as the preparatory tuning of instruments by an orchestra,) these, + as hitherto, are still, for me, among my hopes, ambitions. + </p> + <p> + "Leaves of Grass," already publish'd, is, in its intentions, the song of a + great composite <i>democratic individual</i>, male or female. And + following on and amplifying the same purpose, I suppose I have in my mind + to run through the chants of this volume, (if ever completed,) the + thread-voice, more or less audible, of an aggregated, inseparable, + unprecedented, vast, composite, electric <i>democratic nationality</i>. + </p> + <p> + Purposing, then, to still fill out, from time to time through years to + come, the following volume, (unless prevented,) I conclude this preface to + the first instalment of it, pencil'd in the open air, on my fifty-third + birth-day, by wafting to you, dear reader, whoever you are, (from amid the + fresh scent of the grass, the pleasant coolness of the forenoon breeze, + the lights and shades of tree-boughs silently dappling and playing around + me, and the notes of the cat-bird for undertone and accompaniment,) my + true good-will and love. W. W. <i>Washington, D. C., May</i> 31, 1872. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {32} The problems of the achievements of this crowning stage through + future first-class National Singers, Orators, Artists, and others—of + creating in literature an <i>imaginative</i> New World, the correspondent + and counterpart of the current Scientific and Political New Worlds,—and + the perhaps distant, but still delightful prospect, (for our children, if + not in our own day,) of delivering America, and, indeed, all Christian + lands everywhere, from the thin moribund and watery, but appallingly + extensive nuisance of conventional poetry—by putting something + really alive and substantial in its place—I have undertaken to + grapple with, and argue, in the preceding "Democratic Vistas." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF4" id="link2H_PREF4"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE, 1876 <i>To the two-volume Centennial Edition of</i> Leaves of + Grass + </h2> + <p> + <i>and</i> Two Rivulets. + </p> + <p> + At the eleventh hour, under grave illness, I gather up the pieces of prose + and poetry left over since publishing, a while since, my first and main + volume, "Leaves or Grass"—pieces, here, some new, some old—nearly + all of them (sombre as many are, making this almost death's book) composed + in by-gone atmospheres of perfect health—and preceded by the + freshest collection, the little "Two Rivulets," now send them out, + embodied in the present melange, partly as my contribution and outpouring + to celebrate, in some sort, the feature of the time, the first centennial + of our New World nationality—and then as chyle and nutriment to that + moral, indissoluble union, equally representing all, and the mother of + many coming centennials. + </p> + <p> + And e'en for flush and proof of our America—for reminder, just as + much, or more, in moods of towering pride and joy, I keep my special + chants of death and immortality{33} to stamp the coloring-finish of all, + present and past. For terminus and temperer to all, they were originally + written; and that shall be their office at the last. + </p> + <p> + For some reason—not explainable or definite to my own mind, yet + secretly pleasing and satisfactory to it—I have not hesitated to + embody in, and run through the volume, two altogether distinct veins, or + strata—politics for one, and for the other, the pensive thought of + immortality. Thus, too, the prose and poetic, the dual forms of the + present book. The volume, therefore, after its minor episodes, probably + divides into these two, at first sight far diverse, veins of topic and + treatment. Three points, in especial, have become very dear to me, and all + through I seek to make them again and again, in many forms and + repetitions, as will be seen: 1. That the true growth-characteristics of + the democracy of the New World are henceforth to radiate in superior + literary, artistic and religious expressions, far more than in its + republican forms, universal suffrage, and frequent elections, (though + these are unspeakably important.) 2. That the vital political mission of + the United States is, to practically solve and settle the problem of two + sets of rights—the fusion, thorough compatibility and junction of + individual State prerogatives, with the indispensable necessity of + centrality and Oneness—the national identity power—the + sovereign Union, relentless, permanently comprising all, and over all, and + in that never yielding an inch: then 3d. Do we not, amid a general malaria + of fogs and vapors, our day, unmistakably see two pillars of promise, with + grandest, indestructible indications—one, that the morbid facts of + American politics and society everywhere are but passing incidents and + flanges of our unbounded impetus of growth? weeds, annuals, of the rank, + rich soil—not central, enduring, perennial things? The other, that + all the hitherto experience of the States, their first century, has been + but preparation, adolescence—and that this Union is only now and + henceforth, (<i>i.e.</i>, since the secession war,) to enter on its full + democratic career? + </p> + <p> + Of the whole, poems and prose, (not attending at all to chronological + order, and with original dates and passing allusions in the heat and + impression of the hour, left shuffled in, and undisturb'd,) the chants of + "Leaves of Grass," my former volume, yet serve as the indispensable deep + soil, or basis, out of which, and out of which only, could come the roots + and stems more definitely indicated by these later pages. (While that + volume radiates physiology alone, the present one, though of the like + origin in the main, more palpably doubtless shows the pathology which was + pretty sure to come in time from the other.) + </p> + <p> + In that former and main volume, composed in the flush of my health and + strength, from the age of 30 to 50 years, I dwelt on birth and life, + clothing my ideas in pictures, days, transactions of my time, to give them + positive place, identity—saturating them with that vehemence of + pride and audacity of freedom necessary to loosen the mind of + still-to-be-form'd America from the accumulated folds, the superstitions, + and all the long, tenacious and stifling anti-democratic authorities of + the Asiatic and European past—my enclosing purport being to express, + above all artificial regulation and aid, the eternal bodily composite, + cumulative, natural character of one's self.{34} + </p> + <p> + Estimating the American Union as so far, and for some time to come, in its + yet formative condition, I bequeath poems and essays as nutriment and + influences to help truly assimilate and harden, and especially to furnish + something toward what the States most need of all, and which seems to me + yet quite unsupplied in literature, namely, to show them, or begin to show + them, themselves distinctively, and what they are for. For though perhaps + the main points of all ages and nations are points of resemblance, and, + even while granting evolution, are substantially the same, there are some + vital things in which this Republic, as to its individualities, and as a + compacted Nation, is to specially stand forth, and culminate modern + humanity. And these are the very things it least morally and mentally + knows—(though, curiously enough, it is at the same time faithfully + acting upon them.) + </p> + <p> + I count with such absolute certainty on the great future of the United + States—different from, though founded on, the past—that I have + always invoked that future, and surrounded myself with it, before or while + singing my songs. (As ever, all tends to followings—America, too, is + a prophecy. What, even of the best and most successful, would be justified + by itself alone? by the present, or the material ostent alone? Of men or + States, few realize how much they live in the future. That, rising like + pinnacles, gives its main significance to all You and I are doing to-day. + Without it, there were little meaning in lands or poems—little + purport in human lives. All ages, all Nations and States, have been such + prophecies. But where any former ones with prophecy so broad, so clear, as + our times, our lands—as those of the West?) + </p> + <p> + Without being a scientist, I have thoroughly adopted the conclusions of + the great savants and experimentalists of our time, and of the last + hundred years, and they have interiorly tinged the chyle of all my verse, + for purposes beyond. Following the modern spirit, the real poems of the + present, ever solidifying and expanding into the future, must vocalize the + vastness and splendor and reality with which scientism has invested man + and the universe, (all that is called creation) and must henceforth launch + humanity into new orbits, consonant, with that vastness, splendor, and + reality, (unknown to the old poems,) like new systems of orbs, balanced + upon themselves, revolving in limitless space, more subtle than the stars. + Poetry, so largely hitherto and even at present wedded to children's + tales, and to mere amorousness, upholstery and superficial rhyme, will + have to accept, and, while not denying the past, nor the themes of the + past, will be revivified by this tremendous innovation, the kosmic spirit, + which must henceforth, in my opinion, be the background and underlying + impetus, more or less visible, of all first-class songs. + </p> + <p> + Only, (for me, at any rate, in all my prose and poetry,) joyfully + accepting modern science, and loyally following it without the slightest + hesitation, there remains ever recognized still a higher flight, a higher + fact, the eternal soul of man, (of all else too,) the spiritual, the + religious—which it is to be the greatest office of scientism, in my + opinion, and of future poetry also, to free from fables, crudities and + superstitions, and launch forth in renew'd faith and scope a hundred fold. + To me, the worlds of religiousness, of the conception of the divine, and + of the ideal, though mainly latent, are just as absolute in humanity and + the universe as the world of chemistry, or anything in the objective + worlds. To me + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The prophet and the bard, + Shall yet maintain themselves—in higher circles yet, + Shall mediate to the modern, to democracy—interpret yet to them, + God and eidólons. +</pre> + <p> + To me, the crown of savantism is to be, that it surely opens the way for a + more splendid theology, and for ampler and diviner songs. No year, nor + even century, will settle this. There is a phase of the real, lurking + behind the real, which it is all for. There is also in the intellect of + man, in time, far in prospective recesses, a judgment, a last appellate + court, which will settle it. + </p> + <p> + In certain parts in these flights, or attempting to depict or suggest + them, I have not been afraid of the charge of obscurity, in either of my + two volumes-because human thought, poetry or melody, must leave dim + escapes and outlets-must possess a certain fluid, aerial character, akin + to space itself, obscure to those of little or no imagination,—but + indispensable to the highest purposes. Poetic style, when address'd to the + soul, is less definite form, outline, sculpture, and becomes vista, music, + half-tints, and even less than half-tints. True, it may be architecture; + but again it may be the forest wild-wood, or the best effect thereof, at + twilight, the waving oaks and cedars in the wind, and the impalpable odor. + </p> + <p> + Finally, as I have lived in fresh lands, inchoate, and in a revolutionary + age, future-founding, I have felt to identify the points of that age, + these lands, in my recitatives, altogether in my own way. Thus my form has + strictly grown from my purports and facts, and is the analogy of them. + Within my time the United States have emerged from nebulous vagueness and + suspense, to full orbic, (though varied,) decision—have done the + deeds and achiev'd the triumphs of half a score of centuries—and are + henceforth to enter upon their real history the way being now, (<i>i.e.</i> + since the result of the secession war,) clear'd of death-threatening + impedimenta, and the free areas around and ahead of us assured and + certain, which were not so before—(the past century being but + preparations, trial voyages and experiments of the ship, before her + starting out upon deep water.) + </p> + <p> + In estimating my volumes, the world's current times and deeds, and their + spirit, must be first profoundly estimated. Out of the hundred years just + ending, (1776-1876,) with their genesis of inevitable wilful events, and + new experiments and introductions, and many unprecedented things of war + and peace, (to be realized better, perhaps only realized, at the remove of + a century hence;) out of that stretch of time, and especially out of the + immediately preceding twenty-five years, (1850-'75,) with all their rapid + changes, innovations, and audacious movements-and bearing their own + inevitable wilful birth-marks—the experiments of my poems too have + found genesis. + </p> + <h3> + W. W. + </h3> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {33} PASSAGE TO INDIA.—As in some ancient legend-play, to close the + plot and the hero's career, there is a farewell gathering on ship's deck + and on shore, a loosing of hawsers and ties, a spreading of sails to the + wind—a starting out on unknown seas, to fetch up no one knows + whither—to return no more—and the curtain falls, and there is + the end of it—so I have reserv'd that poem, with its cluster, to + finish and explain much that, without them, would not be explain'd, and to + take leave, and escape for good, from all that has preceded them. (Then + probably "Passage to India," and its cluster, are but freer vent and + fuller expression to what, from the first, and so on throughout, more or + less lurks in my writings, underneath every page, every line, everywhere.) + </p> + <p> + I am not sure but the last inclosing sublimation of race or poem is, what + it thinks of death. After the rest has been comprehended and said, even + the grandest—after those contributions to mightiest nationality, or + to sweetest song, or to the best personalism, male or female, have been + glean'd from the rich and varied themes of tangible life, and have been + fully accepted and sung, and the pervading fact of visible existence, with + the duty it devolves, is rounded and apparently completed, it still + remains to be really completed by suffusing through the whole and several, + that other pervading invisible fact, so large a part, (is it not the + largest part?) of life here, combining the rest, and furnishing, for + person or State, the only permanent and unitary meaning to all, even the + meanest life, consistently with the dignity of the universe, in Time. As + from the eligibility to this thought, and the cheerful conquest of this + fact, flash forth the first distinctive proofs of the soul, so to me, + (extending it only a little further,) the ultimate Democratic purports, + the ethereal and spiritual ones, are to concentrate here, and as fixed + stars, radiate hence. For, in my opinion, it is no less than this idea of + immortality, above all other ideas, that is to enter into, and vivify, and + give crowning religious stamp, to democracy in the New World. + </p> + <p> + It was originally my intention, after chanting in "Leaves of Grass" the + songs of the body and existence, to then compose a further, equally needed + volume, based on those convictions of perpetuity and conservation which, + enveloping all precedents, make the unseen soul govern absolutely at last. + I meant, while in a sort continuing the theme of my first chants, to shift + the slides, and exhibit the problem and paradox of the same ardent and + fully appointed personality entering the sphere of the resistless + gravitation of spiritual law, and with cheerful face estimating death, not + at all as the cessation, but as somehow what I feel it must be, the + entrance upon by far the greatest part of existence, and something that + life is at least as much for, as it is for itself. But the full + construction of such a work is beyond my powers, and must remain for some + bard in the future. The physical and the sensuous, in themselves or in + their immediate continuations, retain holds upon me which I think are + never entirely releas'd; and those holds I have not only not denied, but + hardly wish'd to weaken. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, not entirely to give the go-by to my original plan, and far + more to avoid a mark'd hiatus in it, than to entirely fulfil it, I end my + books with thoughts, or radiations from thoughts, on death, immortality, + and a free entrance into the spiritual world. In those thoughts, in a + sort, I make the first steps or studies toward the mighty theme, from the + point of view necessitated by my foregoing poems, and by modern science. + In them I also seek to set the key-stone to my democracy's enduring arch. + I recollate them now, for the press, in order to partially occupy and + offset days of strange sickness, and the heaviest affliction and + bereavement of my life; and I fondly please myself with the notion of + leaving that cluster to you, O unknown reader of the future, as "something + to remember me by," more especially than all else. Written in former days + of perfect health, little did I think the pieces had the purport that now, + under present circumstances, opens to me. + </p> + <p> + {As I write these lines, May 31, 1875, it is again early summer,—again + my birth-day—now my fifty-sixth. Amid the outside beauty and + freshness, the sunlight and verdure of the delightful season, O how + different the moral atmosphere amid which I now revise this Volume, from + the jocund influence surrounding the growth and advent of "Leaves of + Grass." I occupy myself, arranging these pages for publication, still + envelopt in thoughts of the death two years since of my dear Mother, the + most perfect and magnetic character, the rarest combination of practical, + moral and spiritual, and the least selfish, of all and any I have ever + known—and by me O so much the most deeply loved—and also under + the physical affliction of a tedious attack of paralysis, obstinately + lingering and keeping its hold upon me, and quite suspending all bodily + activity and comfort.} + </p> + <p> + Under these influences, therefore, I still feel to keep "Passage to India" + for last words even to this centennial dithyramb. Not as, in antiquity, at + highest festival of Egypt, the noisome skeleton of death was sent on + exhibition to the revelers, for zest and shadow to the occasion's joy and + light—but as the marble statue of the normal Greeks at Elis, + suggesting death in the form of a beautiful and perfect young man, with + closed eyes, leaning on an inverted torch—emblem of rest and + aspiration after action—of crown and point which all lives and poems + should steadily have reference to, namely, the justified and noble + termination of our identity, this grade of it, and outlet-preparation to + another grade. + </p> + <p> + {34} Namely, a character, making most of common and normal elements, to + the superstructure of which not only the precious accumulations of the + learning and experiences of the Old World, and the settled social and + municipal necessities and current requirements, so long a-building, shall + still faithfully contribute, but which at its foundations and carried up + thence, and receiving its impetus from the democratic spirit, and + accepting its gauge in all departments from the democratic formulas, shall + again directly be vitalized by the perennial influences of Nature at first + hand, and the old heroic stamina of Nature, the strong air of prairie and + mountain, the dash of the briny sea, the primary antiseptics—of the + passions, in all their fullest heat and potency, of courage, rankness, + amativeness, and of immense pride. Not to lose at all, therefore, the + benefits of artificial progress and civilization, but to re-occupy for + Western tenancy the oldest though ever-fresh fields, and reap from them + the savage and sane nourishment indispensable to a hardy nation, and the + absence of which, threatening to become worse and worse, is the most + serious lack and defect to-day of our New World literature. + </p> + <p> + Not but what the brawn of "Leaves of Grass" is, I hope, thoroughly + spiritualized everywhere, for final estimate, but, from the very subjects, + the direct effect is a sense of the life, as it should be, of flesh and + blood, and physical urge, and animalism. While there are other themes, and + plenty of abstract thoughts and poems in the volume—while I have put + in it passing and rapid but actual glimpses of the great struggle between + the nation and the slave-power, (1861-'65,) as the fierce and bloody + panorama of that contest unroll'd itself: while the whole book, indeed, + revolves around that four years' war, which, as I was in the midst of it, + becomes, in "Drum-Taps," pivotal to the rest entire—and here and + there, before and afterward, not a few episodes and speculations—<i>that</i>—namely, + to make a type-portrait for living, active, worldly, healthy personality, + objective as well as subjective, joyful and potent, and modern and free, + distinctively for the use of the United States, male and female, through + the long future—has been, I say, my general object. (Probably, + indeed, the whole of these varied songs, and all my writings, both + volumes, only ring changes in some sort, on the ejaculation, How vast, how + eligible, how joyful, how real, is a human being, himself or herself.) + </p> + <p> + Though from no definite plan at the time, I see now that I have + unconsciously sought, by indirections at least as much as directions, to + express the whirls and rapid growth and intensity of the United States, + the prevailing tendency and events of the Nineteenth century, and largely + the spirit of the whole current world, my time; for I feel that I have + partaken of that spirit, as I have been deeply interested in all those + events, the closing of long-stretch'd eras and ages, and, illustrated in + the history of the United States, the opening of larger ones. (The death + of President Lincoln, for instance, fitly, historically closes, in the + civilization of feudalism, many old influences—drops on them, + suddenly, a vast, gloomy, as it were, separating curtain.) + </p> + <p> + Since I have been ill, (1873-'74-'75,) mostly without serious pain, and + with plenty of time and frequent inclination to judge my poems, (never + composed with eye on the book-market, nor for fame, nor for any pecuniary + profit,) I have felt temporary depression more than once, for fear that in + "Leaves of Grass" the <i>moral</i> parts were not sufficiently pronounced. + But in my clearest and calmest moods I have realized that as those + "Leaves," all and several, surely prepare the way for, and necessitate + morals, and are adjusted to them, just the same as Nature does and is, + they are what, consistently with my plan, they must and probably should + be. (In a certain sense, while the Moral is the purport and last + intelligence of all Nature, there is absolutely nothing of the moral in + the works, or laws, or shows of Nature. Those only lead inevitably to it—begin + and necessitate it.) + </p> + <p> + Then I meant "Leaves of Grass," as publish'd, to be the Poem of average + Identity, (of <i>yours</i>, whoever you are, now reading these lines.) A + man is not greatest as victor in war, nor inventor or explorer, nor even + in science, or in his intellectual or artistic capacity, or exemplar in + some vast benevolence. To the highest democratic view, man is most + acceptable in living well the practical life and lot which happens to him + as ordinary farmer, sea-farer, mechanic, clerk, laborer, or driver—upon + and from which position as a central basis or pedestal, while performing + its labors, and his duties as citizen, son, husband, father and employ'd + person, he preserves his physique, ascends, developing, radiating himself + in other regions—and especially where and when, (greatest of all, + and nobler than the proudest mere genius or magnate in any field,) he + fully realizes the conscience, the spiritual, the divine faculty, + cultivated well, exemplified in all his deeds and words, through life, + uncompromising to the end—a flight loftier than any of Homer's or + Shakspere's—broader than all poems and bibles—namely, Nature's + own, and in the midst of it, Yourself, your own Identity, body and soul. + (All serves, helps—but in the centre of all, absorbing all, giving, + for your purpose, the only meaning and vitality to all, master or mistress + of all, under the law, stands Yourself.) To sing the Song of that law of + average Identity, and of Yourself, consistently with the divine law of the + universal, is a main intention of those "Leaves." + </p> + <p> + Something more may be added—for, while I am about it, I would make a + full confession. I also sent out "Leaves of Grass" to arouse and set + flowing in men's and women's hearts, young and old, endless streams of + living, pulsating love and friendship, directly from them to myself, now + and ever. To this terrible, irrepressible yearning, (surely more or less + down underneath in most human souls)—this never-satisfied appetite + for sympathy, and this boundless offering of sympathy—this universal + democratic comradeship-this old, eternal, yet ever-new interchange of + adhesiveness, so fitly emblematic of America—I have given in that + book, undisguisedly, declaredly, the openest expression. Besides, + important as they are in my purpose as emotional expressions for humanity, + the special meaning of the "Calamus" cluster of "Leaves of Grass," (and + more or less running through the book, and cropping out in "Drum-Taps,") + mainly resides in its political significance. In my opinion, it is by a + fervent, accepted development of comradeship, the beautiful and sane + affection of man for man, latent in all the young fellows, north and + south, east and west—it is by this, I say, and by what goes directly + and indirectly along with it, that the United States of the future, (I + cannot too often repeat,) are to be most effectually welded together, + intercalated, anneal'd into a living union. + </p> + <p> + Then, for enclosing clue of all, it is imperatively and ever to be borne + in mind that "Leaves of Grass" entire is not to be construed as an + intellectual or scholastic effort or poem mainly, but more as a radical + utterance out of the Emotions and the Physique—an utterance adjusted + to, perhaps born of, Democracy and the Modern—in its very nature + regardless of the old conventions, and, under the great laws, following + only its own impulses. + </p> + <h3> + POETRY TO-DAY IN AMERICA + </h3> + <h3> + SHAKSPERE—THE FUTURE + </h3> + <p> + Strange as it may seem, the topmost proof of a race is its own born + poetry. The presence of that, or the absence, each tells its story. As the + flowering rose or lily, as the ripened fruit to a tree, the apple or the + peach, no matter how fine the trunk, or copious or rich the branches and + foliage, here waits <i>sine qua non</i> at last. The stamp of entire and + finished greatness to any nation, to the American Republic among the rest, + must be sternly withheld till it has put what it stands for in the blossom + of original, first-class poems. No imitations will do. + </p> + <p> + And though no <i>esthetik</i> worthy the present condition or future + certainties of the New World seems to have been outlined in men's minds, + or has been generally called for, or thought needed, I am clear that until + the United States have just such definite and native expressers in the + highest artistic fields, their mere political, geographical, + wealth-forming, and even intellectual eminence, however astonishing and + predominant, will constitute but a more and more expanded and + well-appointed body, and perhaps brain, with little or no soul. Sugar-coat + the grim truth as we may, and ward off with outward plausible words, + denials, explanations, to the mental inward perception of the land this + blank is plain; a barren void exists. For the meanings and maturer + purposes of these States are not the constructing of a new world of + politics merely, and physical comforts for the million, but even more + determinedly, in range with science and the modern, of a new world of + democratic sociology and imaginative literature. If the latter were not + establish'd for the States, to form their only permanent tie and hold, the + first-named would be of little avail. + </p> + <p> + With the poems of a first-class land are twined, as weft with warp, its + types of personal character, of individuality, peculiar, native, its own + physiognomy, man's and woman's, its own shapes, forms, and manners, fully + justified under the eternal laws of all forms, all manners, all times. The + hour has come for democracy in America to inaugurate itself in the two + directions specified—autochthonic poems and personalities—born + expressers of itself, its spirit alone, to radiate in subtle ways, not + only in art, but the practical and familiar, in the transactions between + employers and employed persons, in business and wages, and sternly in the + army and navy, and revolutionizing them. I find nowhere a scope profound + enough, and radical and objective enough, either for aggregates or + individuals. The thought and identity of a poetry in America to fill, and + worthily fill, the great void, and enhance these aims, electrifying all + and several, involves the essence and integral facts, real and spiritual, + of the whole land, the whole body. What the great sympathetic is to the + congeries of bones, joints, heart, fluids, nervous system and vitality, + constituting, launching forth in time and space a human being—aye, + an immortal soul—such relation, and no less, holds true poetry to + the single personality, or to the nation. + </p> + <p> + Here our thirty-eight States stand to-day, the children of past + precedents, and, young as they are, heirs of a very old estate. One or two + points we will consider, out of the myriads presenting themselves. The + feudalism, of the British Islands, illustrated by Shakspere—and by + his legitimate followers, Walter Scott and Alfred Tennyson—with all + its tyrannies, superstitions, evils, had most superb and heroic permeating + veins, poems, manners; even its errors fascinating. It almost seems as if + only that feudalism in Europe, like slavery in our own South, could + outcrop types of tallest, noblest personal character yet—strength + and devotion and love better than elsewhere—invincible courage, + generosity, aspiration, the spines of all. Here is where Shakspere and the + others I have named perform a service incalculably precious to our + America. Politics, literature, and everything else, centers at last in + perfect <i>personnel</i>, (as democracy is to find the same as the rest;) + and here feudalism is unrival'd—here the rich and highest-rising + lessons it bequeaths us—a mass of foreign nutriment, which we are to + work over, and popularize and enlarge, and present again in our own + growths. + </p> + <p> + Still there are pretty grave and anxious drawbacks, jeopardies, fears. Let + us give some reflections on the subject, a little fluctuating, but + starting from one central thought, and returning there again. Two or three + curious results may plow up. As in the astronomical laws, the very power + that would seem most deadly and destructive turns out to be latently + conservative of longest, vastest future births and lives. We will for once + briefly examine the just-named authors solely from a Western point of + view. It may be, indeed, that we shall use the sun of English literature, + and the brightest current stars of his system, mainly as pegs to hang some + cogitations on, for home inspection. + </p> + <p> + As depicter and dramatist of the passions at their stormiest outstretch, + though ranking high, Shakspere (spanning the arch wide enough) is equaled + by several, and excelled by the best old Greeks, (as Eschylus.) But in + portraying mediaeval European lords and barons, the arrogant port, so dear + to the inmost human heart, (pride! pride! dearest, perhaps, of all—touching + us, too, of the States closest of all—closer than love,) he stands + alone, and I do not wonder he so witches the world. + </p> + <p> + From first to last, also, Walter Scott and Tennyson, like Shakspere, + exhale that principle of caste which we Americans have come on earth to + destroy. Jefferson's verdict on the Waverley novels was that they turned + and condensed brilliant but entirely false lights and glamours over the + lords, ladies, and aristocratic institutes of Europe, with all their + measureless infamies, and then left the bulk of the suffering, + down-trodden people contemptuously in the shade. Without stopping to + answer this hornet-stinging criticism, or to repay any part of the debt of + thanks I owe, in common with every American, to the noblest, healthiest, + cheeriest romancer that ever lived, I pass on to Tennyson, his works. + </p> + <p> + Poetry here of a very high (perhaps the highest) order of verbal melody, + exquisitely clean and pure, and almost always perfumed, like the tuberose, + to an extreme of sweetness—sometimes not, however, but even then a + camellia of the hot-house, never a common flower—the verse of inside + elegance and high-life; and yet preserving amid all its super-delicatesse + a smack of outdoors and outdoor folk. The old Norman lordhood quality + here, too, crossed with that Saxon fiber from which twain the best current + stock of England springs—poetry that revels above all things in + traditions of knights and chivalry, and deeds of derring-do. The odor of + English social life in its highest range—a melancholy, affectionate, + very manly, but dainty breed—pervading the pages like an invisible + scent; the idleness, the traditions, the mannerisms, the stately <i>ennui</i>; + the yearning of love, like a spinal marrow, inside of all; the costumes + brocade and satin; the old houses and furniture—solid oak, no mere + veneering—the moldy secrets everywhere; the verdure, the ivy on the + walls, the moat, the English landscape outside, the buzzing fly in the sun + inside the window pane. Never one democratic page; nay, not a line, not a + word; never free and <i>naïve</i> poetry, but involved, labored, quite + sophisticated—even when the theme is ever so simple or rustic, (a + shell, a bit of sedge, the commonest love-passage between a lad and lass,) + the handling of the rhyme all showing the scholar and conventional + gentleman; showing the laureate too, the <i>attaché</i> of the throne, and + most excellent, too; nothing better through the volumes than the + dedication "to the Queen" at the beginning, and the other fine dedication, + "these to his memory" (Prince Albert's,) preceding "Idylls of the King." + </p> + <p> + Such for an off-hand summary of the mighty three that now, by the women, + men, and young folk of the fifty millions given these States by their late + census, have been and are more read than all others put together. + </p> + <p> + We hear it said, both of Tennyson and another current leading literary + illustrator of Great Britain, Carlyle—as of Victor Hugo in France—that + not one of them is personally friendly or admirant toward America; indeed, + quite the reverse. <i>N'importe</i>. That they (and more good minds than + theirs) cannot span the vast revolutionary arch thrown by the United + States over the centuries, fixed in the present, launched to the endless + future; that they cannot stomach the high-life-below-stairs coloring all + our poetic and genteel social status so far—the measureless + viciousness of the great radical Republic, with its ruffianly nominations + and elections; its loud, ill-pitched voice, utterly regardless whether the + verb agrees with the nominative; its fights, errors, eructations, + repulsions, dishonesties, audacities; those fearful and varied and + long-continued storm and stress stages (so offensive to the well-regulated + college-bred mind) wherewith Nature, history, and time block out + nationalities more powerful than the past, and to upturn it and press on + to the future;—that they cannot understand and fathom all this, I + say, is it to be wondered at? Fortunately, the gestation of our + thirty-eight empires (and plenty more to come) proceeds on its course, on + scales of area and velocity immense and absolute as the globe, and, like + the globe itself, quite oblivious even of great poets and thinkers. But we + can by no means afford to be oblivious of them. + </p> + <p> + The same of feudalism, its castles, courts, etiquettes, personalities. + However they, or the spirits of them hovering in the air, might scowl and + glower at such removes as current Kansas or Kentucky life and forms, the + latter may by no means repudiate or leave out the former. Allowing all the + evil that it did, we get, here and today, a balance of good out of its + reminiscence almost beyond price. + </p> + <p> + Am I content, then, that the general interior chyle of our republic should + be supplied and nourish'd by wholesale from foreign and antagonistic + sources such as these? Let me answer that question briefly: + </p> + <p> + Years ago I thought Americans ought to strike out separate, and have + expressions of their own in highest literature. I think so still, and more + decidedly than ever. But those convictions are now strongly temper'd by + some additional points, (perhaps the results of advancing age, or the + reflection of invalidism.) I see that this world of the West, as part of + all, fuses inseparably with the East, and with all, as time does—the + ever new yet old, old human race—"the same subject continued," as + the novels of our grandfathers had it for chapter-heads. If we are not to + hospitably receive and complete the inaugurations of the old + civilizations, and change their small scale to the largest, broadest + scale, what on earth are we for? + </p> + <p> + The currents of practical business in America, the rude, coarse, tussling + facts of our lives, and all their daily experiences, need just the + precipitation and tincture of this entirely different fancy world of + lulling, contrasting, even feudalistic, anti-republican poetry and + romance. On the enormous outgrowth of our unloos'd individualities, and + the rank, self-assertion of humanity here, may well fall these + grace-persuading, <i>recherché</i> influences. We first require that + individuals and communities shall be free; then surely comes a time when + it is requisite that they shall not be too free. Although to such results + in the future I look mainly for a great poetry native to us, these + importations till then will have to be accepted, such as they are, and + thankful they are no worse. The inmost spiritual currents of the present + time curiously revenge and check their own compell'd tendency to + democracy, and absorption in it, by mark'd leanings to the past—by + reminiscences in poems, plots, operas, novels, to a far-off, contrary, + deceased world, as if they dreaded the great vulgar gulf-tides of to-day. + Then what has been fifty centuries growing, working in, and accepted as + crowns and apices for our kind, is not going to be pulled down and + discarded in a hurry. + </p> + <p> + It is, perhaps, time we paid our respects directly to the honorable party, + the real object of these preambles. But we must make <i>reconnaissance</i> + a little further still. Not the least part of our lesson were to realize + the curiosity and interest of friendly foreign experts,{35} and how our + situation looks to them. "American poetry," says the London "Times,"{36} + is the poetry of apt pupils, but it is afflicted from first to last with a + fatal want of raciness. Bryant has been long passed as a poet by Professor + Longfellow; but in Longfellow, with all his scholarly grace and tender + feeling, the defect is more apparent than it was in Bryant. Mr. Lowell can + overflow with American humor when politics inspire his muse; but in the + realm of pure poetry he is no more American than a Newdigate prize-man. + Joaquin Miller's verse has fluency and movement and harmony, but as for + the thought, his songs of the sierras might as well have been written in + Holland. + </p> + <p> + Unless in a certain very slight contingency, the "Times" says: "American + verse, from its earliest to its latest stages, seems an exotic, with an + exuberance of gorgeous blossom, but no principle of reproduction. That is + the very note and test of its inherent want. Great poets are tortured and + massacred by having their flowers of fancy gathered and gummed down in the + <i>hortus siccus</i> of an anthology. American poets show better in an + anthology than in the collected volumes of their works. Like their + audience they have been unable to resist the attraction of the vast orbit + of English literature. They may talk of the primeval forest, but it would + generally be very hard from internal evidence to detect that they were + writing on the banks of the Hudson rather than on those of the Thames. + ....In fact, they have caught the English tone and air and mood only too + faithfully, and are accepted by the superficially cultivated English + intelligence as readily as if they were English born. Americans themselves + confess to a certain disappointment that a literary curiosity and + intelligence so diffused {as in the United States} have not taken up + English literature at the point at which America has received it, and + carried it forward and developed it with an independent energy. But like + reader like poet. Both show the effects of having come into an estate they + have not earned. A nation of readers has required of its poets a diction + and symmetry of form equal to that of an old literature like that of Great + Britain, which is also theirs. No ruggedness, however racy, would be + tolerated by circles which, however superficial their culture, read Byron + and Tennyson." + </p> + <p> + The English critic, though a gentleman and a scholar, and friendly withal, + is evidently not altogether satisfied, (perhaps he is jealous,) and winds + up by saying: "For the English language to have been enriched with a + national poetry which was not English but American, would have been a + treasure beyond price." With which, as whet and foil, we shall proceed to + ventilate more definitely certain no doubt willful opinions. + </p> + <p> + Leaving unnoticed at present the great masterpieces of the antique, or + anything from the middle ages, the prevailing flow of poetry for the last + fifty or eighty years, and now at its height, has been and is (like the + music) an expression of mere surface melody, within narrow limits, and + yet, to give it its due, perfectly satisfying to the demands of the ear, + of wondrous charm, of smooth and easy delivery, and the triumph of + technical art. Above all things it is fractional and select. It shrinks + with aversion from the sturdy, the universal, and the democratic. + </p> + <p> + The poetry of the future, (a phrase open to sharp criticism, and not + satisfactory to me, but significant, and I will use it)—the poetry + of the future aims at the free expression of emotion, (which means far, + far more than appears at first,) and to arouse and initiate, more than to + define or finish. Like all modern tendencies, it has direct or indirect + reference continually to the reader, to you or me, to the central identity + of everything, the mighty Ego. (Byron's was a vehement dash, with plenty + of impatient democracy, but lurid and introverted amid all its magnetism; + not at all the fitting, lasting song of a grand, secure, free, sunny + race.) It is more akin, likewise, to outside life and landscape, + (returning mainly to the antique feeling,) real sun and gale, and woods + and shores—to the elements themselves—not sitting at ease in + parlor or library listening to a good tale of them, told in good rhyme. + Character, a feature far above style or polish—a feature not absent + at any time, but now first brought to the fore—gives predominant + stamp to advancing poetry. Its born sister, music, already responds to the + same influences. "The music of the present, Wagner's, Gounod's, even the + later Verdi's, all tends toward this free expression of poetic emotion, + and demands a vocalism totally unlike that required for Rossini's splendid + roulades, or Bellini's suave melodies." + </p> + <p> + Is there not even now, indeed, an evolution, a departure from the masters? + Venerable and unsurpassable after their kind as are the old works, and + always unspeakably precious as studies, (for Americans more than any other + people,) is it too much to say that by the shifted combinations of the + modern mind the whole underlying theory of first-class verse has changed? + "Formerly, during the period term'd classic," says Sainte-Beuve, "when + literature was govern'd by recognized rules, he was considered the best + poet who had composed the most perfect work, the most beautiful poem, the + most intelligible, the most agreeable to read, the most complete in every + respect,—the Aeneid, the Gerusalemme, a fine tragedy. To-day, + something else is wanted. For us the greatest poet is he who in his works + most stimulates the reader's imagination and reflection, who excites him + the most himself to poetize. The greatest poet is not he who has done the + best; it is he who suggests the most; he, not all of whose meaning is at + first obvious, and who leaves you much to desire, to explain, to study, + much to complete in your turn." + </p> + <p> + The fatal defects our American singers labor under are subordination of + spirit, an absence of the concrete and of real patriotism, and in excess + that modern esthetic contagion a queer friend of mine calls the <i>beauty + disease</i>. "The immoderate taste for beauty and art," says Charles + Baudelaire, "leads men into monstrous excesses. In minds imbued with a + frantic greed for the beautiful, all the balances of truth and justice + disappear. There is a lust, a disease of the art faculties, which eats up + the moral like a cancer." + </p> + <p> + Of course, by our plentiful verse-writers there is plenty of service + perform'd, of a kind. Nor need we go far for a tally. We see, in every + polite circle, a class of accomplished, good-natured persons, ("society," + in fact, could not get on without them,) fully eligible for certain + problems, times, and duties—to mix egg-nog, to mend the broken + spectacles, to decide whether the stewed eels shall precede the sherry or + the sherry the stewed eels, to eke out Mrs. A. B.'s parlor-tableaux with + monk, Jew, lover, Puck, Prospero, Caliban, or what not, and to generally + contribute and gracefully adapt their flexibilities and talents, in those + ranges, to the world's service. But for real crises, great needs and + pulls, moral or physical, they might as well have never been born. + </p> + <p> + Or the accepted notion of a poet would appear to be a sort of male + odalisque, singing or piano-playing a kind of spiced ideas, second-hand + reminiscences, or toying late hours at entertainments, in rooms stifling + with fashionable scent. I think I haven't seen a new-published, healthy, + bracing, simple lyric in ten years. Not long ago, there were verses in + each of three fresh monthlies, from leading authors, and in every one the + whole central <i>motif</i> (perfectly serious) was the melancholiness of a + marriageable young woman who didn't get a rich husband, but a poor one! + </p> + <p> + Besides its tonic and <i>al fresco</i> physiology, relieving such as this, + the poetry of the future will take on character in a more important + respect. Science, having extirpated the old stock-fables and + superstitions, is clearing a field for verse, for all the arts, and even + for romance, a hundred-fold ampler and more wonderful, with the new + principles behind. Republicanism advances over the whole world. Liberty, + with Law by her side, will one day be paramount—will at any rate be + the central idea. Then only—for all the splendor and beauty of what + has been, or the polish of what is—then only will the true poets + appear, and the true poems. Not the satin and patchouly of today, not the + glorification of the butcheries and wars of the past, nor any fight + between Deity on one side and somebody else on the other—not Milton, + not even Shakspere's plays, grand as they are. Entirely different and + hitherto unknown Classes of men, being authoritatively called for in + imaginative literature, will certainly appear. What is hitherto most + lacking, perhaps most absolutely indicates the future. Democracy has been + hurried on through time by measureless tides and winds, resistless as the + revolution of the globe, and as far-reaching and rapid. But in the highest + walks of art it has not yet had a single representative worthy of it + anywhere upon the earth. + </p> + <p> + Never had real bard a task more fit for sublime ardor and genius than to + sing worthily the songs these States have already indicated. Their origin, + Washington, '76, the picturesqueness of old times, the war of 1812 and the + sea-fights; the incredible rapidity of movement and breadth of area—to + fuse and compact the South and North, the East and West, to express the + native forms, situations, scenes, from Montauk to California, and from the + Saguenay to the Rio Grande—the working out on such gigantic scales, + and with such a swift and mighty play of changing light and shade, of the + great problems of man and freedom,—how far ahead of the stereotyped + plots, or gem-cutting, or tales of love, or wars of mere ambition! Our + history is so full of spinal, modern, germinal subjects—one above + all. What the ancient siege of Illium, and the puissance of Hector's and + Agamemnon's warriors proved to Hellenic art and literature, and all art + and literature since, may prove the war of attempted secession of 1861-'65 + to the future esthetics, drama, romance, poems of the United States. + </p> + <p> + Nor could utility itself provide anything more practically serviceable to + the hundred millions who, a couple of generations hence, will inhabit + within the limits just named, than the permeation of a sane, sweet, + autochthonous national poetry—must I say of a kind that does not now + exist? but which, I fully believe, will in time be supplied on scales as + free as Nature's elements. (It is acknowledged that we of the States are + the most materialistic and money-making people ever known. My own theory, + while fully accepting this, is that we are the most emotional, + spiritualistic, and poetry-loving people also.) + </p> + <p> + Infinite are the new and orbic traits waiting to be launch'd forth in the + firmament that is, and is to be, America. Lately, I have wonder'd whether + the last meaning of this cluster of thirty-eight States is not only + practical fraternity among themselves—the only real union, (much + nearer its accomplishment, too, than appears on the surface)—but for + fraternity over the whole globe—that dazzling, pensive dream of + ages! Indeed, the peculiar glory of our lands, I have come to see, or + expect to see, not in their geographical or republican greatness, nor + wealth or products, nor military or naval power, nor special, eminent + names in any department, to shine with, or outshine, foreign special names + in similar departments,—but more and more in a vaster, saner, more + surrounding Comradeship, uniting closer and closer not only the American + States, but all nations, and all humanity. That, O poets! is not that a + theme worth chanting, striving for? Why not fix your verses henceforth to + the gauge of the round globe? the whole race? Perhaps the most illustrious + culmination of the modern may thus prove to be a signal growth of joyous, + more exalted bards of adhesiveness, identically one in soul, but + contributed by every nation, each after its distinctive kind. Let us, + audacious, start it. Let the diplomats, as ever, still deeply plan, + seeking advantages, proposing treaties between governments, and to bind + them, on paper: what I seek is different, simpler. I would inaugurate from + America, for this purpose, new formulas—international poems. I have + thought that the invisible root out of which the poetry deepest in, and + dearest to, humanity grows, is Friendship. I have thought that both in + patriotism and song (even amid their grandest shows past) we have adhered + too long to petty limits, and that the time has come to enfold the world. + </p> + <p> + Not only is the human and artificial world we have establish'd in the West + a radical departure from anything hitherto known—not only men and + politics, and all that goes with them—but Nature itself, in the main + sense, its construction, is different. The same old font of type, of + course, but set up to a text never composed or issued before. For Nature + consists not only in itself, objectively, but at least just as much in its + subjective reflection from the person, spirit, age, looking at it, in the + midst of it, and absorbing it—faithfully sends back the + characteristic beliefs of the time or individual—takes, and readily + gives again, the physiognomy of any nation or literature—falls like + a great elastic veil on a face, or like the molding plaster on a statue. + </p> + <p> + What is Nature? What were the elements, the invisible backgrounds and + eidolons of it, to Homer's heroes, voyagers, gods? What all through the + wanderings of Virgil's Aeneas? Then to Shakspere's characters—Hamlet, + Lear, the English-Norman kings, the Romans? What was Nature to Rousseau, + to Voltaire, to the German Goethe in his little classical court gardens? + In those presentments in Tennyson (see the "Idylls of the King"—what + sumptuous, perfumed, arras-and-gold Nature, inimitably described, better + than any, fit for princes and knights and peerless ladies—wrathful + or peaceful, just the same—Vivien and Merlin in their strange + dalliance, or the death-float of Elaine, or Geraint and the long journey + of his disgraced Enid and himself through the wood, and the wife all day + driving the horses,) as in all the great imported art-works, treatises + systems, from Lucretius down, there is a constantly lurking often + pervading something, that will have to be eliminated, as not only unsuited + to modern democracy and science in America, but insulting to them, and + disproved by them.{37} + </p> + <p> + Still, the rule and demesne of poetry will always be not the exterior, but + interior; not the macrocosm, but microcosm; not Nature, but Man. I haven't + said anything about the imperative need of a race of giant bards in the + future, to hold up high to eyes of land and race the eternal antiseptic + models, and to dauntlessly confront greed, injustice, and all forms of + that wiliness and tyranny whose roots never die—(my opinion is, that + after all the rest is advanced, <i>that</i> is what first-class poets are + for; as, to their days and occasions, the Hebrew lyrists, Roman Juvenal, + and doubtless the old singers of India, and the British Druids)—to + counteract dangers, immensest ones, already looming in America—measureless + corruption in politics—what we call religion, a mere mask of wax or + lace;—for <i>ensemble</i>, that most cankerous, offensive of all + earth's shows—a vast and varied community, prosperous and fat with + wealth of money and products and business ventures—plenty of mere + intellectuality too—and then utterly without the sound, prevailing, + moral and esthetic health-action beyond all the money and mere intellect + of the world. + </p> + <p> + Is it a dream of mine that, in times to come, west, south, east, north, + will silently, surely arise a race of such poets, varied, yet one in soul—nor + only poets, and of the best, but newer, larger prophets—larger than + Judea's, and more passionate—to meet and penetrate those woes, as + shafts of light the darkness? + </p> + <p> + As I write, the last fifth of the nineteenth century is enter'd upon, and + will soon be waning. Now, and for a long time to come, what the United + States most need, to give purport, definiteness, reason why, to their + unprecedented material wealth, industrial products, education by rote + merely, great populousness and intellectual activity, is the central, + spinal reality, (or even the idea of it,) of such a democratic band + of-native-born-and-bred teachers, artists, <i>littérateurs</i>, tolerant + and receptive of importations, but entirely adjusted to the West, to + ourselves, to our own days, combinations, differences, superiorities. + Indeed, I am fond of thinking that the whole series of concrete and + political triumphs of the Republic are mainly as bases and preparations + for half a dozen future poets, ideal personalities, referring not to a + special class, but to the entire people, four or five millions of square + miles. + </p> + <p> + Long, long are the processes of the development of a nationality Only to + the rapt vision does the seen become the prophecy of the unseen.{38} + Democracy, so far attending only to the real, is not for the real only, + but the grandest ideal—to justify the modern by that, and not only + to equal, but to become by that superior to the past. + </p> + <p> + On a comprehensive summing up of the processes and present and hitherto + condition of the United States, with reference to their future, and the + indispensable precedents to it, my point, below all surfaces, and + subsoiling them, is, that the bases and prerequisites of a leading + nationality are, first, at all hazards, freedom, worldly wealth and + products on the largest and most varied scale, common education and + intercommunication, and, in general, the passing through of just the + stages and crudities we have passed or are passing through in the United + States. + </p> + <p> + Then, perhaps, as weightiest factor of the whole business, and of the main + outgrowths of the future, it remains to be definitely avow'd that the + native-born middle-class population of quite all the United States—the + average of farmers and mechanics everywhere—the real, though latent + and silent bulk of America, city or country, presents a magnificent mass + of material, never before equal'd on earth. It is this material, quite + unexpress'd by literature or art, that in every respect insures the future + of the republic. During the secession war I was with the armies, and saw + the rank and file, north and south, and studied them for four years. I + have never had the least doubt about the country in its essential future + since. + </p> + <p> + Meantime, we can (perhaps) do no better than to saturate ourselves with, + and continue to give imitations, yet awhile, of the esthetic models, + supplies, of that past and of those lands we spring from. Those wondrous + stores, reminiscences, floods, currents! Let them flow on, flow hither + freely. And let the sources be enlarged, to include not only the works of + British origin, as now, but stately and devout Spain, courteous France, + profound Germany, the manly Scandinavian lands, Italy's art race, and + always the mystic Orient. Remembering that at present, and doubtless long + ahead, a certain humility would well become us. The course through time of + highest civilization, does it not wait the first glimpse of our + contribution to its kosmic train of poems, bibles, first-class structures, + perpetuities—Egypt and Palestine and India—Greece and Rome and + mediaeval Europe—and so onward? The shadowy procession is not a + meagre one, and the standard not a low one. All that is mighty in our kind + seems to have already trod the road. Ah, never may America forget her + thanks and reverence for samples, treasures such as these—that other + life-blood, inspiration, sunshine, hourly in use to-day, all days, + forever, through her broad demesne! + </p> + <p> + All serves our New World progress, even the bafflers, head-winds, + cross-tides. Through many perturbations and squalls, and much backing and + filling, the ship, upon the whole, makes unmistakably for her destination. + Shakspere has served, and serves, may-be, the best of any. + </p> + <p> + For conclusion, a passing thought, a contrast, of him who, in my opinion, + continues and stands for the Shaksperean cultus at the present day among + all English-writing peoples—of Tennyson, his poetry. I find it + impossible, as I taste the sweetness of those lines, to escape the flavor, + the conviction, the lush-ripening culmination, and last honey of decay (I + dare not call it rottenness) of that feudalism which the mighty English + dramatist painted in all the splendors of its noon and afternoon. And how + they are chanted—both poets! Happy those kings and nobles to be so + sung, so told! To run their course—to get their deeds and shapes in + lasting pigments—the very pomp and dazzle of the sunset! + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, democracy waits the coming of its bards in silence and in + twilight—but 'tis the twilight of the dawn. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {35} A few years ago I saw the question, "Has America produced any great + poem?" announced as prize-subject for the competition of some university + in Northern Europe. I saw the item in a foreign paper and made a note of + it; but being taken down with paralysis, and prostrated for a long season, + the matter slipp'd away, and I have never been able since to get hold of + any essay presented for the prize, or report of the discussion, nor to + learn for certain whether there was any essay or discussion, nor can I now + remember the place. It may have been Upsala, or possibly Heidelberg. + Perhaps some German or Scandinavian can give particulars. I think it was + in 1872. + </p> + <p> + {36} In a long and prominent editorial, at the time, on the death of + William Cullen Bryant. + </p> + <p> + {37} Whatever may be said of the few principal poems—or their best + passages—it is certain that the overwhelming mass of poetic works, + as now absorb'd into human character, exerts a certain constipating, + repressing, indoor, and artificial influence, impossible to elude—seldom + or never that freeing, dilating, joyous one, with which uncramp'd Nature + works on every individual without exception. + </p> + <p> + {38} Is there not such a thing as the philosophy of American history and + politics? And if so, what is it?... Wise men say there are two sets of + wills to nations and to persons—one set that acts and works from + explainable motives—from teaching, intelligence, judgment, + circumstance, caprice, emulation, greed, etc.—and then another set, + perhaps deep, hidden, unsuspected, yet often more potent than the first, + refusing to be argued with, rising as it were out of abysses, resistlessly + urging on speakers, doers, communities, unwitting to themselves—the + poet to his fieriest words—the race to pursue its loftiest ideal. + Indeed, the paradox of a nation's life and career, with all its wondrous + contradictions, can probably only be explain'd from these two wills, + sometimes conflicting, each operating in its sphere, combining in races or + in persons, and producing strangest results. + </p> + <p> + Let us hope there is (indeed, can there be any doubt there is?) this great + unconscious and abysmic second will also running through the average + nationality and career of America. Let us hope that, amid all the dangers + and defections of the present, and through all the processes of the + conscious will, it alone is the permanent and sovereign force, destined to + carry on the New World to fulfil its destinies in the future—to + resolutely pursue those destinies, age upon age; to build, far, far beyond + its past vision, present thought; to form and fashion, and for the general + type, men and women more noble, more athletic than the world has yet seen; + to gradually, firmly blend, from all the States, with all varieties, a + friendly, happy, free, religious nationality—a nationality not only + the richest, most inventive, most productive and materialistic the world + has yet known, but compacted indissolubly, and out of whose ample and + solid bulk, and giving purpose and finish to it, conscience, morals, and + all the spiritual attributes, shall surely rise, like spires above some + group of edifices, firm-footed on the earth, yet scaling space and heaven. + </p> + <p> + Great as they are, and greater far to be, the United States, too, are but + a series of steps in the eternal process of creative thought. And here is, + to my mind, their final justification, and certain perpetuity. There is in + that sublime process, in the laws of the universe—and, above all, in + the moral law—something that would make unsatisfactory, and even + vain and contemptible, all the triumphs of war, the gains of peace, and + the proudest worldly grandeur of all the nations that have ever existed, + or that (ours included) now exist, except that we constantly see, through + all their worldly career, however struggling and blind and lame, attempts, + by all ages, all peoples, according to their development, to reach, to + press, to progress on, and ever farther on, to more and more advanced + ideals. + </p> + <p> + The glory of the republic of the United States, in my opinion, is to be + that, emerging in the light of the modern and the splendor of science, and + solidly based on the past, it is to cheerfully range itself, and its + politics are henceforth to come, under those universal laws, and embody + them, and carry them out, to serve them. And as only that individual + becomes truly great who understands well that, while complete in himself + in a certain sense, he is but a part of the divine, eternal scheme, and + whose special life and laws are adjusted to move in harmonious relations + with the general laws of Nature, and especially with the moral law, the + deepest and highest of all, and the last vitality of man or state—so + the United States may only become the greatest and the most continuous, by + understanding well their harmonious relations with entire humanity and + history, and all their laws and progress, sublimed with the creative + thought of Deity, through all time, past, present, and future. Thus will + they expand to the amplitude of their destiny, and become illustrations + and culminating parts of the kosmos, and of civilization. + </p> + <p> + No more considering the States as an incident, or series of incidents, + however vast, coming accidentally along the path of time, and shaped by + casual emergencies as they happen to arise, and the mere result of modern + improvements, vulgar and lucky, ahead of other nations and times, I would + finally plant, as seeds, these thoughts or speculations in the growth of + our republic—that it is the deliberate culmination and result of all + the past—that here, too, as in all departments of the universe, + regular laws (slow and sure in planting, slow and sure in ripening) have + controll'd and govern'd, and will yet control and govern; and that those + laws can no more be baffled or steer'd clear of, or vitiated, by chance, + or any fortune or opposition, than the laws of winter and summer, or + darkness and light. + </p> + <p> + The summing up of the tremendous moral and military perturbations of + 1861-'65, and their results—and indeed of the entire hundred years + of the past of our national experiment, from its inchoate movement down to + the present day (1780-1881)—is, that they all now launch the United + States fairly forth, consistently with the entirety of civilization and + humanity, and in main sort the representative of them, leading the van, + leading the fleet of the modern and democratic, on the seas and voyages of + the future. + </p> + <p> + And the real history of the United States—starting from that great + convulsive struggle for unity, the secession war, triumphantly concluded, + and <i>the South</i> victorious after all—is only to be written at + the remove of hundreds, perhaps a thousand, years hence. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A MEMORANDUM AT A VENTURE + </h2> + <p> + "All is proper to be express'd, provided our aim is only high enough."—<i>J. + F. Millet.</i> + </p> + <p> + "The candor of science is the glory of the modern. It does not hide and + repress; it confronts, turns on the light. It alone has perfect faith—faith + not in a part only, but all. Does it not undermine the old religious + standards? Yes, in God's truth, by excluding the devil from the theory of + the universe—by showing that evil is not a law in itself, but a + sickness, a perversion of the good, and the other side of the good—that + in fact all of humanity, and of everything, is divine in its bases, its + eligibilities." + </p> + <p> + Shall the mention of such topics as I have briefly but plainly and + resolutely broach'd in the "Children of Adam" section of "Leaves of Grass" + be admitted in poetry and literature? Ought not the innovation to be put + down by opinion and criticism? and, if those fail, by the District + Attorney? True, I could not construct a poem which declaredly took, as + never before, the complete human identity, physical, moral, emotional, and + intellectual, (giving precedence and compass in a certain sense to the + first,) nor fulfil that <i>bona fide</i> candor and entirety of treatment + which was a part of my purpose, without comprehending this section also. + But I would entrench myself more deeply and widely than that. And while I + do not ask any man to indorse my theory, I confess myself anxious that + what I sought to write and express, and the ground I built on, shall be at + least partially understood, from its own platform. The best way seems to + me to confront the question with entire frankness. + </p> + <p> + There are, generally speaking, two points of view, two conditions of the + world's attitude toward these matters; the first, the conventional one of + good folks and good print everywhere, repressing any direct statement of + them, and making allusions only at second or third hand—(as the + Greeks did of death, which, in Hellenic social culture, was not mention'd + point-blank, but by euphemisms.) In the civilization of to-day, this + condition—without stopping to elaborate the arguments and facts, + which are many and varied and perplexing—has led to states of + ignorance, repressal, and cover'd over disease and depletion, forming + certainly a main factor in the world's woe. A nonscientific, non-esthetic, + and eminently non-religious condition, bequeath'd to us from the past, + (its origins diverse, one of them the far-back lessons of benevolent and + wise men to restrain the prevalent coarseness and animality of the tribal + ages—with Puritanism, or perhaps Protestantism itself for another, + and still another specified in the latter part of this memorandum)—to + it is probably due most of the ill births, inefficient maturity, + snickering pruriency, and of that human pathologic evil and morbidity + which is, in my opinion, the keel and reason-why of every evil and + morbidity. Its scent, as of something sneaking, furtive, mephitic, seems + to lingeringly pervade all modern literature, conversation, and manners. + </p> + <p> + The second point of view, and by far the largest—as the world in + working-day dress vastly exceeds the world in parlor toilette—is the + one of common life, from the oldest times down, and especially in England, + (see the earlier chapters of "Taine's English Literature," and see + Shakspere almost anywhere,) and which our age to-day inherits from riant + stock, in the wit, or what passes for wit, of masculine circles, and in + erotic stories and talk, to excite, express, and dwell on, that merely + sensual voluptuousness which, according to Victor Hugo, is the most + universal trait of all ages, all lands. This second condition, however + bad, is at any rate like a disease which comes to the surface, and + therefore less dangerous than a conceal'd one. + </p> + <p> + The time seems to me to have arrived, and America to be the place, for a + new departure—a third point of view. The same freedom and faith and + earnestness which, after centuries of denial, struggle, repression, and + martyrdom, the present day brings to the treatment of politics and + religion, must work out a plan and standard on this subject, not so much + for what is call'd society, as for thoughtfulest men and women, and + thoughtfulest literature. The same spirit that marks the physiological + author and demonstrator on these topics in his important field, I have + thought necessary to be exemplified, for once, in another certainly not + less important field. + </p> + <p> + In the present memorandum I only venture to indicate that plan and view—decided + upon more than twenty years ago, for my own literary action, and + formulated tangibly in my printed poems—(as Bacon says an abstract + thought or theory is of no moment unless it leads to a deed or work done, + exemplifying it in the concrete)—that the sexual passion in itself, + while normal and unperverted, is inherently legitimate, creditable, not + necessarily an improper theme for poet, as confessedly not for scientist—that, + with reference to the whole construction, organism, and intentions of + "Leaves of Grass," anything short of confronting that theme, and making + myself clear upon it as the enclosing basis of everything, (as the sanity + of everything was to be the atmosphere of the poems,) I should beg the + question in its most momentous aspect, and the superstructure that + follow'd, pretensive as it might assume to be, would all rest on a poor + foundation, or no foundation at all. In short, as the assumption of the + sanity of birth, Nature and humanity, is the key to any true theory of + life and the universe—at any rate, the only theory out of which I + wrote—it is, and must inevitably be, the only key to "Leaves of + Grass," and every part of it. <i>That</i>, (and not a vain consistency or + weak pride, as a late "Springfield Republican" charges,) is the reason + that I have stood out for these particular verses uncompromisingly for + over twenty years, and maintain them to this day. <i>That</i> is what I + felt in my inmost brain and heart, when I only answer'd Emerson's vehement + arguments with silence, under the old elms of Boston Common. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, might not every physiologist and every good physician pray for the + redeeming of this subject from its hitherto relegation to the tongues and + pens of blackguards, and boldly putting it for once at least, if no more, + in the demesne of poetry and sanity—as something not in itself gross + or impure, but entirely consistent with highest manhood and womanhood, and + indispensable to both? Might not only every wife and every mother—not + only every babe that comes into the world, if that were possible—not + only all marriage, the foundation and <i>sine qua non</i> of the civilized + state—bless and thank the showing, or taking for granted, that + motherhood, fatherhood, sexuality, and all that belongs to them, can be + asserted, where it comes to question, openly, joyously, proudly, "without + shame or the need of shame," from the highest artistic and human + considerations—but, with reverence be it written, on such attempt to + justify the base and start of the whole divine scheme in humanity, might + not the Creative Power itself deign a smile of approval? + </p> + <p> + To the movement for the eligibility and entrance of women amid new spheres + of business, politics, and the suffrage, the current prurient, + conventional treatment of sex is the main formidable obstacle. The rising + tide of "woman's rights," swelling and every year advancing farther and + farther, recoils from it with dismay. There will in my opinion be no + general progress in such eligibility till a sensible, philosophic, + democratic method is substituted. + </p> + <p> + The whole question—which strikes far, very far deeper than most + people have supposed, (and doubtless, too, something is to be said on all + sides,) is peculiarly an important one in art—is first an ethic, and + then still more an esthetic one. I condense from a paper read not long + since at Cheltenham, England, before the "Social Science Congress," to the + Art Department, by P. H. Rathbone of Liverpool, on the "Undraped Figure in + Art," and the discussion that follow'd: + </p> + <p> + "When coward Europe suffer'd the unclean Turk to soil the sacred shores of + Greece by his polluting presence, civilization and morality receiv'd a + blow from which they have never entirely recover'd, and the trail of the + serpent has been over European art and European society ever since. The + Turk regarded and regards women as animals without soul, toys to be play'd + with or broken at pleasure, and to be hidden, partly from shame, but + chiefly for the purpose of stimulating exhausted passion. Such is the + unholy origin of the objection to the nude as a fit subject for art; it is + purely Asiatic, and though not introduced for the first time in the + fifteenth century, is yet to be traced to the source of all impurity—the + East. Although the source of the prejudice is thoroughly unhealthy and + impure, yet it is now shared by many pure-minded and honest, if somewhat + uneducated, people. But I am prepared to maintain that it is necessary for + the future of English art and of English morality that the right of the + nude to a place in our galleries should be boldly asserted; it must, + however, be the nude as represented by thoroughly trained artists, and + with a pure and noble ethic purpose. The human form, male and female, is + the type and standard of all beauty of form and proportion, and it is + necessary to be thoroughly familiar with it in order safely to judge of + all beauty which consists of form and proportion. To women it is most + necessary that they should become thoroughly imbued with the knowledge of + the ideal female form, in order that they should recognize the perfection + of it at once, and without effort, and so far as possible avoid deviations + from the ideal. Had this been the case in times past, we should not have + had to deplore the distortions effected by tight-lacing, which destroy'd + the figure and ruin'd the health of so many of the last generation. Nor + should we have had the scandalous dresses alike of society and the stage. + The extreme development of the low dresses which obtain'd some years ago, + when the stays crush'd up the breasts into suggestive prominence, would + surely have been check'd, had the eye of the public been properly educated + by familiarity with the exquisite beauty of line of a well-shaped bust. I + might show how thorough acquaintance with the ideal nude foot would + probably have much modified the foot-torturing boots and high heels, which + wring the foot out of all beauty of line, and throw the body forward into + an awkward and ungainly attitude. + </p> + <p> + It is argued that the effect of nude representation of women upon young + men is unwholesome, but it would not be so if such works were admitted + without question into our galleries, and became thoroughly familiar to + them. On the contrary, it would do much to clear away from healthy-hearted + lads one of their sorest trials—that prurient curiosity which is + bred of prudish concealment. Where there is mystery there is the + suggestion of evil, and to go to a theatre, where you have only to look at + the stalls to see one-half of the female form, and to the stage to see the + other half undraped, is far more pregnant with evil imaginings than the + most objectionable of totally undraped figures. In French art there have + been questionable nude figures exhibited; but the fault was not that they + were nude, but that they were the portraits of ugly immodest women. Some + discussion follow'd. There was a general concurrence in the principle + contended for by the reader of the paper. Sir Walter Stirling maintain'd + that the perfect male figure, rather than the female, was the model of + beauty. After a few remarks from Rev. Mr. Roberts and Colonel Oldfield, + the Chairman regretted that no opponent of nude figures had taken part in + the discussion. He agreed with Sir Walter Stirling as to the male figure + being the most perfect model of proportion. He join'd in defending the + exhibition of nude figures, but thought considerable supervision should be + exercis'd over such exhibitions. + </p> + <p> + No, it is not the picture or nude statue or text, with clear aim, that is + indecent; it is the beholder's own thought, inference, distorted + construction. True modesty is one of the most precious of attributes, even + virtues, but in nothing is there more pretense, more falsity, than the + needless assumption of it. Through precept and consciousness, man has long + enough realized how bad he is. I would not so much disturb or demolish + that conviction, only to resume and keep unerringly with it the spinal + meaning of the Scriptural text, <i>God overlook'd all that He had made</i>, + (including the apex of the whole—humanity—with its elements, + passions, appetites,) <i>and behold, it was very good</i>." + </p> + <p> + Does not anything short of that third point of view, when you come to + think of it profoundly and with amplitude, impugn Creation from the + outset? In fact, however overlaid, or unaware of itself, does not the + conviction involv'd in it perennially exist at the centre of all society, + and of the sexes, and of marriage? Is it not really an intuition of the + human race? For, old as the world is, and beyond statement as are the + countless and splendid results of its culture and evolution, perhaps the + best and earliest and purest intuitions of the human race have yet to be + develop'd. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DEATH OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN LECTURE + </h2> + <p> + <i>deliver'd in New York, April 14, 1879—in Philadelphia, '80—in + Boston, '81</i> + </p> + <p> + How often since that dark and dripping Saturday—that chilly April + day, now fifteen years bygone—my heart has entertain'd the dream, + the wish, to give of Abraham Lincoln's death, its own special thought and + memorial. Yet now the sought-for opportunity offers, I find my notes + incompetent, (why, for truly profound themes, is statement so idle? why + does the right phrase never offer?) and the fit tribute I dream'd of, + waits unprepared as ever. My talk here indeed is less because of itself or + anything in it, and nearly altogether because I feel a desire, apart from + any talk, to specify the day, the martyrdom. It is for this, my friends, I + have call'd you together. Oft as the rolling years bring back this hour, + let it again, however briefly, be dwelt upon. For my own part, I hope and + desire, till my own dying day, whenever the 14th or 15th of April comes, + to annually gather a few friends, and hold its tragic reminiscence. No + narrow or sectional reminiscence. It belongs to these States in their + entirety—not the North only, but the South—perhaps belongs + most tenderly and devoutly to the South, of all; for there, really, this + man's birth-stock. There and thence his antecedent stamp. Why should I not + say that thence his manliest traits—his universality—his + canny, easy ways and words upon the surface—his inflexible + determination and courage at heart? Have you never realized it, my + friends, that Lincoln, though grafted on the West, is essentially, in + personnel and character, a Southern contribution? + </p> + <p> + And though by no means proposing to resume the secession war to-night, I + would briefly remind you of the public conditions preceding that contest. + For twenty years, and especially during the four or five before the war + actually began, the aspect of affairs in the United States, though without + the flash of military excitement, presents more than the survey of a + battle, or any extended campaign, or series, even of Nature's convulsions. + The hot passions of the South—the strange mixture at the North of + inertia, incredulity, and conscious power—the incendiarism of the + abolitionists—the rascality and grip of the politicians, + unparallel'd in any land, any age. To these I must not omit adding the + honesty of the essential bulk of the people everywhere—yet with all + the seething fury and contradiction of their natures more arous'd than the + Atlantic's waves in wildest equinox. In politics, what can be more + ominous, (though generally unappreciated then)—what more significant + than the Presidentiads of Fillmore and Buchanan? proving conclusively that + the weakness and wickedness of elected rulers are just as likely to + afflict us here, as in the countries of the Old World, under their + monarchies, emperors, and aristocracies. In that Old World were everywhere + heard underground rumblings, that died out, only to again surely return. + While in America the volcano, though civic yet, continued to grow more and + more convulsive—more and more stormy and threatening. + </p> + <p> + In the height of all this excitement and chaos, hovering on the edge at + first, and then merged in its very midst, and destined to play a leading + part, appears a strange and awkward figure. I shall not easily forget the + first time I ever saw Abraham Lincoln. It must have been about the 18th or + 19th of February, 1861. It was rather a pleasant afternoon, in New York + city, as he arrived there from the West, to remain a few hours, and then + pass on to Washington, to prepare for his inauguration. I saw him in + Broadway, near the site of the present Post-office. He came down, I think + from Canal street, to stop at the Astor House. The broad spaces, + sidewalks, and street in the neighborhood, and for some distance, were + crowded with solid masses of people, many thousands. The omnibuses and + other vehicles had all been turn'd off, leaving an unusual hush in that + busy part of the city. Presently two or three shabby hack barouches made + their way with some difficulty through the crowd, and drew up at the Astor + House entrance. A tall figure stepp'd out of the centre of these + barouches, paus'd leisurely on the sidewalk, look'd up at the granite + walls and looming architecture of the grand old hotel—then, after a + relieving stretch of arms and legs, turn'd round for over a minute to + slowly and good-humoredly scan the appearance of the vast and silent + crowds. There were no speeches—no compliments—no welcome—as + far as I could hear, not a word said. Still much anxiety was conceal'd in + that quiet. Cautious persons had fear'd some mark'd insult or indignity to + the President-elect—for he possess'd no personal popularity at all + in New York city, and very little political. But it was evidently tacitly + agreed that if the few political supporters of Mr. Lincoln present would + entirely abstain from any demonstration on their side, the immense + majority, who were anything but supporters, would abstain on their side + also. The result was a sulky, unbroken silence, such as certainly never + before characterized so great a New York crowd. + </p> + <p> + Almost in the same neighborhood I distinctly remember'd seeing Lafayette + on his visit to America in 1825. I had also personally seen and heard, + various years afterward, how Andrew Jackson, Clay, Webster, Hungarian + Kossuth, Filibuster Walker, the Prince of Wales on his visit, and other + celebres, native and foreign, had been welcom'd there—all that + indescribable human roar and magnetism, unlike any other sound in the + universe—the glad exulting thunder-shouts of countless unloos'd + throats of men! But on this occasion, not a voice—not a sound. From + the top of an omnibus, (driven up one side, close by, and block'd by the + curbstone and the crowds,) I had, I say, a capital view of it all, and + especially of Mr. Lincoln, his look and gait—his perfect composure + and coolness—his unusual and uncouth height, his dress of complete + black, stovepipe hat push'd back on the head, dark-brown complexion, + seam'd and wrinkled yet canny-looking face, black, bushy head of hair, + disproportionately long neck, and his hands held behind as he stood + observing the people. He look'd with curiosity upon that immense sea of + faces, and the sea of faces return'd the look with similar curiosity. In + both there was a dash of comedy, almost farce, such as Shakspere puts in + his blackest tragedies. The crowd that hemm'd around consisted I should + think of thirty to forty thousand men, not a single one his personal + friend—while I have no doubt, (so frenzied were the ferments of the + time,) many an assassin's knife and pistol lurk'd in hip or breast-pocket + there, ready, soon as break and riot came. + </p> + <p> + But no break or riot came. The tall figure gave another relieving stretch + or two of arms and legs; then with moderate pace, and accompanied by a few + unknown-looking persons, ascended the portico-steps of the Astor House, + disappear'd through its broad entrance—and the dumb-show ended. + </p> + <p> + I saw Abraham Lincoln often the four years following that date. He changed + rapidly and much during his Presidency—but this scene, and him in + it, are indelibly stamp'd upon my recollection. As I sat on the top of my + omnibus, and had a good view of him, the thought, dim and inchoate then, + has since come out clear enough, that four sorts of genius, four mighty + and primal hands, will be needed to the complete limning of this man's + future portrait—the eyes and brains and finger-touch of Plutarch and + Eschylus and Michel Angelo, assisted by Rabelais. + </p> + <p> + And now—(Mr. Lincoln passing on from this scene to Washington, where + he was inaugurated, amid armed cavalry, and sharpshooters at every point—the + first instance of the kind in our history—and I hope it will be the + last)—now the rapid succession of well-known events, (too well known—I + believe, these days, we almost hate to hear them mention'd)—the + national flag fired on at Sumter—the uprising of the North, in + paroxysms of astonishment and rage—the chaos of divided councils—the + call for troops—the first Bull Run—the stunning cast-down, + shock, and dismay of the North—and so in full flood the secession + war. Four years of lurid, bleeding, murky, murderous war. Who paint those + years, with all their scenes?—the hard-fought engagements—the + defeats, plans, failures—the gloomy hours, days, when our + Nationality seem'd hung in pall of doubt, perhaps death—the + Mephistophelean sneers of foreign lands and attachés—the dreaded + Scylla of European interference, and the Charybdis of the tremendously + dangerous latent strata of secession sympathizers throughout the free + States, (far more numerous than is supposed)—the long marches in + summer—the hot sweat, and many a sunstroke, as on the rush to + Gettysburg in '63—the night battles in the woods, as under Hooker at + Chancellorsville—the camps in winter—the military prisons—the + hospitals—(alas! alas! the hospitals.) + </p> + <p> + The secession war? Nay, let me call it the Union war. Though whatever + call'd, it is even yet too near us—too vast and too closely + overshadowing—its branches unform'd yet, (but certain,) shooting too + far into the future—and the most indicative and mightiest of them + yet ungrown. A great literature will yet arise out of the era of those + four years, those scenes—era compressing centuries of native + passion, first-class pictures, tempests of life and death—an + inexhaustible mine for the histories, drama, romance, and even philosophy, + of peoples to come—indeed the verteber of poetry and art, (of + personal character too,) for all future America—far more grand, in + my opinion, to the hands capable of it, than Homer's siege of Troy, or the + French wars to Shakspere. + </p> + <p> + But I must leave these speculations, and come to the theme I have assign'd + and limited myself to. Of the actual murder of President Lincoln, though + so much has been written, probably the facts are yet very indefinite in + most persons' minds. I read from my memoranda, written at the time, and + revised frequently and finally since. + </p> + <p> + The day, April 14, 1865, seems to have been a pleasant one throughout the + whole land—the moral atmosphere pleasant too—the long storm, + so dark, so fratricidal, full of blood and doubt and gloom, over and ended + at last by the sun-rise of such an absolute National victory, and utter + break-down of Secessionism—we almost doubted our own senses! Lee had + capitulated beneath the apple-tree of Appomattox. The other armies, the + flanges of the revolt, swiftly follow'd. And could it really be, then? Out + of all the affairs of this world of woe and failure and disorder, was + there really come the confirm'd, unerring sign of plan, like a shaft of + pure light—of rightful rule—of God? So the day, as I say, was + propitious. Early herbage, early flowers, were out. (I remember where I + was stopping at the time, the season being advanced, there were many + lilacs in full bloom. By one of those caprices that enter and give tinge + to events without being at all a part of them, I find myself always + reminded of the great tragedy of that day by the sight and odor of these + blossoms. It never fails.) + </p> + <p> + But I must not dwell on accessories. The deed hastens. The popular + afternoon paper of Washington, the little "Evening Star," had spatter'd + all over its third page, divided among the advertisements in a sensational + manner, in a hundred different places, <i>The President and his Lady will + be at the Theatre this evening</i>.... (Lincoln was fond of the theatre. I + have myself seen him there several times. I remember thinking how funny it + was that he, in some respects the leading actor in the stormiest drama + known to real history's stage through centuries, should sit there and be + so completely interested and absorb'd in those human jack-straws, moving + about with their silly little gestures, foreign spirit, and flatulent + text.) + </p> + <p> + On this occasion the theatre was crowded, many ladies in rich and gay + costumes, officers in their uniforms, many well-known citizens, young + folks, the usual clusters of gas-lights, the usual magnetism of so many + people, cheerful, with perfumes, music of violins and flutes—(and + over all, and saturating all, that vast, vague wonder, <i>Victory</i>, the + nation's victory, the triumph of the Union, filling the air, the thought, + the sense, with exhilaration more than all music and perfumes.) + </p> + <p> + The President came betimes, and, with his wife, witness'd the play from + the large stage-boxes of the second tier, two thrown into one, and + profusely drap'd with the national flag. The acts and scenes of the piece—one + of those singularly written compositions which have at least the merit of + giving entire relief to an audience engaged in mental action or business + excitements and cares during the day, as it makes not the slightest call + on either the moral, emotional, esthetic, or spiritual nature—a + piece, ("Our American Cousin,") in which, among other characters, so + call'd, a Yankee, certainly such a one as was never seen, or the least + like it ever seen, in North America, is introduced in England, with a + varied fol-de-rol of talk, plot, scenery, and such phantasmagoria as goes + to make up a modern popular drama—had progress'd through perhaps a + couple of its acts, when in the midst of this comedy, or non-such, or + whatever it is to be call'd, and to offset it, or finish it out, as if in + Nature's and the great Muse's mockery of those poor mimes, came + interpolated that scene, not really or exactly to be described at all, + (for on the many hundreds who were there it seems to this hour to have + left a passing blur, a dream, a blotch)—and yet partially to be + described as I now proceed to give it. There is a scene in the play + representing a modern parlor in which two unprecedented English ladies are + inform'd by the impossible Yankee that he is not a man of fortune, and + therefore undesirable for marriage-catching purposes; after which, the + comments being finish'd, the dramatic trio make exit, leaving the stage + clear for a moment. At this period came the murder of Abraham Lincoln. + </p> + <p> + Great as all its manifold train, circling round it, and stretching into + the future for many a century, in the politics, history, art, &c., of + the New World, in point of fact the main thing, the actual murder, + transpired with the quiet and simplicity of any commonest occurrence—the + bursting of a bud or pod in the growth of vegetation, for instance. + Through the general hum following the stage pause, with the change of + positions, came the muffled sound of a pistol-shot, which not + one-hundredth part of the audience heard at the time—and yet a + moment's hush—somehow, surely, a vague startled thrill—and + then, through the ornamented, draperied, starr'd and striped space-way of + the President's box, a sudden figure, a man, raises himself with hands and + feet, stands a moment on the railing, leaps below to the stage, (a + distance of perhaps fourteen or fifteen feet,) falls out of position, + catching his boot-heel in the copious drapery, (the American flag,) falls + on one knee, quickly recovers himself, rises as if nothing had happen'd, + (he really sprains his ankle, but unfelt then)—and so the figure, + Booth, the murderer, dress'd in plain black broadcloth, bare-headed, with + full, glossy, raven hair, and his eyes like some mad animal's flashing + with light and resolution, yet with a certain strange calmness, holds + aloft in one hand a large knife—walks along not much back from the + footlights—turns fully toward the audience his face of statuesque + beauty, lit by those basilisk eyes, flashing with desperation, perhaps + insanity—launches out in a firm and steady voice the words <i>Sic + semper tyrannis</i>—and then walks with neither slow nor very rapid + pace diagonally across to the back of the stage, and disappears. (Had not + all this terrible scene—making the mimic ones preposterous—had + it not all been rehears'd, in blank, by Booth, beforehand?) + </p> + <p> + A moment's hush—a scream—the cry of <i>murder</i>—Mrs. + Lincoln leaning out of the box, with ashy cheeks and lips, with + involuntary cry, pointing to the retreating figure, <i>He has kill'd the + President.</i> And still a moment's strange, incredulous suspense—and + then the deluge!—then that mixture of horror, noises, uncertainty—(the + sound, somewhere back, of a horse's hoofs clattering with speed)—the + people burst through chairs and railings, and break them up—there is + inextricable confusion and terror—women faint—quite feeble + persons fall, and are trampl'd on—many cries of agony are heard—the + broad stage suddenly fills to suffocation with a dense and motley crowd, + like some horrible carnival—the audience rush generally upon it, at + least the strong men do—the actors and actresses are all there in + their play-costumes and painted faces, with mortal fright showing through + the rouge—the screams and calls, confused talk—redoubled, + trebled—two or three manage to pass up water from the stage to the + President's box—others try to clamber up—&c., &c. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of all this, the soldiers of the President's guard, with + others, suddenly drawn to the scene, burst in—(some two hundred + altogether)—they storm the house, through all the tiers, especially + the upper ones, inflam'd with fury, literally charging the audience with + fix'd bayonets, muskets and pistols, snouting <i>Clear out! clear out! you + sons of</i>——.... Such the wild scene, or a suggestion of it + rather, inside the play-house that night. + </p> + <p> + Outside, too, in the atmosphere of shock and craze, crowds of people, + fill'd with frenzy, ready to seize any outlet for it, come near committing + murder several times on innocent individuals. One such case was especially + exciting. The infuriated crowd, through some chance, got started against + one man, either for words he utter'd, or perhaps without any cause at all, + and were proceeding at once to actually hang him on a neighboring + lamp-post, when he was rescued by a few heroic policemen, who placed him + in their midst, and fought their way slowly and amid great peril toward + the station house. It was a fitting episode of the whole affair. The crowd + rushing and eddying to and fro—the night, the yells, the pale faces, + many frighten'd people trying in vain to extricate themselves—the + attack'd man, not yet freed from the jaws of death, looking like a corpse—the + silent, resolute, half-dozen policemen, with no weapons but their little + clubs, yet stern and steady through all those eddying swarms—made a + fitting side-scene to the grand tragedy of the murder. They gain'd the + station house with the protected man, whom they placed in security for the + night, and discharged him in the morning. + </p> + <p> + And in the midst of that pandemonium, infuriated soldiers, the audience + and the crowd, the stage, and all its actors and actresses, its + paint-pots, spangles, and gas-lights—the life blood from those + veins, the best and sweetest of the land, drips slowly down, and death's + ooze already begins its little bubbles on the lips. + </p> + <p> + Thus the visible incidents and surroundings of Abraham Lincoln's murder, + as they really occur'd. Thus ended the attempted secession of these + States; thus the four years' war. But the main things come subtly and + invisibly afterward, perhaps long afterward—neither military, + political, nor (great as those are,) historical. I say, certain secondary + and indirect results, out of the tragedy of this death, are, in my + opinion, greatest. Not the event of the murder itself. Not that Mr. + Lincoln strings the principal points and personages of the period, like + beads, upon the single string of his career. Not that his idiosyncrasy, in + its sudden appearance and disappearance, stamps this Republic with a stamp + more mark'd and enduring than any yet given by any one man—(more + even than Washington's;)—but, join'd with these, the immeasurable + value and meaning of that whole tragedy lies, to me, in senses finally + dearest to a nation, (and here all our own)—the imaginative and + artistic senses—the literary and dramatic ones. Not in any common or + low meaning of those terms, but a meaning precious to the race, and to + every age. A long and varied series of contradictory events arrives at + last at its highest poetic, single, central, pictorial denouement. The + whole involved, baffling, multiform whirl of the secession period comes to + a head, and is gather'd in one brief flash of lightning-illumination—one + simple, fierce deed. Its sharp culmination, and as it were solution, of so + many bloody and angry problems, illustrates those climax-moments on the + stage of universal Time, where the historic Muse at one entrance, and the + tragic Muse at the other, suddenly ringing down the curtain, close an + immense act in the long drama of creative thought, and give it radiation, + tableau, stranger than fiction. Fit radiation—fit close! How the + imagination—how the student loves these things! America, too, is to + have them. For not in all great deaths, nor far or near—not Caesar + in the Roman senate-house, or Napoleon passing away in the wild + night-storm at St. Helena—not Paleologus, falling, desperately + fighting, piled over dozens deep with Grecian corpses—not calm old + Socrates, drinking the hemlock—outvies that terminus of the + secession war, in one man's life, here in our midst, in our own time—that + seal of the emancipation of three million slaves—that parturition + and delivery of our at last really free Republic, born again, henceforth + to commence its career of genuine homogeneous Union, compact, consistent + with itself. + </p> + <p> + Nor will ever future American Patriots and Unionists, indifferently over + the whole land, or North or South, find a better moral to their lesson. + The final use of the greatest men of a Nation is, after all, not with + reference to their deeds in themselves, or their direct bearing on their + times or lands. The final use of a heroic-eminent life—especially of + a heroic-eminent death—is its indirect filtering into the nation and + the race, and to give, often at many removes, but unerringly, age after + age, color and fibre to the personalism of the youth and maturity of that + age, and of mankind. Then there is a cement to the whole people, subtler, + more underlying, than any thing in written constitution, or courts or + armies—namely, the cement of a death identified thoroughly with that + people, at its head, and for its sake. Strange, (is it not?) that battles, + martyrs, agonies, blood, even assassination, should so condense—perhaps + only really, lastingly condense—a Nationality. + </p> + <p> + I repeat it—the grand deaths of the race—the dramatic deaths + of every nationality—are its most important inheritance-value—in + some respects beyond its literature and art—(as the hero is beyond + his finest portrait, and the battle itself beyond its choicest song or + epic.) Is not here indeed the point underlying all tragedy? the famous + pieces of the Grecian masters—and all masters? Why, if the old + Greeks had had this man, what trilogies of plays—what epics—would + have been made out of him! How the rhapsodes would have recited him! How + quickly that quaint tall form would have enter'd into the region where men + vitalize gods, and gods divinify men! But Lincoln, his times, his death—great + as any, any age—belong altogether to our own, and our autochthonic. + (Sometimes indeed I think our American days, our own stage—the + actors we know and have shaken hands, or talk'd with—more fateful + than anything in Eschylus—more heroic than the fighters around Troy—afford + kings of men for our Democracy prouder than Agamemnon—models of + character cute and hardy as Ulysses—deaths more pitiful than + Priam's.) + </p> + <p> + When, centuries hence, (as it must, in my opinion, be centuries hence + before the life of these States, or of Democracy, can be really written + and illustrated,) the leading historians and dramatists seek for some + personage, some special event, incisive enough to mark with deepest cut, + and mnemonize, this turbulent Nineteenth century of ours, (not only these + States, but all over the political and social world)—something, + perhaps, to close that gorgeous procession of European feudalism, with all + its pomp and caste-prejudices, (of whose long train we in America are yet + so inextricably the heirs)—something to identify with terrible + identification, by far the greatest revolutionary step in the history of + the United States, (perhaps the greatest of the world, our century)—the + absolute extirpation and erasure of slavery from the States—those + historians will seek in vain for any point to serve more thoroughly their + purpose, than Abraham Lincoln's death. + </p> + <p> + Dear to the Muse—thrice dear to Nationality—to the whole human + race—precious to this Union—precious to Democracy—unspeakably + and forever precious—their first great Martyr Chief. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWO LETTERS + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <h3> + TO — — — LONDON, ENGLAND + </h3> + <p> + <i>Camden, N.J., U.S. America, March 17th, 1876.</i> DEAR FRIEND:—Yours + of the 28th Feb. receiv'd, and indeed welcom'd. I am jogging along still + about the same in physical condition—still certainly no worse, and I + sometimes lately suspect rather better, or at any rate more adjusted to + the situation. Even begin to think of making some move, some change of + base, &c.: the doctors have been advising it for over two years, but I + haven't felt to do it yet. My paralysis does not lift—I cannot walk + any distance—I still have this baffling, obstinate, apparently + chronic affection of the stomachic apparatus and liver: yet I get out of + doors a little every day—write and read in moderation—appetite + sufficiently good—(eat only very plain food, but always did that)—digestion + tolerable—spirits unflagging. I have told you most of this before, + but suppose you might like to know it all again, up to date. Of course, + and pretty darkly coloring the whole, are bad spells, prostrations, some + pretty grave ones, intervals—and I have resign'd myself to the + certainty of permanent incapacitation from solid work: but things may + continue at least in this half-and-half way for months, even years. + </p> + <p> + My books are out, the new edition; a set of which, immediately on + receiving your letter of 28th, I have sent you, (by mail, March 15,) and I + suppose you have before this receiv'd them. My dear friend, your offers of + help, and those of my other British friends, I think I fully appreciate, + in the right spirit, welcome and acceptive—leaving the matter + altogether in your and their hands, and to your and their convenience, + discretion, leisure, and nicety. Though poor now, even to penury, I have + not so far been deprived of any physical thing I need or wish whatever, + and I feel confident I shall not in the future. During my employment of + seven years or more in Washington after the war (1865-'72) I regularly + saved part of my wages: and, though the sum has now become about exhausted + by my expenses of the last three years, there are already beginning at + present welcome dribbles hitherward from the sales of my new edition, + which I just job and sell, myself, (all through this illness, my + book-agents for three years in New York successively, badly cheated me,) + and shall continue to dispose of the books myself. And that is the way I + should prefer to glean my support. In that way I cheerfully accept all the + aid my friends find it convenient to proffer. + </p> + <p> + To repeat a little, and without undertaking details, understand, dear + friend, for yourself and all, that I heartily and most affectionately + thank my British friends, and that I accept their sympathetic generosity + in the same spirit in which I believe (nay, know) it is offer'd—that + though poor I am not in want—that I maintain good heart and cheer; + and that by far the most satisfaction to me (and I think it can be done, + and believe it will be) will be to live, as long as possible, on the + sales, by myself, of my own works, and perhaps, if practicable, by further + writings for the press. + </p> + <h3> + W. W. + </h3> + <p> + I am prohibited from writing too much, and I must make this candid + statement of the situation serve for all my dear friends over there. + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <h3> + TO — — — DRESDEN, SAXONY + </h3> + <p> + <i>Camden, New Jersey, U.S.A., Dec. 20, '81.</i> DEAR SIR:—Your + letter asking definite endorsement to your translation of my "Leaves of + Grass" into Russian is just received, and I hasten to answer it. Most + warmly and willingly I consent to the translation, and waft a prayerful + God speed to the enterprise. + </p> + <p> + You Russians and we Americans! Our countries so distant, so unlike at + first glance—such a difference in social and political conditions, + and our respective methods of moral and practical development the last + hundred years;—and yet in certain features, and vastest ones, so + resembling each other. The variety of stock-elements and tongues, to be + resolutely fused in a common identity and union at all hazards—the + idea, perennial through the ages, that they both have their historic and + divine mission—the fervent element of manly friendship throughout + the whole people, surpass'd by no other races—the grand expanse of + territorial limits and boundaries—the unform'd and nebulous state of + many things, not yet permanently settled, but agreed on all hands to be + the preparations of an infinitely greater future—the fact that both + Peoples have their independent and leading positions to hold, keep, and if + necessary, fight for, against the rest of the world—the deathless + aspirations at the inmost centre of each great community, so vehement, so + mysterious, so abysmic—are certainly features you Russians and we + Americans possess in common. As my dearest dream is for an + internationality of poems and poets binding the lands of the earth closer + than all treaties and diplomacy—as the purpose beneath the rest in + my book is such hearty comradeship, for individuals to begin with, and for + all the nations of the earth as a result—how happy I should be to + get the hearing and emotional contact of the great Russian peoples. + </p> + <p> + To whom, now and here, (addressing you for Russia and Russians and + empowering you, should you see fit, to print the present letter, in your + book, as a preface,) I waft affectionate salutation from these shores, in + America's name. + </p> + <h3> + W. W. + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_NOTE" id="link2H_NOTE"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NOTES LEFT OVER + </h2> + <p> + NATIONALITY—(AND YET) It is more and more clear to me that the main + sustenance for highest separate personality, these States, is to come from + that general sustenance of the aggregate, (as air, earth, rains, give + sustenance to a tree)—and that such personality, by democratic + standards, will only be fully coherent, grand and free, through the + cohesion, grandeur and freedom of the common aggregate, the Union. Thus + the existence of the true American continental solidarity of the future, + depending on myriads of superb, large-sized, emotional and physically + perfect individualities, of one sex just as much as the other, the supply + of such individualities, in my opinion, wholly depends on a compacted + imperial ensemble. The theory and practice of both sovereignties, + contradictory as they are, are necessary. As the centripetal law were + fatal alone, or the centrifugal law deadly and destructive alone, but + together forming the law of eternal kosmical action, evolution, + preservation, and life—so, by itself alone, the fullness of + individuality, even the sanest, would surely destroy itself. This is what + makes the importance to the identities of these States of the thoroughly + fused, relentless, dominating Union—a moral and spiritual idea, + subjecting all the parts with remorseless power, more needed by American + democracy than by any of history's hitherto empires or feudalities, and + the <i>sine qua non</i> of carrying out the republican principle to + develop itself in the New World through hundreds, thousands of years to + come. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, what most needs fostering through the hundred years to come, in + all parts of the United States, north, south, Mississippi valley, and + Atlantic and Pacific coasts, is this fused and fervent identity of the + individual, whoever he or she may be, and wherever the place, with the + idea and fact of AMERICAN TOTALITY, and with what is meant by the Flag, + the stars and stripes. We need this conviction of nationality as a faith, + to be absorb'd in the blood and belief of the People everywhere, south, + north, west, east, to emanate in their life, and in native literature and + art. We want the germinal idea that America, inheritor of the past, is the + custodian of the future of humanity. Judging from history, it is some such + moral and spiritual ideas appropriate to them, (and such ideas only,) that + have made the profoundest glory and endurance of nations in the past. The + races of Judea, the classic clusters of Greece and Rome, and the feudal + and ecclesiastical clusters of the Middle Ages, were each and all + vitalized by their separate distinctive ideas, ingrain'd in them, + redeeming many sins, and indeed, in a sense, the principal reason-why for + their whole career. + </p> + <p> + Then, in the thought of nationality especially for the United States, and + making them original, and different from all other countries, another + point ever remains to be considered. There are two distinct principles—aye, + paradoxes—at the life-fountain and life-continuation of the States; + one, the sacred principle of the Union, the right of ensemble, at whatever + sacrifice—and yet another, an equally sacred principle, the right of + each State, consider'd as a separate sovereign individual, in its own + sphere. Some go zealously for one set of these rights, and some as + zealously for the other set. We must have both; or rather, bred out of + them, as out of mother and father, a third set, the perennial result and + combination of both, and neither jeopardized. I say the loss or abdication + of one set, in the future, will be ruin to democracy just as much as the + loss of the other set. The problem is, to harmoniously adjust the two, and + the play of the two. {Observe the lesson of the divinity of Nature, ever + checking the excess of one law, by an opposite, or seemingly opposite law—generally + the other side of the same law.} For the theory of this Republic is, not + that the General government is the fountain of all life and power, + dispensing it forth, around, and to the remotest portions of our + territory, but that THE PEOPLE are, represented in both, underlying both + the General and State governments, and consider'd just as well in their + individualities and in their separate aggregates, or States, as consider'd + in one vast aggregate, the Union. This was the original dual theory and + foundation of the United States, as distinguish'd from the feudal and + ecclesiastical single idea of monarchies and papacies, and the divine + right of kings. (Kings have been of use, hitherto, as representing the + idea of the identity of nations. But, to American democracy, <i>both</i> + ideas must be fulfill'd, and in my opinion the loss of vitality of either + one will indeed be the loss of vitality of the other.) + </p> + <h3> + EMERSON'S BOOKS, (THE SHADOWS OF THEM) + </h3> + <p> + In the regions we call Nature, towering beyond all measurement, with + infinite spread, infinite depth and height—in those regions, + including Man, socially and historically, with his moral-emotional + influences—how small a part, (it came in my mind to-day,) has + literature really depicted—even summing up all of it, all ages. + Seems at its best some little fleet of boats, hugging the shores of a + boundless sea, and never venturing, exploring the unmapp'd—never, + Columbus-like, sailing out for New Worlds, and to complete the orb's + rondure. Emerson writes frequently in the atmosphere of this thought, and + his books report one or two things from that very ocean and air, and more + legibly address'd to our age and American polity than by any man yet. But + I will begin by scarifying him—thus proving that I am not insensible + to his deepest lessons. I will consider his books from a democratic and + western point of view. I will specify the shadows on these sunny expanses. + Somebody has said of heroic character that "wherever the tallest peaks are + present, must inevitably be deep chasms and valleys." Mine be the + ungracious task (for reasons) of leaving unmention'd both sunny expanses + and sky-reaching heights, to dwell on the bare spots and darknesses. I + have a theory that no artist or work of the very first class may be or can + be without them. + </p> + <p> + First, then, these pages are perhaps too perfect, too concentrated. (How + good, for instance, is good butter, good sugar. But to be eating nothing + but sugar and butter all the time! even if ever so good.) And though the + author has much to say of freedom and wildness and simplicity and + spontaneity, no performance was ever more based on artificial scholarships + and decorums at third or fourth removes, (he calls it culture,) and built + up from them. It is always a <i>make</i>, never an unconscious <i>growth</i>. + It is the porcelain figure or statuette of lion, or stag, or Indian hunter—and + a very choice statuette too—appropriate for the rosewood or marble + bracket of parlor or library; never the animal itself, or the hunter + himself. Indeed, who wants the real animal or hunter? What would that do + amid astral and bric-a-brac and tapestry, and ladies and gentlemen talking + in subdued tones of Browning and Longfellow and art? The least suspicion + of such actual bull, or Indian, or of Nature carrying out itself, would + put all those good people to instant terror and flight. + </p> + <p> + Emerson, in my opinion, is not most eminent as poet or artist or teacher, + though valuable in all those. He is best as critic, or diagnoser. Not + passion or imagination or warp or weakness, or any pronounced cause or + specialty, dominates him. Cold and bloodless intellectuality dominates + him. (I know the fires, emotions, love, egotisms, glow deep, perennial, as + in all New Englanders—but the façade, hides them well—they + give no sign.) He does not see or take one side, one presentation only or + mainly, (as all the poets, or most of the fine writers anyhow)—he + sees all sides. His final influence is to make his students cease to + worship anything—almost cease to believe in anything, outside of + themselves. These books will fill, and well fill, certain stretches of + life, certain stages of development—are, (like the tenets or + theology the author of them preach'd when a young man,) unspeakably + serviceable and precious as a stage. But in old or nervous or solemnest or + dying hours, when one needs the impalpably soothing and vitalizing + influences of abysmic Nature, or its affinities in literature or human + society, and the soul resents the keenest mere intellection, they will not + be sought for. + </p> + <p> + For a philosopher, Emerson possesses a singularly dandified theory of + manners. He seems to have no notion at all that manners are simply the + signs by which the chemist or metallurgist knows his metals. To the + profound scientist, all metals are profound, as they really are. The + little one, like the conventional world, will make much of gold and silver + only. Then to the real artist in humanity, what are called bad manners are + often the most picturesque and significant of all. Suppose these books + becoming absorb'd, the permanent chyle of American general and particular + character—what a well-wash'd and grammatical, but bloodless and + helpless, race we should turn out! No, no, dear friend; though the States + want scholars, undoubtedly, and perhaps want ladies and gentlemen who use + the bath frequently, and never laugh loud, or talk wrong, they don't want + scholars, or ladies and gentlemen, at the expense of all the rest. They + want good farmers, sailors, mechanics, clerks, citizens—perfect + business and social relations—perfect fathers and mothers. If we + could only have these, or their approximations, plenty of them, fine and + large and sane and generous and patriotic, they might make their verbs + disagree from their nominatives, and laugh like volleys of musketeers, if + they should please. Of course these are not all America wants, but they + are first of all to be provided on a large scale. And, with tremendous + errors and escapades, this, substantially, is what the States seem to have + an intuition of, and to be mainly aiming at. The plan of a select class, + superfined, (demarcated from the rest,) the plan of Old World lands and + literatures, is not so objectionable in itself, but because it chokes the + true plan for us, and indeed is death to it. As to such special class, the + United States can never produce any equal to the splendid show, (far, far + beyond comparison or competition here,) of the principal European nations, + both in the past and at the present day. But an immense and distinctive + commonalty over our vast and varied area, west and east, south and north—in + fact, for the first time in history, a great, aggregated, real PEOPLE, + worthy the name, and made of develop'd heroic individuals, both sexes—is + America's principal, perhaps only, reason for being. If ever accomplish'd, + it will be at least as much, (I lately think, doubly as much,) the result + of fitting and democratic sociologies, literatures and arts—if we + ever get them—as of our democratic politics. + </p> + <p> + At times it has been doubtful to me if Emerson really knows or feels what + Poetry is at its highest, as in the Bible, for instance, or Homer or + Shakspere. I see he covertly or plainly likes best superb verbal polish, + or something old or odd—Waller's "Go, lovely rose," or Lovelace's + lines "to Lucusta"—the quaint conceits of the old French bards, and + the like. Of <i>power</i> he seems to have a gentleman's admiration—but + in his inmost heart the grandest attribute of God and Poets is always + subordinate to the octaves, conceits, polite kinks, and verbs. + </p> + <p> + The reminiscence that years ago I began like most youngsters to have a + touch (though it came late, and was only on the surface) of + Emerson-on-the-brain—that I read his writings reverently, and + address'd him in print as "Master," and for a month or so thought of him + as such—I retain not only with composure, but positive satisfaction. + I have noticed that most young people of eager minds pass through this + stage of exercise. + </p> + <p> + The best part of Emersonianism is, it breeds the giant that destroys + itself. Who wants to be any man's mere follower? lurks behind every page. + No teacher ever taught, that has so provided for his pupil's setting up + independently—no truer evolutionist. + </p> + <h3> + VENTURES, ON AN OLD THEME + </h3> + <h3> + A DIALOGUE— + </h3> + <p> + <i>One party says</i>—We arrange our lives—even the best and + boldest men and women that exist, just as much as the most limited—with + reference to what society conventionally rules and makes right. We retire + to our rooms for freedom; to undress, bathe, unloose everything in + freedom. These, and much else, would not be proper in society. + </p> + <p> + <i>Other party answers</i>—Such is the rule of society. Not always + so, and considerable exceptions still exist. However, it must be called + the general rule, sanction'd by immemorial usage, and will probably always + remain so. + </p> + <p> + <i>First party</i>—Why not, then, respect it in your poems? + </p> + <p> + <i>Answer</i>—One reason, and to me a profound one, is that the soul + of a man or woman demands, enjoys compensation in the highest directions + for this very restraint of himself or herself, level'd to the average, or + rather mean, low, however eternally practical, requirements of society's + intercourse. To balance this indispensable abnegation, the free minds of + poets relieve themselves, and strengthen and enrich mankind with free + flights in all the directions not tolerated by ordinary society. + </p> + <p> + <i>First party</i>—But must not outrage or give offence to it. + </p> + <p> + <i>Answer</i>—No, not in the deepest sense—and do not, and + cannot. The vast averages of time and the race <i>en masse</i> settle + these things. Only understand that the conventional standards and laws + proper enough for ordinary society apply neither to the action of the + soul, nor its poets. In fact the latter know no laws but the laws of + themselves, planted in them by God, and are themselves the last standards + of the law, and its final exponents—responsible to Him directly, and + not at all to mere etiquette. Often the best service that can be done to + the race, is to lift the veil, at least for a time, from these rules and + fossil-etiquettes. + </p> + <p> + NEW POETRY—<i>California, Canada, Texas</i>.—In my opinion the + time has arrived to essentially break down the barriers of form between + prose and poetry. I say the latter is henceforth to win and maintain its + character regardless of rhyme, and the measurement-rules of iambic, + spondee, dactyl, &c., and that even if rhyme and those measurements + continue to furnish the medium for inferior writers and themes, + (especially for persiflage and the comic, as there seems henceforward, to + the perfect taste, something inevitably comic in rhyme, merely in itself, + and anyhow,) the truest and greatest <i>Poetry</i>, (while subtly and + necessarily always rhythmic, and distinguishable easily enough,) can never + again, in the English language, be express'd in arbitrary and rhyming + metre, any more than the greatest eloquence, or the truest power and + passion. While admitting that the venerable and heavenly forms of chiming + versification have in their time play'd great and fitting parts—that + the pensive complaint, the ballads, wars, amours, legends of Europe, &c., + have, many of them, been inimitably render'd in rhyming verse—that + there have been very illustrious poets whose shapes the mantle of such + verse has beautifully and appropriately envelopt—and though the + mantle has fallen, with perhaps added beauty, on some of our own age—it + is, not-withstanding, certain to me, that the day of such conventional + rhyme is ended. In America, at any rate, and as a medium of highest + esthetic practical or spiritual expression, present or future, it palpably + fails, and must fail, to serve. The Muse of the Prairies, of California, + Canada, Texas, and of the peaks of Colorado, dismissing the literary, as + well as social etiquette of over-sea feudalism and caste, joyfully + enlarging, adapting itself to comprehend the size of the whole people, + with the free play, emotions, pride, passions, experiences, that belong to + them, body and soul—to the general globe, and all its relations in + astronomy, as the savans portray them to us—to the modern, the busy + Nineteenth century, (as grandly poetic as any, only different,) with + steamships, railroads, factories, electric telegraphs, cylinder presses—to + the thought of the solidarity of nations, the brotherhood and sisterhood + of the entire earth—to the dignity and heroism of the practical + labor of farms, factories, foundries, workshops, mines, or on shipboard, + or on lakes and rivers—resumes that other medium of expression, more + flexible, more eligible—soars to the freer, vast, diviner heaven of + prose. + </p> + <p> + Of poems of the third or fourth class, (perhaps even some of the second,) + it makes little or no difference who writes them—they are good + enough for what they are; nor is it necessary that they should be actual + emanations from the personality and life of the writers. The very reverse + sometimes gives piquancy. But poems of the first class, (poems of the + depth, as distinguished from those of the surface,) are to be sternly + tallied with the poets themselves, and tried by them and their lives. Who + wants a glorification of courage and manly defiance from a coward or a + sneak?—a ballad of benevolence or chastity from some rhyming hunks, + or lascivious, glib <i>roué</i>? + </p> + <p> + In these States, beyond all precedent, poetry will have to do with actual + facts, with the concrete States, and—for we have not much more than + begun—with the definitive getting into shape of the Union. Indeed I + sometimes think <i>it</i> alone is to define the Union, (namely, to give + it artistic character, spirituality, dignity.) What American humanity is + most in danger of is an overwhelming prosperity, "business" worldliness, + materialism: what is most lacking, east, west, north, south, is a fervid + and glowing Nationality and patriotism, cohering all the parts into one. + Who may fend that danger, and fill that lack in the future, but a class of + loftiest poets? + </p> + <p> + If the United States haven't grown poets, on any scale of grandeur, it is + certain they import, print, and read more poetry than any equal number of + people elsewhere—probably more than all the rest of the world + combined. + </p> + <p> + Poetry (like a grand personality) is a growth of many generations—many + rare combinations. + </p> + <p> + To have great poets, there must be great audiences, too. + </p> + <h3> + BRITISH LITERATURE + </h3> + <p> + To avoid mistake, I would say that I not only commend the study of this + literature, but wish our sources of supply and comparison vastly enlarged. + American students may well derive from all former lands—from + forenoon Greece and Rome, down to the perturb'd mediaeval times, the + Crusades, and so to Italy, the German intellect—all the older + literatures, and all the newer ones—from witty and warlike France, + and markedly, and in many ways, and at many different periods, from the + enterprise and soul of the great Spanish race—bearing ourselves + always courteous, always deferential, indebted beyond measure to the + mother-world, to all its nations dead, as all its nations living—the + offspring, this America of ours, the daughter, not by any means of the + British isles exclusively, but of the continent, and all continents. + Indeed, it is time we should realize and fully fructify those germs we + also hold from Italy, France, Spain, especially in the best imaginative + productions of those lands, which are, in many ways, loftier and subtler + than the English, or British, and indispensable to complete our service, + proportions, education, reminiscences, &c.... The British element + these States hold, and have always held, enormously beyond its fit + proportions. I have already spoken of Shakspere. He seems to me of astral + genius, first class, entirely fit for feudalism. His contributions, + especially to the literature of the passions, are immense, forever dear to + humanity—and his name is always to be reverenced in America. But + there is much in him ever offensive to democracy. He is not only the tally + of feudalism, but I should say Shakspere is incarnated, uncompromising + feudalism, in literature. Then one seems to detect something in him—I + hardly know how to describe it—even amid the dazzle of his genius; + and, in inferior manifestations, it is found in nearly all leading British + authors. (Perhaps we will have to import the words Snob, Snobbish, &c., + after all.) While of the great poems of Asian antiquity, the Indian epics, + the book of Job, the Ionian Iliad, the unsurpassedly simple, loving, + perfect idyls of the life and death of Christ, in the New Testament, + (indeed Homer and the Biblical utterances intertwine familiarly with us, + in the main,) and along down, of most of the characteristic, imaginative + or romantic relics of the continent, as the Cid, Cervantes' Don Quixote, + &c., I should say they substantially adjust themselves to us, and, far + off as they are, accord curiously with our bed and board to-day, in New + York, Washington, Canada, Ohio, Texas, California—and with our + notions, both of seriousness and of fun, and our standards of heroism, + manliness, and even the democratic requirements—those requirements + are not only not fulfill'd in the Shaksperean productions, but are + insulted on every page. + </p> + <p> + I add that—while England is among the greatest of lands in political + freedom, or the idea of it, and in stalwart personal character, &c.—the + spirit of English literature is not great, at least is not greatest—and + its products are no models for us. With the exception of Shakspere, there + is no first-class genius in that literature—which, with a truly vast + amount of value, and of artificial beauty, (largely from the classics,) is + almost always material, sensual, not spiritual—almost always + congests, makes plethoric, not frees, expands, dilates—is cold, + anti-democratic, loves to be sluggish and stately, and shows much of that + characteristic of vulgar persons, the dread of saying or doing something + not at all improper in itself, but unconventional, and that may be laugh'd + at. In its best, the sombre pervades it; it is moody, melancholy, and, to + give it its due, expresses, in characters and plots, those qualities, in + an unrival'd manner. Yet not as the black thunder-storms, and in great + normal, crashing passions, of the Greek dramatists—clearing the air, + refreshing afterward, bracing with power; but as in Hamlet, moping, sick, + uncertain, and leaving ever after a secret taste for the blues, the morbid + fascination, the luxury of wo.... + </p> + <p> + I strongly recommend all the young men and young women of the United + States to whom it may be eligible, to overhaul the well-freighted fleets, + the literatures of Italy, Spain, France, Germany, so full of those + elements of freedom, self-possession, gay-heartedness, subtlety, dilation, + needed in preparations for the future of the States. I only wish we could + have really good translations. I rejoice at the feeling for Oriental + researches and poetry, and hope it will go on. + </p> + <h3> + DARWINISM—(THEN FURTHERMORE) + </h3> + <p> + Running through prehistoric ages—coming down from them into the + daybreak of our records, founding theology, suffusing literature, and so + brought onward—(a sort of verteber and marrow to all the antique + races and lands, Egypt, India, Greece, Rome, the Chinese, the Jews, &c., + and giving cast and complexion to their art, poems, and their politics as + well as ecclesiasticism, all of which we more or less inherit,) appear + those venerable claims to origin from God himself, or from gods and + goddesses—ancestry from divine beings of vaster beauty, size, and + power than ours. But in current and latest times, the theory of human + origin that seems to have most made its mark, (curiously reversing the + antique,) is that we have come on, originated, developt, from monkeys, + baboons—a theory more significant perhaps in its indirections, or + what it necessitates, than it is even in itself. (Of the twain, far apart + as they seem, and angrily as their conflicting advocates to-day oppose + each other, are not both theories to be possibly reconcil'd, and even + blended? Can we, indeed, spare either of them? Better still, out of them + is not a third theory, the real one, or suggesting the real one, to + arise?) + </p> + <p> + Of this old theory, evolution, as broach'd anew, trebled, with indeed + all-devouring claims, by Darwin, it has so much in it, and is so needed as + a counterpoise to yet widely prevailing and unspeakably tenacious, + enfeebling superstitions—is fused, by the new man, into such grand, + modest, truly scientific accompaniments—that the world of erudition, + both moral and physical, cannot but be eventually better'd and broaden'd + in its speculations, from the advent of Darwinism. Nevertheless, the + problem of origins, human and other, is not the least whit nearer its + solution. In due time the Evolution theory will have to abate its + vehemence, cannot be allow'd to dominate every thing else, and will have + to take its place as a segment of the circle, the cluster—as but one + of many theories, many thoughts, of profoundest value—and + re-adjusting and differentiating much, yet leaving the divine secrets just + as inexplicable and unreachable as before—maybe more so. + </p> + <p> + <i>Then furthermore</i>—What is finally to be done by priest or poet—and + by priest or poet only—amid all the stupendous and dazzling + novelties of our century, with the advent of America, and of science and + democracy—remains just as indispensable, after all the work of the + grand astronomers, chemists, linguists, historians, and explorers of the + last hundred years—and the wondrous German and other metaphysicians + of that time—and will continue to remain, needed, America and here, + just the same as in the world of Europe, or Asia, of a hundred, or a + thousand, or several thousand years ago. I think indeed <i>more</i> + needed, to furnish statements from the present points, the added arriere, + and the unspeakably immenser vistas of to-day. Only, the priests and poets + of the modern, at least as exalted as any in the past, fully absorbing and + appreciating the results of the past, in the commonalty of all humanity, + all time, (the main results already, for there is perhaps nothing more, or + at any rate not much, strictly new, only more important modern + combinations, and new relative adjustments,) must indeed recast the old + metal, the already achiev'd material, into and through new moulds, current + forms. + </p> + <p> + Meantime, the highest and subtlest and broadest truths of modern science + wait for their true assignment and last vivid flashes of light—as + Democracy waits for it's—through first-class metaphysicians and + speculative philosophs—laying the basements and foundations for + those new, more expanded, more harmonious, more melodious, freer American + poems. + </p> + <h3> + "SOCIETY" + </h3> + <p> + I have myself little or no hope from what is technically called "Society" + in our American cities. New York, of which place I have spoken so sharply, + still promises something, in time, out of its tremendous and varied + materials, with a certain superiority of intuitions, and the advantage of + constant agitation, and ever new and rapid dealings of the cards. Of + Boston, with its circles of social mummies, swathed in cerements harder + than brass—its bloodless religion, (Unitarianism,) its complacent + vanity of scientism and literature, lots of grammatical correctness, mere + knowledge, (always wearisome, in itself)—its zealous abstractions, + ghosts of reforms—I should say, (ever admitting its business powers, + its sharp, almost demoniac, intellect, and no lack, in its own way, of + courage and generosity)—there is, at present, little of cheering, + satisfying sign. In the West, California, &c., "society" is yet + unform'd, puerile, seemingly unconscious of anything above a driving + business, or to liberally spend the money made by it, in the usual rounds + and shows. + </p> + <p> + Then there is, to the humorous observer of American attempts at fashion, + according to the models of foreign courts and saloons, quite a comic side—particularly + visible at Washington city—a sort of high-life-below-stairs + business. As if any farce could be funnier, for instance, than the scenes + of the crowds, winter nights, meandering around our Presidents and their + wives, cabinet officers, western or other Senators, Representatives, &c.; + born of good laboring mechanic or farmer stock and antecedents, attempting + those full-dress receptions, finesse of parlors, foreign ceremonies, + etiquettes, &c. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, consider'd with any sense of propriety, or any sense at all, the + whole of this illy-play'd fashionable play and display, with their + absorption of the best part of our wealthier citizens' time, money, + energies, &c., is ridiculously out of place in the United States. As + if our proper man and woman, (far, far greater words than "gentleman" and + "lady,") could still fail to see, and presently achieve, not this spectral + business, but something truly noble, active, sane, American—by + modes, perfections of character, manners, costumes, social relations, + &c., adjusted to standards, far, far different from those. + </p> + <p> + Eminent and liberal foreigners, British or continental, must at times have + their faith fearfully tried by what they see of our New World + personalities. The shallowest and least American persons seem surest to + push abroad, and call without fail on well-known foreigners, who are + doubtless affected with indescribable qualms by these queer ones. Then, + more than half of our authors and writers evidently think it a great thing + to be "aristocratic," and sneer at progress, democracy, revolution, etc. + If some international literary snobs' gallery were establish'd, it is + certain that America could contribute at least her full share of the + portraits, and some very distinguish'd ones. Observe that the most + impudent slanders, low insults, &c., on the great revolutionary + authors, leaders, poets, &c., of Europe, have their origin and main + circulation in certain circles here. The treatment of Victor Hugo living, + and Byron dead, are samples. Both deserving so well of America, and both + persistently attempted to be soil'd here by unclean birds, male and + female. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile I must still offset the like of the foregoing, and all it + infers, by the recognition of the fact, that while the surfaces of current + society here show so much that is dismal, noisome, and vapory, there are, + beyond question, inexhaustible supplies, as of true gold ore, in the mines + of America's general humanity. Let us, not ignoring the dross, give fit + stress to these precious immortal values also. Let it be distinctly + admitted, that—whatever may be said of our fashionable society, and + of any foul fractions and episodes—only here in America, out of the + long history and manifold presentations of the ages, has at last arisen, + and now stands, what never before took positive form and sway, <i>the + People</i>—and that view'd en masse, and while fully acknowledging + deficiencies, dangers, faults, this people, inchoate, latent, not yet come + to majority, nor to its own religious, literary, or esthetic expression, + yet affords, to-day, an exultant justification of all the faith, all the + hopes and prayers and prophecies of good men through the past—the + stablest, solidest-based government of the world—the most assured in + a future—the beaming Pharos to whose perennial light all earnest + eyes, the world over, are tending—and that already, in and from it, + the democratic principle, having been mortally tried by severest tests, + fatalities of war and peace, now issues from the trial, unharm'd, + trebly-invigorated, perhaps to commence forthwith its finally triumphant + march around the globe. + </p> + <p> + THE TRAMP AND STRIKE QUESTIONS: <i>Part of a Lecture proposed, (never + deliver'd)</i> + </p> + <p> + Two grim and spectral dangers—dangerous to peace, to health, to + social security, to progress—long known in concrete to the + governments of the Old World, and there eventuating, more than once or + twice, in dynastic overturns, bloodshed, days, months, of terror—seem + of late years to be nearing the New World, nay, to be gradually + establishing themselves among us. What mean these phantoms here? (I + personify them in fictitious shapes, but they are very real.) Is the fresh + and broad demesne of America destined also to give them foothold and + lodgment, permanent domicile? + </p> + <p> + Beneath the whole political world, what most presses and perplexes to-day, + sending vastest results affecting the future, is not the abstract question + of democracy, but of social and economic organization, the treatment of + working-people by employers, and all that goes along with it—not + only the wages-payment part, but a certain spirit and principle, to vivify + anew these relations; all the questions of progress, strength, tariffs, + finance, &c., really evolving themselves more or less directly out of + the Poverty Question, ("the Science of Wealth," and a dozen other names + are given it, but I prefer the severe one just used.) I will begin by + calling the reader's attention to a thought upon the matter which may not + have struck you before—the wealth of the civilized world, as + contrasted with its poverty—what does it derivatively stand for, and + represent? A rich person ought to have a strong stomach. As in Europe the + wealth of to-day mainly results from, and represents, the rapine, murder, + outrages, treachery, hoggishness, of hundreds of years ago, and onward, + later, so in America, after the same token—(not yet so bad, perhaps, + or at any rate not so palpable—we have not existed long enough—but + we seem to be doing our best to make it up.) + </p> + <p> + Curious as it may seem, it is in what are call'd the poorest, lowest + characters you will sometimes, nay generally, find glints of the most + sublime virtues, eligibilities, heroisms. Then it is doubtful whether the + State is to be saved, either in the monotonous long run, or in tremendous + special crises, by its good people only. When the storm is deadliest, and + the disease most imminent, help often comes from strange quarters—(the + homoeopathic motto, you remember, <i>cure the bite with a hair of the same + dog.)</i> + </p> + <p> + The American Revolution of 1776 was simply a great strike, successful for + its immediate object—but whether a real success judged by the scale + of the centuries, and the long-striking balance of Time, yet remains to be + settled. The French Revolution was absolutely a strike, and a very + terrible and relentless one, against ages of bad pay, unjust division of + wealth-products, and the hoggish monopoly of a few, rolling in + superfluity, against the vast bulk of the work-people, living in squalor. + </p> + <p> + If the United States, like the countries of the Old World, are also to + grow vast crops of poor, desperate, dissatisfied, nomadic, miserably-waged + populations, such as we see looming upon us of late years—steadily, + even if slowly, eating into them like a cancer of lungs or stomach—then + our republican experiment, notwithstanding all its surface-successes, is + at heart an unhealthy failure. + </p> + <p> + <i>Feb. '79.</i>—I saw to-day a sight I had never seen before—and + it amazed, and made me serious; three quite good-looking American men, of + respectable personal presence, two of them young, carrying chiffonier-bags + on their shoulders, and the usual long iron hooks in their hands, plodding + along, their eyes cast down, spying for scraps, rags, bones, &c. + </p> + <h3> + DEMOCRACY IN THE NEW WORLD + </h3> + <p> + Estimated and summ'd-up to-day, having thoroughly justified itself the + past hundred years, (as far as growth, vitality and power are concern'd,) + by severest and most varied trials of peace and war, and having + establish'd itself for good, with all its necessities and benefits, for + time to come, is now to be seriously consider'd also in its pronounc'd and + already developt dangers. While the battle was raging, and the result + suspended, all defections and criticisms were to be hush'd, and everything + bent with vehemence unmitigated toward the urge of victory. But that + victory settled, new responsibilities advance. I can conceive of no better + service in the United States, henceforth, by democrats of thorough and + heart-felt faith, than boldly exposing the weakness, liabilities and + infinite corruptions of democracy. By the unprecedented opening-up of + humanity en-masse in the United States, the last hundred years, under our + institutions, not only the good qualities of the race, but just as much + the bad ones, are prominently brought forward. Man is about the same, in + the main, whether with despotism, or whether with freedom. + </p> + <p> + "The ideal form of human society," Canon Kingsley declares, "is democracy. + A nation—and were it even possible, a whole world—of free men, + lifting free foreheads to God and Nature; calling no man master, for One + is their master, even God; knowing and doing their duties toward the Maker + of the universe, and therefore to each other; not from fear, nor + calculation of profit or loss, but because they have seen the beauty of + righteousness, and trust, and peace; because the law of God is in their + hearts. Such a nation—such a society—what nobler conception of + moral existence can we form? Would not that, indeed, be the kingdom of God + come on earth?" + </p> + <p> + To this faith, founded in the ideal, let us hold—and never abandon + or lose it. Then what a spectacle is <i>practically</i> exhibited by our + American democracy to-day! + </p> + <h3> + FOUNDATION STAGES—THEN OTHERS + </h3> + <p> + Though I think I fully comprehend the absence of moral tone in our current + politics and business, and the almost entire futility of absolute and + simple honor as a counterpoise against the enormous greed for worldly + wealth, with the trickeries of gaining it, all through society our day, I + still do not share the depression and despair on the subject which I find + possessing many good people. The advent of America, the history of the + past century, has been the first general aperture and opening-up to the + average human commonalty, on the broadest scale, of the eligibilities to + wealth and worldly success and eminence, and has been fully taken + advantage of; and the example has spread hence, in ripples, to all + nations. To these eligibilities—to this limitless aperture, the race + has tended, en-masse, roaring and rushing and crude, and fiercely, + turbidly hastening—and we have seen the first stages, and are now in + the midst of the result of it all, so far. But there will certainly ensue + other stages, and entirely different ones. In nothing is there more + evolution than the American mind. Soon, it will be fully realized that + ostensible wealth and money-making, show, luxury, &c., imperatively + necessitate something beyond—namely, the sane, eternal moral and + spiritual-esthetic attributes, elements. (We cannot have even that + realization on any less terms than the price we are now paying for it.) + Soon, it will be understood clearly, that the State cannot flourish, (nay, + cannot exist,) without those elements. They will gradually enter into the + chyle of sociology and literature. They will finally make the blood and + brawn of the best American individualities of both sexes—and thus, + with them, to a certainty, (through these very processes of to-day,) + dominate the New World. + </p> + <h3> + GENERAL SUFFRAGE, ELECTIONS, ETC. + </h3> + <p> + It still remains doubtful to me whether these will ever secure, + officially, the best wit and capacity—whether, through them, the + first-class genius of America will ever personally appear in the high + political stations, the Presidency, Congress, the leading State offices, + &c. Those offices, or the candidacy for them, arranged, won, by + caucusing, money, the favoritism or pecuniary interest of rings, the + superior manipulation of the ins over the outs, or the outs over the ins, + are, indeed, at best, the mere business agencies of the people, are useful + as formulating, neither the best and highest, but the average of the + public judgment, sense, justice, (or sometimes want of judgment, sense, + justice.) We elect Presidents, Congressmen, &c., not so much to have + them consider and decide for us, but as surest practical means of + expressing the will of majorities on mooted questions, measures, &c. + </p> + <p> + As to general suffrage, after all, since we have gone so far, the more + general it is, the better. I favor the widest opening of the doors. Let + the ventilation and area be wide enough, and all is safe. We can never + have a born penitentiary-bird, or panel-thief, or lowest gambling-hell or + groggery keeper, for President—though such may not only emulate, but + get, high offices from localities—even from the proud and wealthy + city of New York. + </p> + <h3> + WHO GETS THE PLUNDER? + </h3> + <p> + The protectionists are fond of flashing to the public eye the glittering + delusion of great money-results from manufactures, mines, artificial + exports—so many millions from this source, and so many from that—such + a seductive, unanswerable show—an immense revenue of annual cash + from iron, cotton, woollen, leather goods, and a hundred other things, all + bolstered up by "protection." But the really important point of all is, <i>into + whose pockets does this plunder really go?</i> It would be some excuse and + satisfaction if even a fair proportion of it went to the masses of + laboring-men—resulting in homesteads to such, men, women, children—myriads + of actual homes in fee simple, in every State, (not the false glamour of + the stunning wealth reported in the census, in the statistics, or tables + in the newspapers,) but a fair division and generous average to those + workmen and workwomen—<i>that</i> would be something. But the fact + itself is nothing of the kind. The profits of "protection" go altogether + to a few score select persons—who, by favors of Congress, State + legislatures, the banks, and other special advantages, are forming a + vulgar aristocracy, full as bad as anything in the British or European + castes, of blood, or the dynasties there of the past. As Sismondi pointed + out, the true prosperity of a nation is not in the great wealth of a + special class, but is only to be really attain'd in having the bulk of the + people provided with homes or land in fee simple. This may not be the best + show, but it is the best reality. + </p> + <h3> + FRIENDSHIP, (THE REAL ARTICLE) + </h3> + <p> + Though Nature maintains, and must prevail, there will always be plenty of + people, and good people, who cannot, or think they cannot, see anything in + that last, wisest, most envelop'd of proverbs, "Friendship rules the + World." Modern society, in its largest vein, is essentially intellectual, + infidelistic—secretly admires, and depends most on, pure compulsion + or science, its rule and sovereignty—is, in short, in "cultivated" + quarters, deeply Napoleonic. + </p> + <p> + "Friendship," said Bonaparte, in one of his lightning-flashes of candid + garrulity, "Friendship is but a name. I love no one—not even my + brothers; Joseph perhaps a little. Still, if I do love him, it is from + habit, because he is the eldest of us. Duroc? Ay, him, if any one, I love + in a sort—but why? He suits me; he is cool, undemonstrative, + unfeeling—has no weak affections—never embraces any one—never + weeps." + </p> + <p> + I am not sure but the same analogy is to be applied, in cases, often seen, + where, with an extra development and acuteness of the intellectual + faculties, there is a mark'd absence of the spiritual, affectional, and + sometimes, though more rarely, the highest esthetic and moral elements of + cognition. + </p> + <h3> + LACKS AND WANTS YET + </h3> + <p> + Of most foreign countries, small or large, from the remotest times known, + down to our own, each has contributed after its kind, directly or + indirectly, at least one great undying song, to help vitalize and increase + the valor, wisdom, and elegance of humanity, from the points of view + attain'd by it up to date. The stupendous epics of India, the holy Bible + itself, the Homeric canticles, the Nibelungen, the Cid Campeador, the + Inferno, Shakspere's dramas of the passions and of the feudal lords, + Burns's songs, Goethe's in Germany, Tennyson's poems in England, Victor + Hugo's in France, and many more, are the widely various yet integral signs + or land-marks, (in certain respects the highest set up by the human mind + and soul, beyond science, invention, political amelioration, &c.,) + narrating in subtlest, best ways, the long, long routes of history, and + giving identity to the stages arrived at by aggregate humanity, and the + conclusions assumed in its progressive and varied civilizations.... Where + is America's art-rendering, in any thing like the spirit worthy of herself + and the modern, to these characteristic immortal monuments? So far, our + Democratic society, (estimating its various strata, in the mass, as one,) + possesses nothing—nor have we contributed any characteristic music, + the finest tie of nationality—to make up for that glowing, + blood-throbbing, religious, social, emotional, artistic, indefinable, + indescribably beautiful charm and hold which fused the separate parts of + the old feudal societies together, in their wonderful interpenetration, in + Europe and Asia, of love, belief, and loyalty, running one way like a + living weft—and picturesque responsibility, duty, and blessedness, + running like a warp the other way. (In the Southern States, under slavery, + much of the same.)... In coincidence, and as things now exist in the + States, what is more terrible, more alarming, than the total want of any + such fusion and mutuality of love, belief, and rapport of interest, + between the comparatively few successful rich, and the great masses of the + unsuccessful, the poor? As a mixed political and social question, is not + this full of dark significance? Is it not worth considering as a problem + and puzzle in our democracy—an indispensable want to be supplied? + </p> + <h3> + RULERS STRICTLY OUT OF THE MASSES + </h3> + <p> + In the talk (which I welcome) about the need of men of training, + thoroughly school'd and experienced men, for statesmen, I would present + the following as an offset. It was written by me twenty years ago—and + has been curiously verified since: + </p> + <p> + I say no body of men are fit to make Presidents, Judges, and Generals, + unless they themselves supply the best specimens of the same; and that + supplying one or two such specimens illuminates the whole body for a + thousand years. I expect to see the day when the like of the present + personnel of the governments, Federal, State, municipal, military, and + naval, will be look'd upon with derision, and when qualified mechanics and + young men will reach Congress and other official stations, sent in their + working costumes, fresh from their benches and tools, and returning to + them again with dignity. The young fellows must prepare to do credit to + this destiny, for the stuff is in them. Nothing gives place, recollect, + and never ought to give place, except to its clean superiors. There is + more rude and undevelopt bravery, friendship, conscientiousness, + clear-sightedness, and practical genius for any scope of action, even the + broadest and highest, now among the American mechanics and young men, than + in all the official persons in these States, legislative, executive, + judicial, military, and naval, and more than among all the literary + persons. I would be much pleas'd to see some heroic, shrewd, + fully-inform'd, healthy-bodied, middle-aged, beard-faced American + blacksmith or boatman come down from the West across the Alleghanies, and + walk into the Presidency, dress'd in a clean suit of working attire, and + with the tan all over his face, breast, and arms; I would certainly vote + for that sort of man, possessing the due requirements, before any other + candidate. + </p> + <p> + (The facts of rank-and-file workingmen, mechanics, Lincoln, Johnson, + Grant, Garfield, brought forward from the masses and placed in the + Presidency, and swaying its mighty powers with firm hand—really with + more sway than any king in history, and with better capacity in using that + sway—can we not see that these facts have bearings far, far beyond + their political or party ones?) + </p> + <h3> + MONUMENTS—THE PAST AND PRESENT + </h3> + <p> + If you go to Europe, (to say nothing of Asia, more ancient and massive + still,) you cannot stir without meeting venerable mementos—cathedrals, + ruins of temples, castles, monuments of the great, statues and paintings, + (far, far beyond anything America can ever expect to produce,) haunts of + heroes long dead, saints, poets, divinities, with deepest associations of + ages. But here in the New World, while <i>those</i> we can never emulate, + we have <i>more</i> than those to build, and far more greatly to build. (I + am not sure but the day for conventional monuments, statues, memorials, + &c., has pass'd away—and that they are henceforth superfluous + and vulgar.) An enlarg'd general superior humanity, (partly indeed + resulting from those,) we are to build. European, Asiatic greatness are in + the past. Vaster and subtler, America, combining, justifying the past, yet + works for a grander future, in living democratic forms. (Here too are + indicated the paths for our national bards.) Other times, other lands, + have had their missions—Art, War, Ecclesiasticism, Literature, + Discovery, Trade, Architecture, &c., &c.—but that grand + future is the enclosing purport of the United States. + </p> + <h3> + LITTLE OR NOTHING NEW, AFTER ALL + </h3> + <p> + How small were the best thoughts, poems, conclusions, except for a certain + invariable resemblance and uniform standard in the final thoughts, + theology, poems, &c., of all nations, all civilizations, all centuries + and times. Those precious legacies—accumulations! They come to us + from the far-off—from all eras, and all lands—from Egypt, and + India, and Greece, and Rome—and along through the middle and later + ages, in the grand monarchies of Europe—born under far different + institutes and conditions from ours—but out of the insight and + inspiration of the same old humanity—the same old heart and brain—the + same old countenance yearningly, pensively, looking forth. What we have to + do to-day is to receive them cheerfully, and to give them ensemble, and a + modern American and democratic physiognomy. + </p> + <h3> + A LINCOLN REMINISCENCE + </h3> + <p> + As is well known, story-telling was often with President Lincoln a weapon + which he employ'd with great skill. Very often he could not give a + point-blank reply or comment—and these indirections, (sometimes + funny, but not always so,) were probably the best responses possible. In + the gloomiest period of the war, he had a call from a large delegation of + bank presidents. In the talk after business was settled, one of the big + Dons asked Mr. Lincoln if his confidence in the permanency of the Union + was not beginning to be shaken—whereupon the homely President told a + little story: "When I was a young man in Illinois," said he, "I boarded + for a time with a deacon of the Presbyterian church. One night I was + roused from my sleep by a rap at the door, and I heard the deacon's voice + exclaiming, 'Arise, Abraham! the day of judgment has come!' I sprang from + my bed and rushed to the window, and saw the stars falling in great + showers; but looking back of them in the heavens I saw the grand old + constellations, with which I was so well acquainted, fixed and true in + their places. Gentlemen, the world did not come to an end then, nor will + the Union now." + </p> + <h3> + FREEDOM + </h3> + <p> + It is not only true that most people entirely misunderstand Freedom, but I + sometimes think I have not yet met one person who rightly understands it. + The whole Universe is absolute Law. Freedom only opens entire activity and + license <i>under the law</i>. To the degraded or undevelopt—and even + to too many others—the thought of freedom is a thought of escaping + from law—which, of course, is impossible. More precious than all + worldly riches is Freedom—freedom from the painful constipation and + poor narrowness of ecclesiasticism—freedom in manners, habiliments, + furniture, from the silliness and tyranny of local fashions—entire + freedom from party rings and mere conventions in Politics—and better + than all, a general freedom of One's-Self from the tyrannic domination of + vices, habits, appetites, under which nearly every man of us, (often the + greatest brawler for freedom,) is enslav'd. Can we attain such + enfranchisement—the true Democracy, and the height of it? While we + are from birth to death the subjects of irresistible law, enclosing every + movement and minute, we yet escape, by a paradox, into true free will. + Strange as it may seem, we only attain to freedom by a knowledge of, and + implicit obedience to, Law. Great—unspeakably great—is the + Will! the free Soul of man! At its greatest, understanding and obeying the + laws, it can then, and then only, maintain true liberty. For there is to + the highest, that law as absolute as any—more absolute than any—the + Law of Liberty. The shallow, as intimated, consider liberty a release from + all law, from every constraint. The wise see in it, on the contrary, the + potent Law of Laws, namely, the fusion and combination of the conscious + will, or partial individual law, with those universal, eternal, + unconscious ones, which run through all Time, pervade history, prove + immortality, give moral purpose to the entire objective world, and the + last dignity to human life. + </p> + <h3> + BOOK-CLASSES—AMERICA'S LITERATURE + </h3> + <p> + For certain purposes, literary productions through all the recorded ages + may be roughly divided into two classes. The first consisting of only a + score or two, perhaps less, of typical, primal, representative works, + different from any before, and embodying in themselves their own main laws + and reasons for being. Then the second class, books and writings + innumerable, incessant—to be briefly described as radiations or + offshoots, or more or less imitations of the first. The works of the first + class, as said, have their own laws, and may indeed be described as making + those laws, and amenable only to them. The sharp warning of Margaret + Fuller, unquell'd for thirty years, yet sounds in the air: "It does not + follow that because the United States print and read more books, + magazines, and newspapers than all the rest of the world, that they really + have, therefore, a literature." + </p> + <h3> + OUR REAL CULMINATION + </h3> + <p> + The final culmination of this vast and varied Republic will be the + production and perennial establishment of millions of comfortable city + homesteads and moderate-sized farms, healthy and independent, single + separate ownership, fee simple, life in them complete but cheap, within + reach of all. Exceptional wealth, splendor, countless manufactures, excess + of exports, immense capital and capitalists, the five-dollar-a-day hotels + well fill'd, artificial improvements, even books, colleges, and the + suffrage—all, in many respects, in themselves, (hard as it is to say + so, and sharp as a surgeon's lance,) form, more or less, a sort of + anti-democratic disease and monstrosity, except as they contribute by + curious indirections to that culmination—seem to me mainly of value, + or worth consideration, only with reference to it. + </p> + <p> + There is a subtle something in the common earth, crops, cattle, air, + trees, &c., and in having to do at first hand with them, that forms + the only purifying and perennial element for individuals and for society. + I must confess I want to see the agricultural occupation of America at + first hand permanently broaden'd. Its gains are the only ones on which God + seems to smile. What others—what business, profit, wealth, without a + taint? What fortune else—what dollar—does not stand for, and + come from, more or less imposition, lying, unnaturalness? + </p> + <h3> + AN AMERICAN PROBLEM + </h3> + <p> + One of the problems presented in America these times is, how to combine + one's duty and policy as a member of associations, societies, brotherhoods + or what not, and one's obligations to the State and Nation, with essential + freedom as an individual personality, without which freedom a man cannot + grow or expand, or be full, modern, heroic, democratic, American. With all + the necessities and benefits of association, (and the world cannot get + along without it,) the true nobility and satisfaction of a man consist in + his thinking and acting for himself. The problem, I say, is to combine the + two, so as not to ignore either. + </p> + <h3> + THE LAST COLLECTIVE COMPACTION + </h3> + <p> + I like well our polyglot construction-stamp, and the retention thereof, in + the broad, the tolerating, the many-sided, the collective. All nations + here—a home for every race on earth. British, German, Scandinavian, + Spanish, French, Italian—papers published, plays acted, speeches + made, in all languages—on our shores the crowning resultant of those + distillations, decantations, compactions of humanity, that have been going + on, on trial, over the earth so long. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_APPE" id="link2H_APPE"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + APPENDIX + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PIECES IN EARLY YOUTH + </h2> + <h3> + 1834-'42 + </h3> + <p> + DOUGH-FACE SONG —Like dough; soft; yielding to pressure; pale——<i>Webster's + Dictionary</i>. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We are all docile dough-faces, + They knead us with the fist, + They, the dashing southern lords, + We labor as they list; + For them we speak—or hold our tongues, + For them we turn and twist. + + We join them in their howl against + Free soil and "abolition," + That firebrand—that assassin knife— + Which risk our land's condition, + And leave no peace of life to any + Dough-faced politician. + + To put down "agitation," now, + We think the most judicious; + To damn all "northern fanatics," + Those "traitors" black and vicious; + The "reg'lar party usages" + For us, and no "new issues." + + Things have come to a pretty pass, + When a trifle small as this, + Moving and bartering nigger slaves, + Can open an abyss, + With jaws a-gape for "the two great parties;" + A pretty thought, I wis! + + Principle—freedom!—fiddlesticks! + We know not where they're found. + Rights of the masses—progress!—bah! + Words that tickle and sound; + But claiming to rule o'er "practical men" + Is very different ground. + + Beyond all such we know a term + Charming to ears and eyes, + With it we'll stab young Freedom, + And do it in disguise; + + Speak soft, ye wily dough-faces— + That term is "compromise." + + And what if children, growing up, + In future seasons read + The thing we do? and heart and tongue + Accurse us for the deed? + The future cannot touch us; + The present gain we heed. + + Then, all together, dough-faces! + Let's stop the exciting clatter, + And pacify slave-breeding wrath + By yielding all the matter; + For otherwise, as sure as guns, + The Union it will shatter. + + Besides, to tell the honest truth + (For us an innovation,) + Keeping in with the slave power + Is our personal salvation; + We've very little to expect + From t' other part of the nation. + + Besides it's plain at Washington + Who likeliest wins the race, + What earthly chance has "free soil" + For any good fat place? + While many a daw has feather'd his nest, + By his creamy and meek dough-face. + + Take heart, then, sweet companions, + Be steady, Scripture Dick! + Webster, Cooper, Walker, + To your allegiance stick! + With Brooks, and Briggs and Phoenix, + Stand up through thin and thick! + + We do not ask a bold brave front; + We never try that game; + 'Twould bring the storm upon our heads, + A huge mad storm of shame; + Evade it, brothers—"compromise" + Will answer just the same. +</pre> + <h3> + PAUMANOK. + </h3> + <p> + DEATH IN THE SCHOOL-ROOM (<i>A Fact</i>) + </p> + <p> + Ting-a-ling-ling-ling! went the little bell on the teacher's desk of a + village-school one morning, when the studies of the earlier part of the + day were about half completed. It was well understood that this was a + command for silence and attention; and when these had been obtained, the + master spoke. He was a low thick-set man, and his name was Lugare. + </p> + <p> + "Boys," said he, "I have had a complaint enter'd, that last night some of + you were stealing fruit from Mr. Nichols's garden. I rather think I know + the thief. Tim Barker, step up here, sir." + </p> + <p> + The one to whom he spoke came forward. He was a slight, fair-looking boy + of about thirteen; and his face had a laughing, good-humor'd expression, + which even the charge now preferr'd against him, and the stern tone and + threatening look of the teacher, had not entirely dissipated. The + countenance of the boy, however, was too unearthly fair for health; it + had, notwithstanding its fleshy, cheerful look, a singular cast as if some + inward disease, and that a fearful one, were seated within. As the + stripling stood before that place of judgment—that place so often + made the scene of heartless and coarse brutality, of timid innocence + confused, helpless child-hood outraged, and gentle feelings crush' d—Lugare + looked on him with a frown which plainly told that he felt in no very + pleasant mood. (Happily a worthier and more philosophical system is + proving to men that schools can be better govern'd than by lashes and + tears and sighs. We are waxing toward that consummation when one of the + old-fashion'd school-masters, with his cowhide, his heavy birch-rod, and + his many ingenious methods of child-torture, will be gazed upon as a + scorn'd memento of an ignorant, cruel, and exploded doctrine. May + propitious gales speed that day!) + </p> + <p> + "Were you by Mr. Nichols's garden-fence last night?" said Lugare. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir," answer'd the boy, "I was." + </p> + <p> + "Well, sir, I'm glad to find you so ready with your confession. And so you + thought you could do a little robbing, and enjoy yourself in a manner you + ought to be ashamed to own, without being punish'd, did you?" + </p> + <p> + "I have not been robbing," replied the boy quickly. His face was suffused, + whether with resentment or fright, it was difficult to tell. "And I didn't + do anything last night, that I am ashamed to own." + </p> + <p> + "No impudence!" exclaim'd the teacher, passionately, as he grasp'd a long + and heavy ratan: "give me none of your sharp speeches, or I'll thrash you + till you beg like a dog." + </p> + <p> + The youngster's face paled a little; his lip quiver'd, but he did not + speak. + </p> + <p> + "And pray, sir," continued Lugare, as the outward signs of wrath + disappear'd from his features; "what were you about the garden for? + Perhaps you only receiv'd the plunder, and had an accomplice to do the + more dangerous part of the job?" + </p> + <p> + "I went that way because it is on my road home. I was there again + afterwards to meet an acquaintance; and—and—But I did not go + into the garden, nor take anything away from it. I would not steal,—hardly + to save myself from starving." + </p> + <p> + "You had better have stuck to that last evening. You were seen, Tim + Barker, to come from under Mr. Nichols's garden-fence, a little after nine + o'clock, with a bag full of something or other over your shoulders. The + bag had every appearance of being filled with fruit, and this morning the + melon-beds are found to have been completely clear'd. Now, sir, what was + there in that bag?" + </p> + <p> + Like fire itself glow'd the face of the detected lad. He spoke not a word. + All the school had their eyes directed at him. The perspiration ran down + his white forehead like rain-drops. + </p> + <p> + "Speak, sir!" exclaimed Lugare, with a loud strike of his ratan on the + desk. + </p> + <p> + The boy look'd as though he would faint. But the unmerciful teacher, + confident of having brought to light a criminal, and exulting in the idea + of the severe chastisement he should now be justified in inflicting, kept + working himself up to a still greater and greater degree of passion. In + the meantime, the child seem'd hardly to know what to do with himself. His + tongue cleav'd to the roof of his mouth. Either he was very much + frighten'd, or he was actually unwell. + </p> + <p> + "Speak, I say!" again thunder'd Lugare; and his hand, grasping his ratan, + tower'd above his head in a very significant manner. + </p> + <p> + "I hardly can, sir," said the poor fellow faintly. His voice was husky and + thick. "I will tell you some—some other time. Please let me go to my + seat—I a'n't well." + </p> + <p> + "Oh yes; that's very likely;" and Mr. Lugare bulged out his nose and + cheeks with contempt. "Do you think to make me believe your lies? I've + found you out, sir, plainly enough; and I am satisfied that you are as + precious a little villain as there is in the State. But I will postpone + settling with you for an hour yet. I shall then call you up again; and if + you don't tell the whole truth then, I will give you something that'll + make you remember Mr. Nichols's melons for many a month to come:—go + to your seat." + </p> + <p> + Glad enough of the ungracious permission, and answering not a sound, the + child crept tremblingly to his bench. He felt very strangely, dizzily—more + as if he was in a dream than in real life; and laying his arms on his + desk, bow'd down his face between them. The pupils turn'd to their + accustom'd studies, for during the reign of Lugare in the village-school, + they had been so used to scenes of violence and severe chastisement, that + such things made but little interruption in the tenor of their way. + </p> + <p> + Now, while the intervening hour is passing, we will clear up the mystery + of the bag, and of young Barker being under the garden fence on the + preceding night. The boy's mother was a widow, and they both had to live + in the very narrowest limits. His father had died when he was six years + old, and little Tim was left a sickly emaciated infant whom no one + expected to live many months. To the surprise of all, however, the poor + child kept alive, and seem'd to recover his health, as he certainly did + his size and good looks. This was owing to the kind offices of an eminent + physician who had a country-seat in the neighborhood, and who had been + interested in the widow's little family. Tim, the physician said, might + possibly outgrow his disease; but everything was uncertain. It was a + mysterious and baffling malady; and it would not be wonderful if he should + in some moment of apparent health be suddenly taken away. The poor widow + was at first in a continual state of uneasiness; but several years had now + pass'd, and none of the impending evils had fallen upon the boy's head. + His mother seem'd to feel confident that he would live, and be a help and + an honor to her old age; and the two struggled on together, mutually happy + in each other, and enduring much of poverty and discomfort without + repining, each for the other's sake. + </p> + <p> + Tim's pleasant disposition had made him many friends in the village, and + among the rest a young fanner named Jones, who, with his elder brother, + work'd a large farm in the neighborhood on shares. Jones very frequently + made Tim a present of a bag of potatoes or corn, or some garden + vegetables, which he took from his own stock; but as his partner was a + parsimonious, high-tempered man, and had often said that Tim was an idle + fellow, and ought not to be help'd because he did not work, Jones + generally made his gifts in such a manner that no one knew anything about + them, except himself and the grateful objects of his kindness. It might + be, too, that the widow was both to have it understood by the neighbors + that she received food from anyone; for there is often an excusable pride + in people of her condition which makes them shrink from being consider'd + as objects of "charity" as they would from the severest pains. On the + night in question, Tim had been told that Jones would send them a bag of + potatoes, and the place at which they were to be waiting for him was fixed + at Mr. Nichols's garden-fence. It was this bag that Tim had been seen + staggering under, and which caused the unlucky boy to be accused and + convicted by his teacher as a thief. That teacher was one little fitted + for his important and responsible office. Hasty to decide, and inflexibly + severe, he was the terror of the little world he ruled so despotically. + Punishment he seemed to delight in. Knowing little of those sweet + fountains which in children's breasts ever open quickly at the call of + gentleness and kind words, he was fear'd by all for his sternness, and + loved by none. I would that he were an isolated instance in his + profession. + </p> + <p> + The hour of grace had drawn to its close, and the time approach'd at which + it was usual for Lugare to give his school a joyfully-receiv'd dismission. + Now and then one of the scholars would direct a furtive glance at Tim, + sometimes in pity, sometimes in indifference or inquiry. They knew that he + would have no mercy shown him, and though most of them loved him, whipping + was too common there to exact much sympathy. Every inquiring glance, + however, remain'd unsatisfied, for at the end of the hour, Tim remain'd + with his face completely hidden, and his head bow'd in his arms, precisely + as he had lean'd himself when he first went to his seat. Lugare look'd at + the boy occasionally with a scowl which seem'd to bode vengeance for his + sullenness. At length the last class had been heard, and the last lesson + recited, and Lugare seated himself behind his desk on the platform, with + his longest and stoutest ratan before him. + </p> + <p> + "Now, Barker," he said, "we'll settle that little business of yours. Just + step up here." + </p> + <p> + Tim did not move. The school-room was as still as the grave. Not a sound + was to be heard, except occasionally a long-drawn breath. + </p> + <p> + "Mind me, sir, or it will be the worse for you. Step up here, and take off + your jacket!" + </p> + <p> + The boy did not stir any more than if he had been of wood. Lugare shook + with passion. He sat still a minute, as if considering the best way to + wreak his vengeance. That minute, passed in death-like silence, was a + fearful one to some of the children, for their faces whiten'd with fright. + It seem'd, as it slowly dropp'd away, like the minute which precedes the + climax of an exquisitely-performed tragedy, when some mighty master of the + histrionic art is treading the stage, and you and the multitude around you + are waiting, with stretch'd nerves and suspended breath, in expectation of + the terrible catastrophe. + </p> + <p> + "Tim is asleep, sir," at length said one of the boys who sat near him. + Lugare, at this intelligence, allow'd his features to relax from their + expression of savage anger into a smile, but that smile look'd more + malignant if possible, than his former scowls. It might be that he felt + amused at the horror depicted on the faces of those about him; or it might + be that he was gloating in pleasure on the way in which he intended to + wake the slumberer. + </p> + <p> + "Asleep! are you, my young gentleman!" said he; "let us see if we can't + find something to tickle your eyes open. There's nothing like making the + best of a bad case, boys. Tim, here, is determin'd not to be worried in + his mind about a little flogging, for the thought of it can't even keep + the little scoundrel awake." + </p> + <p> + Lugare smiled again as he made the last observation. He grasp'd his ratan + firmly, and descended from his seat. With light and stealthy steps he + cross'd the room and stood by the unlucky sleeper. The boy was still as + unconscious of his impending punishment as ever. He might be dreaming some + golden dream of youth and pleasure; perhaps he was far away in the world + of fancy, seeing scenes, and feeling delights, which cold reality never + can bestow. Lugare lifted his ratan high over his head, and with the true + and expert aim which he had acquired by long practice, brought it down on + Tim's back with a force and whacking sound which seem'd sufficient to wake + a freezing man in his last lethargy. Quick and fast, blow foliow'd blow. + Without waiting to see the effect of the first cut, the brutal wretch + plied his instrument of torture first on one side of the boy's back, and + then on the other, and only stopped at the end of two or three minutes + from very weariness. But still Tim show'd no signs of motion; and as + Lugare, provoked at his torpidity, jerk'd away one of the child's arms, on + which he had been leaning over the desk, his head dropp'd down on the + board with a dull sound, and his face lay turn'd up and exposed to view. + When Lugare saw it, he stood like one transfix'd by a basilisk. His + countenance turn'd to a leaden whiteness; the ratan dropp'd from his + grasp; and his eyes, stretch'd wide open, glared as at some monstrous + spectacle of horror and death. The sweat started in great globules + seemingly from every pore in his face; his skinny lips contracted, and + show'd his teeth; and when he at length stretch'd forth his arm, and with + the end of one of his fingers touch'd the child's cheek, each limb + quiver'd like the tongue of a snake; and his strength seemed as though it + would momentarily fail him. The boy was dead. He had probably been so for + some time, for his eyes were turn'd up, and his body was quite cold. Death + was in the school-room, and Lugare had been flogging A CORPSE. + </p> + <p> + -<i>Democratic Review, August, 1841.</i> + </p> + <h3> + ONE WICKED IMPULSE + </h3> + <p> + That section of Nassau street which runs into the great mart of New York + brokers and stock-jobbers, has for a long time been much occupied by + practitioners of the law. Tolerably well-known amid this class some years + since, was Adam Covert, a middle-aged man of rather limited means, who, to + tell the truth, gained more by trickery than he did in the legitimate and + honorable exercise of his profession. He was a tall, bilious-faced + widower; the father of two children; and had lately been seeking to better + his fortunes by a rich marriage. But somehow or other his wooing did not + seem to thrive well, and, with perhaps one exception, the lawyer's + prospects in the matrimonial way were hopelessly gloomy. + </p> + <p> + Among the early clients of Mr. Covert had been a distant relative named + Marsh, who, dying somewhat suddenly, left his son and daughter, and some + little property, to the care of Covert, under a will drawn out by that + gentleman himself. At no time caught without his eyes open, the cunning + lawyer, aided by much sad confusion in the emergency which had caused his + services to be called for, and disguising his object under a cloud of + technicalities, inserted provisions in the will, giving himself an almost + arbitrary control over the property and over those for whom it was + designed. This control was even made to extend beyond the time when the + children would arrive at mature age. The son, Philip, a spirited and + high-temper'd fellow, had some time since pass'd that age. Esther, the + girl, a plain, and somewhat devotional young woman, was in her nineteenth + year. + </p> + <p> + Having such power over his wards, Covert did not scruple openly to use his + advantage, in pressing his claims as a suitor for Esther's hand. Since the + death of Marsh, the property he left, which had been in real estate, and + was to be divided equally between the brother and sister, had risen to + very considerable value; and Esther's share was to a man in Covert's + situation a prize very well worth seeking. All this time, while really + owning a respectable income, the young orphans often felt the want of the + smallest sum of money—and Esther, on Philip's account, was more than + once driven to various contrivances—the pawn-shop, sales of her own + little luxuries, and the like, to furnish him with means. + </p> + <p> + Though she had frequently shown her guardian unequivocal evidence of her + aversion, Esther continued to suffer from his persecutions, until one day + he proceeded farther and was more pressing than usual. She possess'd some + of her brother's mettlesome temper, and gave him an abrupt and most + decided refusal. With dignity, she exposed the baseness of his conduct, + and forbade him ever again mentioning marriage to her. He retorted + bitterly, vaunted his hold on her and Philip, and swore an oath that + unless she became his wife, they should both thenceforward become + penniless. Losing his habitual self-control in his exasperation, he even + added insults such as woman never receives from any one deserving the name + of man, and at his own convenience left the house. That day, Philip + return'd to New York, after an absence of several weeks on the business of + a mercantile house in whose employment he had lately engaged. + </p> + <p> + Toward the latter part of the same afternoon, Mr. Covert was sitting in + his office, in Nassau street, busily at work, when a knock at the door + announc'd a visitor, and directly afterward young Marsh enter'd the room. + His face exhibited a peculiar pallid appearance that did not strike Covert + at all agreeably, and he call'd his clerk from an adjoining room, and gave + him something to do at a desk near by. + </p> + <p> + "I wish to see you alone, Mr. Covert, if convenient," said the newcomer. + </p> + <p> + "We can talk quite well enough where we are," answer'd the lawyer; + "indeed, I don't know that I have any leisure to talk at all, for just now + I am very much press'd with business." + </p> + <p> + "But I <i>must</i> speak to you," rejoined Philip sternly, "at least I + must say one thing, and that is, Mr. Covert, that you are a villain!" + </p> + <p> + "Insolent!" exclaimed the lawyer, rising behind the table, and pointing to + the door. "Do you see that, sir? Let one minute longer find you the other + side, or your feet may reach the landing by quicker method. Begone, sir!" + </p> + <p> + Such a threat was the more harsh to Philip, for he had rather high-strung + feelings of honor. He grew almost livid with suppress'd agitation. + </p> + <p> + "I will see you again very soon," said he, in a low but distinct manner, + his lips trembling as he spoke; and left the office. + </p> + <p> + The incidents of the rest of that pleasant summer day left little + impression on the young man's mind. He roam'd to and fro without any + object or destination. Along South street and by Whitehall, he watch'd + with curious eyes the movements of the shipping, and the loading and + unloading of cargoes; and listen'd to the merry heave-yo of the sailors + and stevedores. There are some minds upon which great excitement produces + the singular effect of uniting two utterly inconsistent faculties—a + sort of cold apathy, and a sharp sensitiveness to all that is going on at + the same time. Philip's was one of this sort; he noticed the various + differences in the apparel of a gang of wharf-laborers—turn'd over + in his brain whether they receiv'd wages enough to keep them comfortable, + and their families also—and if they had families or not, which he + tried to tell by their looks. In such petty reflections the daylight + passed away. And all the while the master wish of Philip's thoughts was a + desire to see the lawyer Covert. For what purpose he himself was by no + means clear. + </p> + <p> + Nightfall came at last. Still, however, the young man did not direct his + steps homeward. He felt more calm, however, and entering an eating house, + order'd something for his supper, which, when it was brought to him, he + merely tasted, and stroll'd forth again. There was a kind of gnawing + sensation of thirst within him yet, and as he pass'd a hotel, he bethought + him that one little glass of spirits would perhaps be just the thing. He + drank, and hour after hour wore away unconsciously; he drank not one + glass, but three or four, and strong glasses they were to him, for he was + habitually abstemious. + </p> + <p> + It had been a hot day and evening, and when Philip, at an advanced period + of the night, emerged from the bar-room into the street, he found that a + thunderstorm had just commenced. He resolutely walk'd on, however, + although at every step it grew more and more blustering. + </p> + <p> + The rain now pour'd down a cataract; the shops were all shut; few of the + street lamps were lighted; and there was little except the frequent + flashes of lightning to show him his way. When about half the length of + Chatham street, which lay in the direction he had to take, the momentary + fury of the tempest forced him to turn aside into a sort of shelter form'd + by the corners of the deep entrance to a Jew pawnbroker's shop there. He + had hardly drawn himself in as closely as possible, when the lightning + revealed to him that the opposite corner of the nook was tenanted also. + </p> + <p> + "A sharp rain, this," said the other occupant, who simultaneously beheld + Philip. + </p> + <p> + The voice sounded to the young man's ears a note which almost made him + sober again. It was certainly the voice of Adam Covert. He made some + commonplace reply, and waited for another flash of lightning to show him + the stranger's face. It came, and he saw that his companion was indeed his + guardian. + </p> + <p> + Philip Marsh had drank deeply—(let us plead all that may be possible + to you, stern moralist.) Upon his mind came swarming, and he could not + drive them away, thoughts of all those insults his sister had told him of, + and the bitter words Covert had spoken to her; he reflected, too, on the + injuries Esther as well as himself had receiv'd, and were still likely to + receive, at the hands of that bold, bad man; how mean, selfish, and + unprincipled was his character—what base and cruel advantages he had + taken of many poor people, entangled in his power, and of how much wrong + and suffering he had been the author, and might be again through future + years. The very turmoil of the elements, the harsh roll of the thunder, + the vindictive beating of the rain, and the fierce glare of the wild fluid + that seem'd to riot in the ferocity of the storm around him, kindled a + strange sympathetic fury in the young man's mind. Heaven itself (so + deranged were his imaginations) appear'd to have provided a fitting scene + and time for a deed of retribution, which to his disorder'd passion half + wore the semblance of a divine justice. He remember'd not the ready + solution to be found in Covert's pressure of business, which had no doubt + kept him later than usual; but fancied some mysterious intent in the + ordaining that he should be there, and that they two should meet at that + untimely hour. All this whirl of influence came over Philip with startling + quickness at that horrid moment. He stepp'd to the side of his guardian. + </p> + <p> + "Ho!" said he, "have we met so soon, Mr. Covert? You traitor to my dead + father—robber of his children! I fear to think on what I think now!" + </p> + <p> + The lawyer's natural effrontery did not desert him. + </p> + <p> + "Unless you'd like to spend a night in the watch-house, young gentleman," + said he, after a short pause, "move on. Your father was a weak man, I + remember; as for his son, his own wicked heart is his worst foe. I have + never done wrong to either—that I can say, and swear it!" + </p> + <p> + "Insolent liar!" exclaimed Philip, his eye flashing out sparks of fire in + the darkness. + </p> + <p> + Covert made no reply except a cool, contemptuous laugh, which stung the + excited young man to double fury. He sprang upon the lawyer, and clutch'd + him by the neckcloth. + </p> + <p> + "Take it, then!" he cried hoarsely, for his throat was impeded by the + fiendish rage which in that black hour possess'd him. "You are not fit to + live!" + </p> + <p> + He dragg'd his guardian to the earth and fell crushingly upon him, choking + the shriek the poor victim but just began to utter. Then, with monstrous + imprecations, he twisted a tight knot around the gasping creature's neck, + drew a clasp knife from his pocket, and touching the spring, the long + sharp blade, too eager for its bloody work, flew open. + </p> + <p> + During the lull of the storm, the last strength of the prostrate man burst + forth into one short loud cry of agony. At the same instant, the arm of + the murderer thrust the blade, once, twice, thrice, deep in his enemy's + bosom! Not a minute had passed since that fatal exasperating laugh—but + the deed was done, and the instinctive thought which came at once to the + guilty one, was a thought of fear and escape. + </p> + <p> + In the unearthly pause which follow'd, Philip's eyes gave one long + searching sweep in every direction, above and around him. <i>Above</i>! + God of the all-seeing eye! What, and who was that figure there? + </p> + <p> + "Forbear! In Jehovah's name forbear;" cried a shrill, but clear and + melodious voice. + </p> + <p> + It was as if some accusing spirit had come down to bear witness against + the deed of blood. Leaning far out of an open window, appear' d a white + draperied shape, its face possess'd of a wonderful youthful beauty. Long + vivid glows of lightning gave Philip a full opportunity to see as clearly + as though the sun had been shining at noonday. One hand of the figure was + raised upward in a deprecating attitude, and his large bright black eyes + bent down upon the scene below with an expression of horror and shrinking + pain. Such heavenly looks, and the peculiar circumstance of the time, + fill'd Philip's heart with awe. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, if it is not yet too late," spoke the youth again, "spare him. In + God's voice, I command, 'Thou shalt do no murder!'" + </p> + <p> + The words rang like a knell in the ear of the terror-stricken and already + remorseful Philip. Springing from the body, he gave a second glance up and + down the walk, which was totally lonesome and deserted; then crossing into + Reade street, he made his fearful way in a half state of stupor, + half-bewilderment, by the nearest avenues to his home. + </p> + <p> + When the corpse of the murder'd lawyer was found in the morning, and the + officers of justice commenced their inquiry, suspicion immediately fell + upon Philip, and he was arrested. The most rigorous search, however, + brought to light nothing at all implicating the young man, except his + visit to Covert's office the evening before, and his angry language there. + That was by no means enough to fix so heavy a charge upon him. + </p> + <p> + The second day afterward, the whole business came before the ordinary + judicial tribunal, in order that Philip might be either committed for the + crime, or discharged. The testimony of Mr. Covert's clerk stood alone. One + of his employers, who, believing in his innocence, had deserted him not in + this crisis, had provided him with the ablest criminal counsel in New + York. The proof was declared entirely insufficient, and Philip was + discharged. + </p> + <p> + The crowded court-room made way for him as he came out; hundreds of + curious looks fixed upon his features, and many a jibe pass'd upon him. + But of all that arena of human faces, he saw only <i>one</i>—a sad, + pale, black-eyed one, cowering in the centre of the rest. He had seen that + face twice before—the first time as a warning spectre—the + second time in prison, immediately after his arrest—now for the <i>last</i> + time. This young stranger—the son of a scorn'd race—coming to + the court-room to perform an unhappy duty, with the intention of + testifying to what he had seen, melted at the sight of Philip's bloodless + cheek, and of his sister's convulsive sobs, and forbore witnessing against + the murderer. Shall we applaud or condemn him? Let every reader answer the + question for himself. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon Philip left New York. His friendly employer own'd a small + farm some miles up the Hudson, and until the excitement of the affair was + over, he advised the young man to go thither. Philip thankfully accepted + the proposal, made a few preparations, took a hurried leave of Esther, and + by nightfall was settled in his new abode. + </p> + <p> + And how, think you, rested Philip Marsh that night? <i>Rested</i> indeed! + O, if those who clamor so much for the halter and the scaffold to punish + crime, could have seen that sight, they might have learn'd a lesson then! + Four days had elapsed since he that lay tossing upon the bed there had + slumber'd. Not the slightest intermission had come to his awaken'd and + tensely strung sense, during those frightful days. Disturb'd waking dreams + came to him, as he thought what he might do to gain his lost peace. Far, + far away would he go! The cold roll of the murder'd man's eye, as it + turn'd up its last glance into his face—the shrill exclamation of + pain—all the unearthly vividness of the posture, motions, and looks + of the dead—the warning voice from above—pursued him like + tormenting furies, and were never absent from his mind, asleep or awake, + that long weary night. Anything, any place, to escape such horrid + companionship! He would travel inland—hire himself to do hard + drudgery upon some farm—work incessantly through the wide summer + days, and thus force nature to bestow oblivion upon his senses, at least a + little while now and then. He would fly on, on, on, until amid different + scenes and a new life, the old memories were rubb'd entirely out. He would + fight bravely in himself for peace of mind. For peace he would labor and + struggle—for peace he would pray! + </p> + <p> + At length after a feverish slumber of some thirty or forty minutes, the + unhappy youth, waking with a nervous start, rais'd himself in bed, and saw + the blessed daylight beginning to dawn. He felt the sweat trickling down + his naked breast; the sheet where he had lain was quite wet with it. + Dragging himself wearily, he open'd the window. Ah! that good morning air—how + it refresh'd him—how he lean'd out, and drank in the fragrance of + the blossoms below, and almost for the first time in his life felt how + beautifully indeed God had made the earth, and that there was wonderful + sweetness in mere existence. And amidst the thousand mute mouths and + eloquent eyes, which appear'd as it were to look up and speak in every + direction, he fancied so many invitations to come among them. + </p> + <p> + Not without effort, for he was very weak, he dress'd himself, and issued + forth into the open air. + </p> + <p> + Clouds of pale gold and transparent crimson draperied the eastern sky, but + the sun, whose face gladden'd them into all that glory, was not yet above + the horizon. It was a time and place of such rare, such Eden-like beauty! + Philip paused at the summit of an upward slope, and gazed around him. Some + few miles off he could see a gleam of the Hudson river, and above it a + spur of those rugged cliffs scatter'd along its western shores. Nearer by + were cultivated fields. The clover grew richly there, the young grain bent + to the early breeze, and the air was filled with an intoxicating perfume. + At his side was the large well-kept garden of his host, in which were many + pretty flowers, grass plots, and a wide avenue of noble trees. As Philip + gazed, the holy calming power of Nature—the invisible spirit of so + much beauty and so much innocence, melted into his soul. The disturb'd + passions and the feverish conflict subsided. He even felt something like + envied peace of mind—a sort of joy even in the presence of all the + unmarr'd goodness. It was as fair to him, guilty though he had been, as to + the purest of the pure. No accusing frowns show'd in the face of the + flowers, or in the green shrubs, or the branches of the trees. They, more + forgiving than mankind, and distinguishing not between the children of + darkness and the children of light—they at least treated him with + gentleness. Was he, then, a being so accurs'd? Involuntarily, he bent over + a branch of red roses, and took them softly between his hands—those + murderous, bloody hands! But the red roses neither wither'd nor smell'd + less fragiant. And as the young man kiss'd them, and dropp'd a tear upon + them, it seem'd to him that he had found pity and sympathy from Heaven + itself. + </p> + <p> + Though against all the rules of story-writing, we continue our narrative + of these mainly true incidents (for such they are,) no further. Only to + say that <i>the murderer</i> soon departed for a new field of action—that + he is still living—and that this is but one of thousands of cases of + unravel'd, unpunish'd crime—left, not to the tribunals of man, but + to a wider power and judgment. + </p> + <h3> + THE LAST LOYALIST + </h3> + <p> + {"<i>She came to me last night, The floor gave back no tread</i>."} The + story I am going to tell is a traditional reminiscence of a country place, + in my rambles about which I have often passed the house, now unoccupied, + and mostly in ruins, that was the scene of the transaction. I cannot, of + course, convey to others that particular kind of influence which is + derived from my being so familiar with the locality, and with the very + people whose grandfathers or fathers were contemporaries of the actors in + the drama I shall transcribe. I must hardly expect, therefore, that to + those who hear it thro' the medium of my pen, the narration will possess + as life-like and interesting a character as it does to myself. + </p> + <p> + On a large and fertile neck of land that juts out in the Sound, stretching + to the east of New York city, there stood, in the latter part of the last + century, an old-fashion'd country-residence. It had been built by one of + the first settlers of this section of the New World; and its occupant was + originally owner of the extensive tract lying adjacent to his house, and + pushing into the bosom of the salt waters. It was during the troubled + times which mark'd our American Revolution that the incidents occurr'd + which are the foundation of my story. Some time before the commencement of + the war, the owner, whom I shall call Vanhome, was taken sick and died. + For some time before his death he had lived a widower; and his only child, + a lad of ten years old, was thus left an orphan. By his father's will this + child was placed implicitly under the guardianship of an uncle, a + middle-aged man, who had been of late a resident in the family. His care + and interest, however, were needed but a little while—not two years + claps'd after the parents were laid away to their last repose before + another grave had to be prepared for the son—the child who had been + so haplessly deprived of their fostering care. + </p> + <p> + The period now arrived when the great national convulsion burst forth. + Sounds of strife and the clash of arms, and the angry voices of + disputants, were borne along by the air, and week after week grew to still + louder clamor. Families were divided; adherents to the crown, and ardent + upholders of the rebellion, were often found in the bosom of the same + domestic circle. Vanhome, the uncle spoken of as guardian to the young + heir, was a man who lean'd to the stern, the high-handed and the severe. + He soon became known among the most energetic of the loyalists. So decided + were his sentiments that, leaving the estate which he had inherited from + his brother and nephew, he join'd the forces of the British king. + Thenceforward, whenever his old neighbors heard of him, it was as being + engaged in the cruelest outrages, the boldest inroads, or the most + determin'd attacks upon the army of his countrymen or their peaceful + settlements. Eight years brought the rebel States and their leaders to + that glorious epoch when the last remnant of a monarch's rule was to leave + their shores—when the last waving of the royal standard was to + flutter as it should be haul'd down from the staff, and its place fill'd + by the proud testimonial of our warriors' success. + </p> + <p> + Pleasantly over the autumn fields shone the November sun, when a horseman, + of somewhat military look, plodded slowly along the road that led to the + old Vanhome farmhouse. There was nothing peculiar in his attire, unless it + might be a red scarf which he wore tied round his waist. He was a + dark-featured, sullen-eyed man; and as his glance was thrown restlessly to + the right and left, his whole manner appear'd to be that of a person + moving amid familiar and accustom'd scenes. Occasionally he stopp'd, and + looking long and steadily at some object that attracted his attention, + mutter'd to himself, like one in whose breast busy thoughts were moving. + His course was evidently to the homestead itself, at which in due time he + arrived. He dismounted, led his horse to the stables, and then, without + knocking, though there were evident signs of occupancy around the + building, the traveler made his entrance as composedly and boldly as + though he were master of the whole establishment. + </p> + <p> + Now the house being in a measure deserted for many years, and the + successful termination of the strife rendering it probable that the + Vanhome estate would be confiscated to the new government, an aged, + poverty-stricken couple had been encouraged by the neighbors to take + possession as tenants of the place. Their name was Gills; and these people + the traveler found upon his entrance were likely to be his host and + hostess. Holding their right as they did by so slight a tenure, they + ventur'd to offer no opposition when the stranger signified his intention + of passing several hours there. + </p> + <p> + The day wore on, and the sun went down in the west; still the interloper, + gloomy and taciturn, made no signs of departing. But as the evening + advanced (whether the darkness was congenial to his sombre thoughts, or + whether it merely chanced so) he seem'd to grow more affable and + communicative, and informed Gills that he should pass the night there, + tendering him at the same time ample remuneration, which the latter + accepted with many thanks. + </p> + <p> + "Tell me," said he to his aged host, when they were all sitting around the + ample hearth, at the conclusion of their evening meal, "tell me something + to while away the hours." + </p> + <p> + "Ah! sir," answered Gills, "this is no place for new or interesting + events. We live here from year to year, and at the end of one we find + ourselves at about the same place which we filled in the beginning." + </p> + <p> + "Can you relate nothing, then?" rejoin'd the guest, and a singular smile + pass'd over his features; "can you say nothing about your own place?—this + house or its former inhabitants, or former history?" + </p> + <p> + The old man glanced across to his wife, and a look expressive of + sympathetic feeling started in the face of each. + </p> + <p> + "It is an unfortunate story, sir," said Gills, "and may cast a chill upon + you, instead of the pleasant feeling which it would be best to foster when + in strange walls." + </p> + <p> + "Strange walls!" echoed he of the red scarf, and for the first time since + his arrival he half laughed, but it was not the laugh which comes from a + man's heart. + </p> + <p> + "You must know, sir," continued Gills, "I am myself a sort of intruder + here. The Vanhomes—that was the name of the former residents and + owners—I have never seen; for when I came to these parts the last + occupant had left to join the red-coat soldiery. I am told that he is to + sail with them for foreign lands, now that the war is ended, and his + property almost certain to pass into other hands." + </p> + <p> + As the old man went on, the stranger cast down his eyes, and listen'd with + an appearance of great interest, though a transient smile or a brightening + of the eye would occasionally disturb the serenity of his deportment. + </p> + <p> + "The old owners of this place," continued the white-haired narrator, "were + well off in the world, and bore a good name among their neighbors. The + brother of Sergeant Vanhome, now the only one of the name, died ten or + twelve years since, leaving a son—a child so small that the father's + willmade provision for his being brought up by his uncle, whom I mention'd + but now as of the British army. He was a strange man, this uncle; disliked + by all who knew him; passionate, vindictive, and, it was said, very + avaricious, even from his childhood. + </p> + <p> + "Well, not long after the death of the parents, dark stories began to be + circulated about cruelty and punishment and whippings and starvation + inflicted by the new master upon his nephew. People who had business at + the homestead would frequently, when they came away, relate the most + fearful things of its manager, and how he misused his brother's child. It + was half hinted that he strove to get the youngster out of the way in + order that the whole estate might fall into his own hands. As I told you + before, however, nobody liked the man; and perhaps they judged him too + uncharitably. + </p> + <p> + "After things had gone on in this way for some time, a countryman, a + laborer, who was hired to do farm-work upon the place, one evening + observed that the little orphan Vanhome was more faint and pale even than + usual, for he was always delicate, and that is one reason why I think it + possible that his death, of which I am now going to tell you, was but the + result of his own weak constitution, and nothing else. The laborer slept + that night at the farmhouse. Just before the time at which they usually + retired to bed, this person, feeling sleepy with his day's toil, left the + kitchen hearth and wended his way to rest. In going to his place of repose + he had to pass a chamber—the very chamber where you, sir, are to + sleep to-night—and there he heard the voice of the orphan child + uttering half-suppress'd exclamations as if in pitiful entreaty. Upon + stopping, he heard also the tones of the elder Vanhome, but they were + harsh and bitter. The sound of blows followed. As each one fell it was + accompanied by a groan or shriek, and so they continued for some time. + Shock'd and indignant, the countryman would have burst open the door and + interfered to prevent this brutal proceeding, but he bethought him that he + might get himself into trouble, and perhaps find that he could do no good + after all, and so he passed on to his room. + </p> + <p> + "Well, sir, the following day the child did not come out among the + work-people as usual. He was taken very ill. No physician was sent for + until the next afternoon; and though one arrived in the course of the + night, it was too late—the poor boy died before morning. + </p> + <p> + "People talk'd threateningly upon the subject, but nothing could be proved + against Vanhome. At one period there were efforts made to have the whole + affair investigated. Perhaps that would have taken place, had not every + one's attention been swallow'd up by the rumors of difficulty and war, + which were then beginning to disturb the country. + </p> + <p> + "Vanhome joined the army of the king. His enemies said that he feared to + be on the side of the rebels, because if they were routed his property + would be taken from him. But events have shown that, if this was indeed + what he dreaded, it has happen'd to him from the very means which he took + to prevent it." + </p> + <p> + The old man paused. He had quite wearied himself with so long talking. For + some minutes there was unbroken silence. Presently the stranger signified + his intention of retiring for the night. He rose, and his host took a + light for the purpose of ushering him to his apartment. + </p> + <p> + When Gills return'd to his accustom'd situation in the large arm-chair by + the chimney-hearth, his ancient helpmate had retired to rest. With the + simplicity of their times, the bed stood in the same room where the three + had been seated during the last few hours; and now the remaining two + talk'd together about the singular events of the evening. As the time wore + on, Gills show'd no disposition to leave his cosy chair; but sat toasting + his feet, and bending over the coals. Gradually the insidious heat and the + lateness of the hour began to exercise their influence over the old man. + The drowsy indolent feeling which every one has experienced in getting + thoroughly heated through by close contact with a glowing fire, spread in + each vein and sinew, and relax'd its tone. He lean'd back in his chair and + slept. + </p> + <p> + For a long time his repose went on quietly and soundly. He could not tell + how many hours elapsed; but, a while after midnight, the torpid senses of + the slumberer were awaken'd by a startling shock. It was a cry as of a + strong man in his agony—a shrill, not very loud cry, but fearful, + and creeping into the blood like cold, polish'd steel. The old man raised + himself in his seat and listen'd, at once fully awake. For a minute, all + was the solemn stillness of midnight. Then rose that horrid tone again, + wailing and wild, and making the hearer's hair to stand on end. One moment + more, and the trampling of hasty feet sounded in the passage outside. The + door was thrown open, and the form of the stranger, more like a corpse + than living man, rushed into the room. + </p> + <p> + "All white!" yell'd the conscience-stricken creature—"all white, and + with the grave-clothes around him. One shoulder was bare, and I saw," he + whisper'd, "I saw blue streaks upon it. It was horrible, and I cried + aloud. He stepp'd toward me! He came to my very bedside; his small hand + almost touch'd my face. I could not bear it, and fled." + </p> + <p> + The miserable man bent his head down upon his bosom; convulsive rattlings + shook his throat; and his whole frame waver'd to and fro like a tree in a + storm. Bewilder'd and shock'd, Gills look'd at his apparently deranged + guest, and knew not what answer to make, or what course of conduct to + pursue. + </p> + <p> + Thrusting out his arms and his extended fingers, and bending down his + eyes, as men do when shading them from a glare of lightning, the stranger + stagger'd from the door, and, in a moment further, dash'd madly through + the passage which led through the kitchen into the outer road. The old man + heard the noise of his falling footsteps, sounding fainter and fainter in + the distance, and then, retreating, dropp'd his own exhausted limbs into + the chair from which he had been arous'd so terribly. It was many minutes + before his energies recover'd their accustomed tone again. Strangely + enough, his wife, unawaken'd by the stranger's ravings, still slumber'd on + as profoundly as ever. + </p> + <p> + Pass we on to a far different scene—the embarkation of the British + troops for the distant land whose monarch was never more to wield the + sceptre over a kingdom lost by his imprudence and tyranny. With frowning + brow and sullen pace the martial ranks moved on. Boat after boat was + filled, and, as each discharged its complement in the ships that lay + heaving their anchors in the stream, it return'd, and was soon filled with + another load. And at length it became time for the last soldier to lift + his eye and take a last glance at the broad banner of England's pride, + which flapp'd its folds from the top of the highest staff on the Battery. + </p> + <p> + As the warning sound of a trumpet called together all who were laggards—those + taking leave of friends, and those who were arranging their own private + affairs, left until the last moment—a single horseman was seen + furiously dashing down the street. A red scarf tightly encircled his + waist. He made directly for the shore, and the crowd there gather'd + started back in wonderment as they beheld his dishevel'd appearance and + ghastly face. Throwing himself violently from his saddle, he flung the + bridle over the animal's neck, and gave him a sharp cut with a small + riding whip. He made for the boat; one minute later, and he had been left. + They were pushing the keel from the landing—the stranger sprang—a + space of two or three feet already intervened—he struck on the + gunwale—and the Last Soldier of King George had left the American + shores. + </p> + <h3> + WILD FRANK'S RETURN + </h3> + <p> + As the sun, one August day some fifty years ago, had just pass'd the + meridian of a country town in the eastern section of Long Island, a single + traveler came up to the quaint low-roof'd village tavern, open'd its + half-door, and enter'd the common room. Dust cover'd the clothes of the + wayfarer, and his brow was moist with sweat. He trod in a lagging, weary + way; though his form and features told of an age not more than nineteen or + twenty years. Over one shoulder was slung a sailor's jacket, and in his + hand he carried a little bundle. Sitting down on a rude bench, he told a + female who made her appearance behind the bar, that he would have a glass + of brandy and sugar. He took off the liquor at a draught: after which he + lit and began to smoke a cigar, with which he supplied himself from his + pocket—stretching out one leg, and leaning his elbow down on the + bench, in the attitude of a man who takes an indolent lounge. + </p> + <p> + "Do you know one Richard Hall that lives somewhere here among you?" said + he. + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Hall's is down the lane that turns off by that big locust tree," + answer'd the woman, pointing to the direction through the open door; "it's + about half a mile from here to his house." + </p> + <p> + The youth, for a minute or two, puff'd the smoke from his mouth very + leisurely in silence. His manner had an air of vacant self-sufficiency, + rather strange in one of so few years. + </p> + <p> + "I wish to see Mr. Hall," he said at length—"Here's a silver + six-pence, for any one who will carry a message to him." + </p> + <p> + "The folks are all away. It's but a short walk, and your limbs are young," + replied the female, who was not altogether pleased with the easy way of + making himself at home which mark'd her shabby-looking customer. That + individual, however, seem'd to give small attention to the hint, but + lean'd and puff'd his cigar-smoke as leisurely as before. + </p> + <p> + "Unless," continued the woman, catching a second glance at the sixpence; + "unless old Joe is at the stable, as he's very likely to be. I'll go and + find out for you." And she push'd open a door at her back, stepp'd through + an adjoining room into a yard, whence her voice was the next moment heard + calling the person she had mention'd, in accents by no means remarkable + for their melody or softness. + </p> + <p> + Her search was successful. She soon return'd with him who was to act as + messenger—a little, wither'd, ragged old man—a hanger-on + there, whose unshaven face told plainly enough the story of his + intemperate habits—those deeply seated habits, now too late to be + uprooted, that would ere long lay him in a drunkard's grave. The youth + inform'd him what the required service was, and promised him the reward as + soon as he should return, + </p> + <p> + "Tell Richard Hall that I am going to his father's house this afternoon. + If he asks who it is that wishes him here, say the person sent no name," + continued the stranger, sitting up from his indolent posture, as the feet + of old Joe were about leaving the door-stone, and his blear'd eyes turned + to eaten the last sentence of the mandate. + </p> + <p> + "And yet, perhaps you may as well," added he, communing a moment with + himself: "you may tell him his brother Frank, Wild Frank, it is, who + wishes him to come." + </p> + <p> + The old man departed on his errand, and he who call'd himself Wild Frank, + toss'd his nearly smoked cigar out of the window, and folded his arms in + thought. + </p> + <p> + No better place than this, probably, will occur to give a brief account of + some former events in the life of the young stranger, resting and waiting + at the village inn. Fifteen miles east of that inn lived a farmer named + Hall, a man of good repute, well-off in the world, and head of a large + family. He was fond of gain—required all his boys to labor in + proportion to their age; and his right hand man, if he might not be called + favorite, was his eldest son Richard. This eldest son, an industrious, + sober-faced young fellow, was invested by his father with the powers of + second in command; and as strict and swift obedience was a prime tenet in + the farmer's domestic government, the children all tacitly submitted to + their brother's sway—all but one, and that was Frank. The farmer's + wife was a quiet woman, in rather tender health; and though for all her + offspring she had a mother's love, Frank's kiss ever seem'd sweetest to + her lips. She favor'd him more than the rest—perhaps, as in a + hundred similar instances, for his being so often at fault, and so often + blamed. In truth, however, he seldom receiv'd more blame than he deserv'd, + for he was a capricious, high-temper'd lad, and up to all kinds of + mischief. From these traits he was known in the neighborhood by the name + of Wild Frank. + </p> + <p> + Among the farmer's stock there was a fine young blood mare—a + beautiful creature, large and graceful, with eyes like dark-hued jewels, + and her color that of the deep night. It being the custom of the farmer to + let his boys have something about the farm that they could call their own, + and take care of as such, Black Nell, as the mare was called, had somehow + or other fallen to Frank's share. He was very proud of her, and thought as + much of her comfort as his own. The elder brother, however, saw fit to + claim for himself, and several times to exercise, a privilege of managing + and using Black Nell, notwithstanding what Frank consider'd his + prerogative. On one of these occasions a hot dispute arose, and, after + much angry blood, it was referr'd to the farmer for settlement. He decided + in favor of Richard, and added a harsh lecture to his other son. The + farmer was really unjust; and Wild Frank's face paled with rage and + mortification. That furious temper which he had never been taught to curb, + now swell'd like an overflowing torrent. With difficulty restraining the + exhibition of his passions, as soon as he got by himself he swore that not + another sun should roll by and find him under that roof. Late at night he + silently arose, and turning his back on what he thought an inhospitable + home, in mood in which the child should never leave the parental roof, + bent his steps toward the city. + </p> + <p> + It may well be imagined that alarm and grief pervaded the whole of the + family, on discovering Frank's departure. And as week after week melted + away and brought no tidings of him, his poor mother's heart grew wearier + and wearier. She spoke not much, but was evidently sick in spirit. Nearly + two years had claps'd when about a week before the incidents at the + commencement of this story, the farmer's family were joyfully surprised by + receiving a letter from the long absent son. He had been to sea, and was + then in New York, at which port his vessel had just arrived. He wrote in a + gay strain; appear'd to have lost the angry feeling which caused his + flight from home; and said he heard in the city that Richard had married, + and settled several miles distant, where he wished him all good luck and + happiness. Wild Frank wound up his letter by promising, as soon as he + could get through the imperative business of his ship, to pay a visit to + his parents and native place. On Tuesday of the succeeding week, he said + he would be with them. + </p> + <p> + Within half an hour after the departure of old Joe, the form of that + ancient personage was seen slowly wheeling round the locust-tree at the + end of the lane, accompanied by a stout young man in primitive homespun + apparel. The meeting between Wild Frank and his brother Richard, though + hardly of that kind which generally takes place between persons so closely + related, could not exactly be call'd distant or cool either. Richard + press'd his brother to go with him to the farmhouse, and refresh and + repose himself for some hours at least, but Frank declined. + </p> + <p> + "They will all expect me home this afternoon," he said, "I wrote to them I + would be there to-day." + </p> + <p> + "But you must be very tired, Frank," rejoin'd the other; "won't you let + some of us harness up and carry you? Or if you like—" he stopp'd a + moment, and a trifling suffusion spread over his face; "if you like, I'll + put the saddle on Black Nell—she's here at my place now, and you can + ride home like a lord." + </p> + <p> + Frank's face color'd a little, too. He paused for a moment in thought—he + was really foot-sore, and exhausted with his journey that hot day—so + he accepted his brother's offer. + </p> + <p> + "You know the speed of Nell, as well as I," said Richard; "I'll warrant + when I bring her here you'll say she's in good order as ever." So telling + him to amuse himself for a few minutes as well as he could, Richard left + the tavern. + </p> + <p> + Could it be that Black Nell knew her early master? She neigh'd and rubb'd + her nose on his shoulder; and as he put his foot in the stirrup and rose + on her back, it was evident that they were both highly pleased with their + meeting. Bidding his brother farewell, and not forgetting old Joe, the + young man set forth on his journey to his father's house. As he left the + village behind, and came upon the long monotonous road before him, he + thought on the circumstances of his leaving home—and he thought, + too, on his course of life, how it was being frittered away and lost. Very + gentle influences, doubtless, came over Wild Frank's mind then, and he + yearn'd to show his parents that he was sorry for the trouble he had cost + them. He blamed himself for his former follies, and even felt remorse that + he had not acted more kindly to Richard, and gone to his house. Oh, it had + been a sad mistake of the farmer that he did not teach his children to + love one another. It was a foolish thing that he prided himself on + governing his little flock well, when sweet affection, gentle forbearance, + and brotherly faith, were almost unknown among them. + </p> + <p> + The day was now advanced, though the heat pour'd down with a strength + little less oppressive than at noon. Frank had accomplish'd the greater + part of his journey; he was within two miles of his home. The road here + led over a high, tiresome hill, and he determined to stop on the top of it + and rest himself, as well as give the animal he rode a few minutes' + breath. How well he knew the place! And that mighty oak, standing just + outside the fence on the very summit of the hill, often had he reposed + under its shade. It would be pleasant for a few minutes to stretch his + limbs there again as of old, he thought to himself; and he dismounted from + the saddle and led Black Nell under the tree. Mindful of the comfort of + his favorite, he took from his little bundle, which he had strapped behind + him on the mare's back, a piece of strong cord, four or five yards in + length, which he tied to the bridle, and wound and tied the other end, for + security, over his own wrist; then throwing himself at full length upon + the ground, Black Nell was at liberty to graze around him, without danger + of straying away. + </p> + <p> + It was a calm scene, and a pleasant. There was no rude sound—hardly + even a chirping insect—to break the sleepy silence of the place. The + atmosphere had a dim, hazy cast, and was impregnated with overpowering + heat. The young man lay there minute after minute, as time glided away + unnoticed; for he was very tired, and his repose was sweet to him. + Occasionally he raised himself and cast a listless look at the distant + landscape, veil'd as it was by the slight mist. At length his repose was + without such interruptions. His eyes closed, and though at first they + open'd languidly again at intervals, after a while they shut altogether. + Could it be that he slept? It was so indeed. Yielding to the drowsy + influences about him, and to his prolong'd weariness of travel, he had + fallen into a deep, sound slumber. Thus he lay; and Black Nell, the + original cause of his departure from his home—by a singular chance, + the companion of his return—quietly cropp'd the grass at his side. + </p> + <p> + An hour nearly pass'd away, and yet the young man slept on. The light and + heat were not glaring now; a change had come over earth and heaven. There + were signs of one of those thunderstorms that in our climate spring up and + pass over so quickly and so terribly. Masses of vapor loom' d up in the + horizon, and a dark shadow settled on the woods and fields. The leaves of + the great oak rustled together over the youth's head. Clouds flitted + swiftly in the sky, like bodies of armed men coming up to battle at the + call of their leader's trumpet. A thick rain-drop fell now and then, while + occasionally hoarse mutterings of thunder sounded in the distance; yet the + slumberer was not arous'd. It was strange that Wild Frank did not awake. + Perhaps his ocean life had taught him to rest undisturbed amid the jarring + of elements. Though the storm was now coming on in its fury, he slept like + a babe in its cradle. + </p> + <p> + Black Nell had ceased grazing, and stood by her sleeping master with ears + erect, and her long mane and tail waving in the wind. It seem'd quite + dark, so heavy were the clouds. The blast blew sweepingly, the lightning + flash'd, and the rain fell in torrents. Crash after crash of thunder + seem'd to shake the solid earth. And Black Nell, she stood now, an image + of beautiful terror, with her fore feet thrust out, her neck arch'd, and + her eyes glaring balls of fear. At length, after a dazzling and lurid + glare, there came a peal—a deafening crash—as if the great + axle was rent. God of Spirits! the startled mare sprang off like a ship in + an ocean-storm! Her eyes were blinded with light; she dashed madly down + the hill, and plunge after plunge—far, far away—swift as an + arrow—dragging the hapless body of the youth behind her! + </p> + <p> + In the low, old-fashion'd dwelling of the farmer there was a large family + group. The men and boys had gather'd under shelter at the approach of the + storm; and the subject of their talk was the return of the long absent + son. The mother spoke of him, too, and her eyes brighten'd with pleasure + as she spoke. She made all the little domestic preparations—cook'd + his favorite dishes—and arranged for him his own bed, in its own old + place. As the tempest mounted to its fury they discuss'd the probability + of his getting soak'd by it; and the provident dame had already selected + some dry garments for a change. But the rain was soon over, and nature + smiled again in her invigorated beauty. The sun shone out as it was + dipping in the west. Drops sparkled on the leaf-tips—coolness and + clearness were in the air. + </p> + <p> + The clattering of a horse's hoofs came to the ears of those who were + gather'd there. It was on the other side of the house that the wagon road + lead; and they open'd the door and rush'd in a tumult of glad + anticipations, through the adjoining room to the porch. What a sight it + was that met them there! Black Nell stood a few feet from the door, with + her neck crouch'd down; she drew her breath long and deep, and vapor rose + from every part of her reeking body. And with eyes starting from their + sockets, and mouths agape with stupefying terror, they beheld on the + ground near her a mangled, hideous mass—the rough semblance of a + human form—all batter'd, and cut, and bloody. Attach'd to it was the + fatal cord, dabbled over with gore. And as the mother gazed—for she + could not withdraw her eyes—and the appalling truth came upon her + mind, she sank down without shriek or utterance, into a deep, deathly + swoon. + </p> + <h3> + THE BOY LOVER + </h3> + <p> + Listen, and the old will speak a chronicle for the young. Ah, youth! thou + art one day coming to be old, too. And let me tell thee how thou mayest + get a useful lesson. For an hour, <i>dream thyself old</i>. Realize, in + thy thoughts and consciousness, that vigor and strength are subdued in thy + sinews—that the color of the shroud is liken'd in thy very hairs—that + all those leaping desires, luxurious hopes, beautiful aspirations, and + proud confidences, of thy younger life, have long been buried (a funeral + for the better part of thee) in that grave which must soon close over thy + tottering limbs. Look back, then, through the long track of the past + years. How has it been with thee? Are there bright beacons of happiness + enjoy'd, and of good done by the way? Glimmer gentle rays of what was + scatter'd from a holy heart? Have benevolence, and love, and undeviating + honesty left tokens on which thy eyes can rest sweetly? Is it well with + thee, thus? Answerest thou, it is? Or answerest thou, I see nothing but + gloom and shatter'd hours, and the wreck of good resolves, and a broken + heart, filled with sickness, and troubled among its ruined chambers with + the phantoms of many follies? + </p> + <p> + O, youth! youth! this dream will one day be a <i>reality</i>—a + reality, either of heavenly peace or agonizing sorrow. + </p> + <p> + And yet not for all is it decreed to attain the neighborhood of the + three-score and ten years—the span of life. I am to speak of one who + died young. Very awkward was his childhood—but most fragile and + sensitive! So delicate a nature may exist in a rough, unnoticed plant! Let + the boy rest;—he was not beautiful, and dropp'd away betimes. But + for the cause—it is a singular story, to which let crusted + worldlings pay the tribute of a light laugh—light and empty as their + own hollow hearts. + </p> + <p> + Love! which with its cankerseed of decay within, has sent young men and + maidens to a long'd-for, but too premature burial. Love! the child-monarch + that Death itself cannot conquer; that has its tokens on slabs at the head + of grass-cover'd tombs—tokens more visible to the eye of the + stranger, yet not so deeply graven as the face and the remembrances cut + upon the heart of the living. Love! the sweet, the pure, the innocent; yet + the causer of fierce hate, of wishes for deadly revenge, of bloody deeds, + and madness, and the horrors of hell. Love! that wanders over + battlefields, turning up mangled human trunks, and parting back the hair + from gory faces, and daring the points of swords and the thunder of + artillery, without a fear or a thought of danger. + </p> + <p> + Words! words! I begin to see I am, indeed, an old man, and garrulous! Let + me go back—yes, I see it must be many years! + </p> + <p> + It was at the close of the last century. I was at that time studying law, + the profession my father follow'd. One of his clients was an elderly + widow, a foreigner, who kept a little ale-house, on the banks of the North + River, at about two miles from what is now the centre of the city. Then + the spot was quite out of town and surrounded by fields and green trees. + The widow often invited me to come and pay her a visit, when I had a + leisure afternoon—including also in the invitation my brother and + two other students who were in my father's office. Matthew, the brother I + mention, was a boy of sixteen; he was troubled with an inward illness—though + it had no power over his temper, which ever retain' d the most admirable + placidity and gentleness. + </p> + <p> + He was cheerful, but never boisterous, and everybody loved him; his mind + seem'd more develop'd than is usual for his age, though his personal + appearance was exceedingly plain. Wheaton and Brown, the names of the + other students, were spirited, clever young fellows, with most of the + traits that those in their position of life generally possess. The first + was as generous and brave as any man I ever knew. He was very passionate, + too, but the whirlwind soon blew over, and left everything quiet again. + Frank Brown was slim, graceful, and handsome. He profess'd to be fond of + sentiment, and used to fall regularly in love once a month. + </p> + <p> + The half of every Wednesday we four youths had to ourselves, and were in + the habit of taking a sail, a ride, or a walk together. One of these + afternoons, of a pleasant day in April, the sun shining, and the air + clear, I bethought myself of the widow and her beer—about which + latter article I had made inquiries, and heard it spoken of in terms of + high commendation. I mention'd the matter to Matthew and to my + fellow-students, and we agreed to fill up our holiday by a jaunt to the + ale-house. Accordingly, we set forth, and, after a fine walk, arrived in + glorious spirits at our destination. + </p> + <p> + Ah! how shall I describe the quiet beauties of the spot, with its long, + low piazza looking out upon the river, and its clean homely tables, and + the tankards of real silver in which the ale was given us, and the flavor + of that excellent liquor itself. There was the widow; and there was a + sober, stately old woman, half companion, half servant, Margery by name; + and there was (good God! my fingers quiver yet as I write the word!) young + Ninon, the daughter of the widow. + </p> + <p> + O, through the years that live no more, my memory strays back, and that + whole scene comes up before me once again-and the brightest part of the + picture is the strange ethereal beauty of that young girl! She was + apparently about the age of my brother Matthew, and the most fascinating, + artless creature I had ever beheld. She had blue eyes and light hair, and + an expression of childish simplicity which was charming indeed. I have no + doubt that ere half an hour had elapsed from the time we enter'd the + tavern and saw Ninon, every one of the four of us loved the girl to the + very depth of passion. + </p> + <p> + We neither spent so much money, nor drank as much beer, as we had intended + before starting from home. The widow was very civil, being pleased to see + us, and Margery served our wants with a deal of politeness—but it + was to Ninon that the afternoon's pleasure was attributable; for though we + were strangers, we became acquainted at once—the manners of the + girl, merry as she was, putting entirely out of view the most distant + imputation of indecorum—and the presence of the widow and Margery, + (for we were all in the common room together, there being no other + company,) serving to make us all disembarrass'd, and at ease. + </p> + <p> + It was not until quite a while after sunset that we started on our return + to the city. We made several attempts to revive the mirth and lively talk + that usually signalized our rambles, but they seem'd forced and + discordant, like laughter in a sick-room. My brother was the only one who + preserved his usual tenor of temper and conduct. + </p> + <p> + I need hardly say that thenceforward every Wednesday afternoon was spent + at the widow's tavern. Strangely, neither Matthew or my two friends, or + myself, spoke to each other of the sentiment that filled us in reference + to Ninon. Yet we all knew the thoughts and feelings of the others; and + each, perhaps, felt confident that his love alone was unsuspected by his + companions. + </p> + <p> + The story of the widow was a touching yet simple one. She was by birth a + Swiss. In one of the cantons of her native land, she had grown up, and + married, and lived for a time in happy comfort. A son was born to her, and + a daughter, the beautiful Ninon. By some reverse of fortune, the father + and head of the family had the greater portion of his possessions swept + from him. He struggled for a time against the evil influence, but it + press'd upon him harder and harder. He had heard of a people in the + western world—a new and swarming land—where the stranger was + welcom'd, and peace and the protection of the strong arm thrown around + him. He had not heart to stay and struggle amid the scenes of his former + prosperity, and he determin'd to go and make his home in that distant + republic of the west. So with his wife and children, and the proceeds of + what little property was left, he took passage for New York. He was never + to reach his journey's end. Either the cares that weigh' d upon his mind, + or some other cause, consign'd him to a sick hammock, from which he only + found relief through the Great Dismisser. He was buried in the sea, and in + due time his family arrived at the American emporium. But there, the son + too sicken'd—died, ere long, and was buried likewise. They would not + bury him in the city, but away—by the solitary banks of the Hudson; + on which the widow soon afterwards took up her abode. + </p> + <p> + Ninon was too young to feel much grief at these sad occurrences; and the + mother, whatever she might have suffer'd inwardly, had a good deal of + phlegm and patience, and set about making herself and her remaining child + as comfortable as might be. They had still a respectable sum in cash, and + after due deliberation, the widow purchas'd the little quiet tavern, not + far from the grave of her boy; and of Sundays and holidays she took in + considerable money—enough to make a decent support for them in their + humble way of living. French and Germans visited the house frequently, and + quite a number of young Americans too. Probably the greatest attraction to + the latter was the sweet face of Ninon. + </p> + <p> + Spring passed, and summer crept in and wasted away, and autumn had + arrived. Every New Yorker knows what delicious weather we have, in these + regions, of the early October days; how calm, clear, and divested of + sultriness, is the air, and how decently nature seems preparing for her + winter sleep. + </p> + <p> + Thus it was the last Wednesday we started on our accustomed excursion. Six + months had elapsed since our first visit, and, as then, we were full of + the exuberance of young and joyful hearts. Frequent and hearty were our + jokes, by no means particular about the theme or the method, and long and + loud the peals of laughter that rang over the fields or along the shore. + </p> + <p> + We took our seats round the same clean, white table, and received our + favorite beverage in the same bright tankards. They were set before us by + the sober Margery, no one else being visible. As frequently happen'd, we + were the only company. Walking and breathing the keen, fine air had made + us dry, and we soon drain'd the foaming vessels, and call'd for more. I + remember well an animated chat we had about some poems that had just made + their appearance from a great British author, and were creating quite a + public stir. There was one, a tale of passion and despair, which Wheaton + had read, and of which he gave us a transcript. Wild, startling, and + dreamy, perhaps it threw over our minds its peculiar cast. An hour moved + off, and we began to think it strange that neither Ninon or the widow came + into the room. One of us gave a hint to that effect to Margery; but she + made no answer, and went on in her usual way as before. + </p> + <p> + "The grim old thing," said Wheaton, "if she were in Spain, they'd make her + a premier duenna!" + </p> + <p> + I ask'd the woman about Ninon and the widow. She seemed disturb'd, I + thought; but, making no reply to the first part of my question, said that + her mistress was in another part of the house, and did not wish to be with + company. + </p> + <p> + "Then be kind enough, Mrs. Vinegar," resumed Wheaton, good-naturedly, "be + kind enough to go and ask the widow if we can see Ninon." + </p> + <p> + Our attendant's face turn'd as pale as ashes, and she precipitately left + the apartment. We laugh'd at her agitation, which Frank Brown assigned to + our merry ridicule. + </p> + <p> + Quite a quarter of an hour elaps'd before Margery's return. When she + appear'd she told us briefly that the widow had bidden her obey our + behest, and now, if we desired, she would conduct us to the daughter's + presence. There was a singular expression in the woman's eyes, and the + whole affair began to strike us as somewhat odd; but we arose, and taking + our caps, follow'd her as she stepp'd through the door. Back of the house + were some fields, and a path leading into clumps of trees. At some thirty + rods distant from the tavern, nigh one of those clumps, the larger tree + whereof was a willow, Margery stopp'd, and pausing a minute, while we came + up, spoke in tones calm and low: + </p> + <p> + "Ninon is there!" + </p> + <p> + She pointed downward with her finger. Great God! There was a <i>grave</i>, + new made, and with the sods loosely join'd, and a rough brown stone at + each extremity! Some earth yet lay upon the grass near by. If we had + look'd, we might have seen the resting-place of the widow's son, Ninon's + brother—for it was close at hand. But amid the whole scene our eyes + took in nothing except that horrible covering of death—the + oven-shaped mound. My sight seemed to waver, my head felt dizzy, and a + feeling of deadly sickness came over me. I heard a stifled exclamation, + and looking round, saw Frank Brown leaning against the nearest tree, great + sweat upon his forehead, and his cheeks bloodless as chalk. Wheaton gave + way to his agony more fully than ever I had known a man before; he had + fallen—sobbing like a child, and wringing his hands. It is + impossible to describe the suddenness and fearfulness of the sickening + truth that came upon us like a stroke of thunder. + </p> + <p> + Of all of us, my brother Matthew neither shed tears, or turned pale, or + fainted, or exposed any other evidence of inward depth of pain. His quiet, + pleasant voice was indeed a tone lower, but it was that which recall'd us, + after the lapse of many long minutes, to ourselves. + </p> + <p> + So the girl had died and been buried. We were told of an illness that had + seized her the very day after our last preceding visit; but we inquired + not into the particulars. + </p> + <p> + And now come I to the conclusion of my story, and to the most singular + part of it. The evening of the third day afterward, Wheaton, who had wept + scalding tears, and Brown, whose cheeks had recovered their color, and + myself, that for an hour thought my heart would never rebound again from + the fearful shock—that evening, I say, we three were seated around a + table in another tavern, drinking other beer, and laughing but a little + less cheerfully, and as though we had never known the widow or her + daughter—neither of whom, I venture to affirm, came into our minds + once the whole night, or but to be dismiss'd again, carelessly, like the + remembrance of faces seen in a crowd. + </p> + <p> + Strange are the contradictions of the things of life! The seventh day + after that dreadful visit saw my brother Matthew—the delicate one, + who, while bold men writhed in torture, had kept the same placid face, and + the same untrembling fingers—him that seventh day saw a clay-cold + corpse, carried to the repose of the churchyard. The shaft, rankling far + down and within, wrought a poison too great for show, and the youth died. + </p> + <h3> + THE CHILD AND THE PROFLIGATE + </h3> + <p> + Just after sunset, one evening in summer—that pleasant hour when the + air is balmy, the light loses its glare, and all around is imbued with + soothing quiet—on the door-step of a house there sat an elderly + woman waiting the arrival of her son. The house was in a straggling + village some fifty miles from New York city. She who sat on the door-step + was a widow; her white cap cover'd locks of gray, and her dress, though + clean, was exceedingly homely. Her house—for the tenement she + occupied was her own—was very little and very old. Trees clustered + around it so thickly as almost to hide its color—that blackish gray + color which belongs to old wooden houses that have never been painted; and + to get in it you had to enter a little rickety gate and walk through a + short path, border'd by carrot beds and beets and other vegetables. The + son whom she was expecting was her only child. About a year before he had + been bound apprentice to a rich farmer in the place, and after finishing + his daily task he was in the habit of spending half an hour at his + mother's. On the present occasion the shadows of night had settled heavily + before the youth made his appearance. When he did, his walk was slow and + dragging, and all his motions were languid, as if from great weariness. He + open'd the gate, came through the path, and sat down by his mother in + silence. + </p> + <p> + "You are sullen to-night, Charley," said the widow, after a moment's + pause, when she found that he return' d no answer to her greeting. + </p> + <p> + As she spoke she put her hand fondly on his head; it seem'd moist as if it + had been dipp'd in the water. His shirt, too, was soak'd; and as she + pass'd her fingers down his shoulder she left a sharp twinge in her heart, + for she knew that moisture to be the hard wrung sweat of severe toil, + exacted from her young child (he was but thirteen years old) by an + unyielding taskmaster. + </p> + <p> + "You have work'd hard to-day, my son." + </p> + <p> + "I've been mowing." + </p> + <p> + The widow's heart felt another pang. + </p> + <p> + "Not <i>all day</i>, Charley?" she said, in a low voice; and there was a + slight quiver in it. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, mother, all day," replied the boy; "Mr. Ellis said he couldn't + afford to hire men, for wages are so high. I've swung the scythe ever + since an hour before sunrise. Feel of my hands." + </p> + <p> + There were blisters on them like great lumps. Tears started in the widow's + eyes. She dared not trust herself with a reply, though her heart was + bursting with the thought that she could not better his condition. There + was no earthly means of support on which she had dependence enough to + encourage her child in the wish she knew he was forming—the wish not + utter'd for the first time—to be freed from his bondage. "Mother," + at length said the boy, "I can stand it no longer. I cannot and will not + stay at Mr. Ellis's. Ever since the day I first went into his house I've + been a slave; and if I have to work so much longer I know I shall run off + and go to sea or somewhere else. I'd as leave be in my grave as there." + And the child burst into a passionate fit of weeping. + </p> + <p> + His mother was silent, for she was in deep grief herself. After some + minutes had flown, however, she gather'd sufficient self-possession to + speak to her son in a soothing tone, endeavoring to win him from his + sorrows and cheer up his heart. She told him that time was swift—that + in the course of a few years he would be his own master.—that all + people have their troubles—with many other ready arguments which, + though they had little effect in calming her own distress, she hoped would + act as a solace to the disturb'd temper of the boy. And as the half hour + to which he was limited had now elaps'd, she took him by the hand and led + him to the gate, to set forth on his return. The youth seemed pacified, + though occasionally one of those convulsive sighs that remain after a fit + of weeping, would break from his throat. At the gate he threw his arms + about his mother's neck; each press'd a long kiss on the lips of the + other, and the youngster bent his steps towards his master's house. + </p> + <p> + As her child pass'd out of sight the widow return'd, shut the gate and + enter'd her lonely room. There was no light in the old cottage that night—the + heart of its occupant was dark and cheerless. Love, agony, and grief, and + tears and convulsive wrestlings were there. The thought of a beloved son + condemned to labor—labor that would break down a man—struggling + from day to day under the hard rule of a soulless gold-worshipper; the + knowledge that years must pass thus; the sickening idea of her own + poverty, and of living mainly on the grudged charity of neighbors—thoughts, + too, of former happy days—these rack'd the widow's heart, and made + her bed a sleepless one without repose. + </p> + <p> + The boy bent his steps to his employer's, as has been said. In his way + down the village street he had to pass a public house, the only one the + place contain'd; and when he came off against it he heard the sound of a + fiddle—drown'd, however, at intervals, by much laughter and talking. + The windows were up, and, the house standing close to the road, Charles + thought it no harm to take a look and see what was going on within. Half a + dozen footsteps brought him to the low casement, on which he lean'd his + elbow, and where he had a full view of the room and its occupants. In one + corner was an old man, known in the village as Black Dave—he it was + whose musical performances had a moment before drawn Charles's attention + to the tavern; and he it was who now exerted himself in a violent manner + to give, with divers flourishes and extra twangs, a tune very popular + among that thick-lipp'd race whose fondness for melody is so well known. + In the middle of the room were five or six sailors, some of them quite + drunk, and others in the earlier stages of that process, while on benches + around were more sailors, and here and there a person dress'd in + landsman's attire. The men in the middle of the room were dancing; that + is, they were going through certain contortions and shufflings, varied + occasionally by exceeding hearty stamps upon the sanded floor. In short + the whole party were engaged in a drunken frolic, which was in no respect + different from a thousand other drunken frolics, except, perhaps, that + there was less than the ordinary amount of anger and quarreling. Indeed + everyone seem' d in remarkably good humor. + </p> + <p> + But what excited the boy's attention more than any other object was an + individual, seated on one of the benches opposite, who, though evidently + enjoying the spree as much as if he were an old hand at such business, + seem' d in every other particular to be far out of his element. His + appearance was youthful. He might have been twenty-one or two years old. + His countenance was intelligent, and had the air of city life and society. + He was dress'd not gaudily, but in every respect fashionably; his coat + being of the finest broadcloth, his linen delicate and spotless as snow, + and his whole aspect that of one whose counterpart may now and then be + seen upon the pave in Broadway of a fine afternoon. He laugh'd and talk'd + with the rest, and it must be confess'd his jokes—like the most of + those that pass'd current there—were by no means distinguish'd for + their refinement or purity. Near the door was a small table, cover'd with + decanters and glasses, some of which had been used, but were used again + indiscriminately, and a box of very thick and very long cigars. + </p> + <p> + One of the sailors—and it was he who made the largest share of the + hubbub—had but one eye. His chin and cheeks were cover'd with huge, + bushy whiskers, and altogether he had quite a brutal appearance. "Come, + boys," said this gentleman, "come, let us take a drink. I know you're all + a getting dry;" and he clench'd his invitation with an appalling oath. + This politeness was responded to by a general moving of the company toward + the table holding the before-mention'd decanters and glasses. Clustering + there around, each one help'd himself to a very handsome portion of that + particular liquor which suited his fancy; and steadiness and accuracy + being at that moment by no means distinguishing traits of the arms and + legs of the party, a goodly amount of the fluid was spill'd upon the + floor. This piece of extravagance excited the ire of the personage who + gave the "treat;" and that ire was still further increas'd when he + discover'd two or three loiterers who seem'd disposed to slight his + request to drink. Charles, as we have before mention'd, was looking in at + the window. + </p> + <p> + "Walk up, boys! walk up! If there be any skulker among us, blast my eyes + if he shan't go down on his marrow bones and taste the liquor we have + spilt! Hallo!" he exclaim'd as he spied Charles; "hallo, you chap in the + window, come here and take a sup." + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he stepp'd to the open casement, put his brawny hands under + the boy's arms, and lifted him into the room bodily. + </p> + <p> + "There, my lads," said he, turning to his companions, "there's a new + recruit for you. Not so coarse a one, either," he added as he took a fair + view of the boy, who, though not what is called pretty, was fresh and + manly looking, and large for his age. + </p> + <p> + "Come, youngster, take a glass," he continued. And he pour'd one nearly + full of strong brandy. + </p> + <p> + Now Charles was not exactly frighten'd, for he was a lively fellow, and + had often been at the country merry-makings, and at the parties of the + place; but he was certainly rather abash'd at his abrupt introduction to + the midst of strangers. So, putting the glass aside, he look'd up with a + pleasant smile in his new acquaintance's face. + </p> + <p> + "I've no need for anything now," he said, "but I'm just as much obliged to + you as if I was." + </p> + <p> + "Poh! man, drink it down," rejoin'd the sailor, "drink it down—it + won't hurt you." + </p> + <p> + And, by way of showing its excellence, the one-eyed worthy drain'd it + himself to the last drop. Then filling it again, he renew'd his efforts to + make the lad go through the same operation. + </p> + <p> + "I've no occasion. Besides, <i>my mother has often pray'd me not to drink,</i> + and I promised to obey her." + </p> + <p> + A little irritated by his continued refusal, the sailor, with a loud oath, + declared that Charles should swallow the brandy, whether he would or no. + Placing one of his tremendous paws on the back of the boy's head, with the + other he thrust the edge of the glass to his lips, swearing at the same + time, that if he shook it so as to spill its contents the consequences + would be of a nature by no means agreeable to his back and shoulders. + Disliking the liquor, and angry at the attempt to overbear him, the + undaunted child lifted his hand and struck the arm of the sailor with a + blow so sudden that the glass fell and was smash'd to pieces on the floor; + while the brandy was about equally divided between the face of Charles, + the clothes of the sailor, and the sand. By this time the whole of the + company had their attention drawn to the scene. Some of them laugh'd when + they saw Charles's undisguised antipathy to the drink; but they laugh'd + still more heartily when he discomfited the sailor. All of them, however, + were content to let the matter go as chance would have it—all but + the young man of the black coat, who has been spoken of. + </p> + <p> + What was there in the words which Charles had spoken that carried the mind + of the young man back to former times—to a period when he was more + pure and innocent than now? "<i>My mother has often pray'd me not to + drink!</i>" Ah, how the mist of months roll'd aside, and presented to his + soul's eye the picture of <i>his</i> mother, and a prayer of exactly + similar purport! Why was it, too, that the young man's heart moved with a + feeling of kindness toward the harshly treated child? + </p> + <p> + Charles stood, his cheek flush'd and his heart throbbing, wiping the + trickling drops from his face with a handkerchief. At first the sailor, + between his drunkenness and his surprise, was much in the condition of one + suddenly awaken'd out of a deep sleep, who cannot call his consciousness + about him. When he saw the state of things, however, and heard the jeering + laugh of his companions, his dull eye lighting up with anger, fell upon + the boy who had withstood him. He seized Charles with a grip of iron, and + with the side of his heavy boot gave him a sharp and solid kick. He was + about repeating the performance—for the child hung like a rag in his + grasp—but all of a sudden his ears rang, as if pistols were snapp'd + close to them; lights of various hues flicker'd in his eye, (he had but + one, it will be remember'd,) and a strong propelling power caused him to + move from his position, and keep moving until he was brought up by the + wall. A blow, a cuff given in such a scientific manner that the hand from + which it proceeded was evidently no stranger to the pugilistic art, had + been suddenly planted in the ear of the sailor. It was planted by the + young man of the black coat. He had watch'd with interest the proceeding + of the sailor and the boy—two or three times he was on the point of + interfering; but when the kick was given, his rage was uncontrollable. He + sprang from his seat in the attitude of a boxer—struck the sailor in + a manner to cause those unpleasant sensations which have been described—and + would probably have follow'd up the attack, had not Charles, now + thoroughly terrified, clung around his legs and prevented his advancing. + </p> + <p> + The scene was a strange one, and for the time quite a silent one. The + company had started from their seats, and for a moment held breathless but + strain'd positions. In the middle of the room stood the young man, in his + not at all ungraceful attitude—every nerve out, and his eyes + flashing brilliantly. + </p> + <p> + He seem'd rooted like a rock; and clasping him, with an appearance of + confidence in his protection, clung the boy. + </p> + <p> + "You scoundrel!" cried the young man, his voice thick with passion, "dare + to touch the boy again, and I'll thrash you till no sense is left in your + body." + </p> + <p> + The sailor, now partially recover'd, made some gestures of a belligerent + nature. + </p> + <p> + "Come on, drunken brute!" continued the angry youth; "I wish you would! + You've not had half what you deserve!" + </p> + <p> + Upon sobriety and sense more fully taking their power in the brains of the + one-eyed mariner, however, that worthy determined in his own mind that it + would be most prudent to let the matter drop. Expressing therefore his + conviction to that effect, adding certain remarks to the purport that he + "meant no harm to the lad," that he was surprised at such a gentleman + being angry at "a little piece of fun," and so forth—he proposed + that the company should go on with their jollity just as if nothing had + happen'd. In truth, he of the single eye was not a bad fellow at heart, + after all; the fiery enemy whose advances he had so often courted that + night, had stolen away his good feelings, and set busy devils at work + within him, that might have made his hands do some dreadful deed, had not + the stranger interposed. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes the frolic of the party was upon its former footing. The + young man sat down upon one of the benches, with the boy by his side, and + while the rest were loudly laughing and talking, they two convers'd + together. The stranger learn'd from Charles all the particulars of his + simple story—how his father had died years since—how his + mother work' d hard for a bare living—and how he himself, for many + dreary months, had been the servant of a hard-hearted, avaricious master. + More and more interested, drawing the child close to his side, the young + man listen'd to his plainly told history—and thus an hour pass'd + away. + </p> + <p> + It was now past midnight. The young man told Charles that on the morrow he + would take steps to relieve him from his servitude—that for the + present night the landlord would probably give him a lodging at the inn—and + little persuading did the host need for that. + </p> + <p> + As he retired to sleep, very pleasant thoughts filled the mind of the + young man—thoughts of a worthy action perform'd—thoughts, too, + newly awakened ones, of walking in a steadier and wiser path than + formerly. + </p> + <p> + That roof, then, sheltered two beings that night—one of them + innocent and sinless of all wrong—the other—oh, to that other + what evil had not been present, either in action or to his desires! + </p> + <p> + Who was the stranger? To those that, from ties of relationship or + otherwise, felt an interest in him, the answer to that question was not + pleasant to dwell upon. His name was Langton—parentless—a + dissipated young man—a brawler—one whose too frequent + companions were rowdies, blacklegs, and swindlers. The New York police + offices were not strangers to his countenance. He had been bred to the + profession of medicine; besides, he had a very respectable income, and his + house was in a pleasant street on the west side of the city. Little of his + time, however, did Mr. John Langton spend at his domestic hearth; and the + elderly lady who officiated as his housekeeper was by no means surprised + to have him gone for a week or a month at a time, and she knowing nothing + of his whereabouts. + </p> + <p> + Living as he did, the young man was an unhappy being. It was not so much + that his associates were below his own capacity—for Langton, though + sensible and well bred, was not highly talented or refined—but that + he lived without any steady purpose, that he had no one to attract him to + his home, that he too easily allow'd himself to be tempted—which + caused his life to be, of late, one continued scene of dissatisfaction. + This dissatisfaction he sought to drive away by the brandy bottle, and + mixing in all kinds of parties where the object was pleasure. On the + present occasion he had left the city a few days before, and passing his + time at a place near the village where Charles and his mother lived. He + fell in, during the day, with those who were his companions of the tavern + spree; and thus it happen'd that they were all together. Langton hesitated + not to make himself at home with any associate that suited his fancy. + </p> + <p> + The next morning the poor widow rose from her sleepless cot; and from that + lucky trait in our nature which makes one extreme follow another, she set + about her toil with a lighten'd heart. Ellis, the farmer, rose, too, short + as the nights were, an hour before day; for his god was gain, and a prime + article of his creed was to get as much work as possible from every one + around him. In the course of the day Ellis was called upon by young + Langton, and never perhaps in his life was the farmer puzzled more than at + the young man's proposal—his desire to provide for the widow's + family, a family that could do him no pecuniary good, and his willingness + to disburse money for that purpose. The widow, too, was called upon, not + only on that day, but the next and the next. + </p> + <p> + It needs not that I should particularize the subsequent events of + Langton's and the boy's history—how the reformation of the + profligate might be dated to begin from that time—how he gradually + sever'd the guilty ties that had so long gall'd him—how he enjoy'd + his own home again—how the friendship of Charles and himself grew + not slack with time—and how, when in the course of seasons he became + head of a family of his own, he would shudder at the remembrance of his + early dangers and his escapes. + </p> + <h3> + LINGAVE'S TEMPTATION + </h3> + <p> + "Another day," utter'd the poet Lingave, as he awoke in the morning, and + turn'd him drowsily on his hard pallet, "another day comes out, burthen'd + with its weight of woes. Of what use is existence to me? Crush'd down + beneath the merciless heel of poverty, and no promise of hope to cheer me + on, what have I in prospect but a life neglected and a death of misery?" + </p> + <p> + The youth paused; but receiving no answer to his questions, thought proper + to continue the peevish soliloquy. "I am a genius, they say," and the + speaker smiled bitterly, "but genius is not apparel and food. Why should I + exist in the world, unknown, unloved, press'd with cares, while so many + around me have all their souls can desire? I behold the splendid equipages + roll by—I see the respectful bow at the presence of pride—and + I curse the contrast between my own lot, and the fortune of the rich. The + lofty air—the show of dress—the aristocratic demeanor—the + glitter of jewels—dazzle my eyes; and sharp-tooth' d envy works + within me. I hate these haughty and favor'd ones. Why should my path be so + much rougher than theirs? Pitiable, unfortunate man that I am! to be + placed beneath those whom in my heart I despise—and to be constantly + tantalized with the presence of that wealth I cannot enjoy!" And the poet + cover'd his eyes with his hands, and wept from very passion and + fretfulness. + </p> + <p> + O, Lingave! be more of a man! Have you not the treasures of health and + untainted propensities, which many of those you envy never enjoy? Are you + not their superior in mental power, in liberal views of mankind, and in + comprehensive intellect? And even allowing you the choice, how would you + shudder at changing, in total, conditions with them! Besides, were you + willing to devote all your time and energies, you could gain property too: + squeeze, and toil, and worry, and twist everything into a matter of + profit, and you can become a great man, as far as money goes to make + greatness. + </p> + <p> + Retreat, then, man of the polish'd soul, from those irritable complaints + against your lot-those longings for wealth and puerile distinction, not + worthy your class. Do justice, philosopher, to your own powers. While the + world runs after its shadows and its bubbles, (thus commune in your own + mind,) we will fold ourselves in our circle of understanding, and look + with an eye of apathy on those things it considers so mighty and so + enviable. Let the proud man pass with his pompous glance—let the gay + flutter in finery—let the foolish enjoy his folly, and the beautiful + move on in his perishing glory; we will gaze without desire on all their + possessions, and all their pleasures. Our destiny is different from + theirs. Not for such as we, the lowly flights of their crippled wings. We + acknowledge no fellow-ship with them in ambition. We composedly look down + on the paths where they walk, and pursue our own, without uttering a wish + to descend, and be as they. What is it to us that the mass pay us not that + deference which wealth commands? We desire no applause, save the applause + of the good and discriminating—the choice spirits among men. Our + intellect would be sullied, were the vulgar to approximate to it, by + professing to readily enter in, and praising it. Our pride is a towering, + and thrice refined pride. + </p> + <p> + When Lingave had given way to his temper some half hour, or thereabout, he + grew more calm, and bethought himself that he was acting a very silly + part. He listen'd a moment to the clatter of the carts, and the tramp of + early passengers on the pave below, as they wended along to commence their + daily toil. It was just sunrise, and the season was summer. A little + canary bird, the only pet poor Lingave could afford to keep, chirp'd + merrily in its cage on the wall. How slight a circumstance will sometimes + change the whole current of our thoughts! The music of that bird + abstracting the mind of the poet but a moment from his sorrows, gave a + chance for his natural buoyancy to act again. + </p> + <p> + Lingave sprang lightly from his bed, and perform'd his ablutions and his + simple toilet—then hanging the cage on a nail outside the window, + and speaking an endearment to the songster, which brought a perfect flood + of melody in return—he slowly passed through his door, descended the + long narrow turnings of the stairs, and stood in the open street. + Undetermin'd as to any particular destination, he folded his hands behind + him, cast his glance upon the ground, and moved listlessly onward. + </p> + <p> + Hour after hour the poet walk'd along—up this street and down that—he + reck'd not how or where. And as crowded thoroughfares are hardly the most + fit places for a man to let his fancy soar in the clouds—many a push + and shove and curse did the dreamer get bestow'd upon him. + </p> + <p> + The booming of the city clock sounded forth the hour twelve—high + noon. + </p> + <p> + "Ho! Lingave!" cried a voice from an open basement window as the poet + pass'd. + </p> + <p> + He stopp'd, and then unwittingly would have walked on still, not fully + awaken'd from his reverie. + </p> + <p> + "Lingave, I say!" cried the voice again, and the person to whom the voice + belong'd stretch'd his head quite out into the area in front, "Stop man. + Have you forgotten your appointment?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh! ah!" said the poet, and he smiled unmeaningly, and descending the + steps, went into the office of Ridman, whose call it was that had startled + him in his walk. + </p> + <p> + Who was Ridman? While the poet is waiting the convenience of that + personage, it may be as well to describe him. + </p> + <p> + Ridman was a <i>money-maker</i>. He had much penetration, considerable + knowledge of the world, and a disposition to be constantly in the midst of + enterprise, excitement, and stir. His schemes for gaining wealth were + various; he had dipp'd into almost every branch and channel of business. A + slight acquaintance of several years' standing subsisted between him and + the poet. The day previous a boy had call'd with a note from Ridman to + Lingave, desiring the presence of the latter at the money-maker's room. + The poet return'd for answer that he would be there. This was the + engagement which he came near breaking. + </p> + <p> + Ridman had a smooth tongue. All his ingenuity was needed in the + explanation to his companion of why and wherefore the latter had been sent + for. + </p> + <p> + It is not requisite to state specifically the offer made by the man of + wealth to the poet. Ridman, in one of his enterprises, found it necessary + to procure the aid of such a person as Lingave—a writer of power, a + master of elegant diction, of fine taste, in style passionate yet pure, + and of the delicate imagery that belongs to the children of song. The + youth was absolutely startled at the magnificent and permanent + remuneration which was held out to him for a moderate exercise of his + talents. + </p> + <p> + But the <i>nature</i> of the service required! All the sophistry and art + of Ridman could not veil its repulsiveness. The poet was to labor for the + advancement of what he felt to be unholy—he was to inculcate what + would lower the perfection of man. He promised to give an answer to the + proposal the succeeding day, and left the place. + </p> + <p> + Now during the many hours there was a war going on in the heart of the + poor poet. He was indeed poor; often he had no certainty whether he should + be able to procure the next day's meals. And the poet knew the beauty of + truth, and adored, not in the abstract merely, but in practice, the + excellence of upright principles. + </p> + <p> + Night came. Lingave, wearied, lay upon his pallet again and slept. The + misty veil thrown over him, the spirit of poesy came to his visions, and + stood beside him, and look'd down pleasantly with her large eyes, which + were bright and liquid like the reflection of stars in a lake. + </p> + <p> + Virtue, (such imagining, then, seem'd conscious to the soul of the + dreamer,) is ever the sinew of true genius. Together, the two in one, they + are endow'd with immortal strength, and approach loftily to Him from whom + both spring. Yet there are those that having great powers, bend them to + the slavery of wrong. God forgive them! for they surely do it ignorantly + or heedlessly. Oh, could he who lightly tosses around him the seeds of + evil in his writings, or his enduring thoughts, or his chance words—could + he see how, haply, they are to spring up in distant time and poison the + air, and putrefy, and cause to sicken—would he not shrink back in + horror? A bad principle, jestingly spoken—a falsehood, but of a word—may + taint a whole nation! Let the man to whom the great Master has given the + might of mind, beware how he uses that might. If for the furtherance of + bad ends, what can be expected but that, as the hour of the closing scene + draws nigh, thoughts of harm done, and capacities distorted from their + proper aim, and strength so laid out that men must be worse instead of + better, through the exertion of that strength—will come and swarm + like spectres around him? + </p> + <p> + "Be and continue poor, young man," so taught one whose counsels should be + graven on the heart of every youth, "while others around you grow rich by + fraud and disloyalty. Be without place and power, while others beg their + way upward. Bear the pain of disappointed hopes, while others gain the + accomplishment of their flattery. Forego the gracious pressure of a hand, + for which others cringe and crawl. Wrap yourself in your own virtue, and + seek a friend and your daily bread. If you have, in such a course, grown + gray with unblench'd honor, bless God and die." + </p> + <p> + When Lingave awoke the next morning, he despatch'd his answer to his + wealthy friend, and then plodded on as in the days before. + </p> + <h3> + LITTLE JANE + </h3> + <p> + "Lift up!" was ejaculated as a signal! and click! went the glasses in the + hands of a party of tipsy men, drinking one night at the bar of one of the + middling order of taverns. And many a wild gibe was utter'd, and many a + terrible blasphemy, and many an impure phrase sounded out the pollution of + the hearts of these half-crazed creatures, as they toss'd down their + liquor, and made the walls echo with their uproar. The first and foremost + in recklessness was a girlish-faced, fair-hair'd fellow of twenty-two or + three years. They called him Mike. He seem'd to be look'd upon by the + others as a sort of prompter, from whom they were to take cue. And if the + brazen wickedness evinced by him in a hundred freaks and remarks to his + companions, during their stay in that place, were any test of his capacity—there + might hardly be one more fit to go forward as a guide on the road of + destruction. From the conversation of the party, it appear'd that they had + been spending the early part of the evening in a gambling house. + </p> + <p> + A second, third and fourth time were the glasses fill'd; and the effect + thereof began to be perceiv'd in a still higher degree of noise and + loquacity among the revellers. One of the serving-men came in at this + moment, and whisper'd the barkeeper, who went out, and in a moment + return'd again. "A person," he said, "wish'd to speak with Mr. Michael. He + waited on the walk in front." + </p> + <p> + The individual whose name was mention'd, made his excuses to the others, + telling them he would be back in a moment, and left the room. As he shut + the door behind him, and stepp'd into the open air, he saw one of his + brothers—his elder by eight or ten years—pacing to and fro + with rapid and uneven steps. As the man turn'd in his walk, and the glare + of the street lamp fell upon his face, the youth, half-benumb'd as his + senses were, was somewhat startled at its paleness and evident + perturbation. "Come with me!" said the elder brother, hurriedly, "the + illness of our little Jane is worse, and I have been sent for you." + </p> + <p> + "Poh!" answered the young drunkard, very composedly, "is that all? I shall + be home by-and-by," and he turn'd back again. + </p> + <p> + "But, brother, she is worse than ever before. Perhaps when you arrive she + may be dead." + </p> + <p> + The tipsy one paus'd in his retreat, perhaps alarm'd at the utterance of + that dread word, which seldom fails to shoot a chill to the hearts of + mortals. But he soon calm'd himself, and waving his hand to the other: + "Why, see," said he, "a score of times at least, have I been call'd away + to the last sickness of our good little sister; and each time it proves to + be nothing worse than some whim of the nurse or physician. Three years has + the girl been able to live very heartily under her disease; and I'll be + bound she'll stay on earth three years longer." + </p> + <p> + And as he concluded this wicked and most brutal reply, the speaker open'd + the door and went into the bar-room. But in his intoxication, during the + hour that follow'd, Mike was far from being at ease. At the end of that + hour, the words, "perhaps when you arrive she may be <i>dead</i>?" were + not effaced from his hearing yet, and he started for home. The elder + brother had wended his way back in sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Let me go before the younger one, awhile, to a room in that home. A little + girl lay there dying. She had been ill a long time; so it was no sudden + thing for her parents, and her brethren and sisters, to be called for the + witness of the death agony. The girl was not what might be called + beautiful. And yet, there is a solemn kind of loveliness that always + surrounds a sick child. The sympathy for the weak and helpless sufferer, + perhaps, increases it in our own ideas. The ashiness and the moisture on + the brow, and the film over the eyeballs—what man can look upon the + sight, and not feel his heart awed within him? Children, I have sometimes + fancied too, increase in beauty as their illness deepens. + </p> + <p> + Besides the nearest relatives of little Jane, standing round her bedside, + was the family doctor. He had just laid her wrist down upon the coverlet, + and the look he gave the mother, was a look in which there was no hope. + "My child!" she cried, in uncontrollable agony, "O! my child!" And the + father, and the sons and daughters, were bowed down in grief, and thick + tears rippled between the fingers held before their eyes. + </p> + <p> + Then there was silence awhile. During the hour just by-gone, Jane had, in + her childish way, bestow'd a little gift upon each of her kindred, as a + remembrancer when she should be dead and buried in the grave. And there + was one of these simple tokens which had not reach'd its destination. She + held it in her hand now. It was a very small much-thumbed book—a + religious story for infants, given her by her mother when she had first + learn'd to read. + </p> + <p> + While they were all keeping this solemn stillness-broken only by the + suppress'd sobs of those who stood and watch'd for the passing away of the + girl's soul—a confusion of some one entering rudely, and speaking in + a turbulent voice, was heard in an adjoining apartment. Again the voice + roughly sounded out; it was the voice of the drunkard Mike, and the father + bade one of his sons go and quiet the intruder "If nought else will do," + said he sternly, "put him forth by strength. We want no tipsy brawlers + here, to disturb such a scene as this." For what moved the sick girl + uneasily on her pillow, and raised her neck, and motion'd to her mother? + She would that Mike should be brought to her side. And it was enjoin'd on + him whom the father had bade to eject the noisy one, that he should tell + Mike his sister's request, and beg him to come to her. + </p> + <p> + He came. The inebriate—his mind sober'd by the deep solemnity of the + scene—stood there, and leaned over to catch the last accounts of one + who soon was to be with the spirits of heaven. All was the silence of the + deepest night. The dying child held the young man's hand in one of hers; + with the other she slowly lifted the trifling memorial she had assigned + especially for him, aloft in the air. Her arm shook—her eyes, now + becoming glassy with the death-damps, were cast toward her brother's face. + She smiled pleasantly, and as an indistinct gurgle came from her throat, + the uplifted hand fell suddenly into the open palm of her brother's, + depositing the tiny volume there. Little Jane was dead. + </p> + <p> + From that night, the young man stepped no more in his wild courses, but + was reform'd. + </p> + <h3> + DUMB KATE + </h3> + <p> + Not many years since—and yet long enough to have been before the + abundance of railroads, and similar speedy modes of conveyance—the + travelers from Amboy village to the metropolis of our republic were + permitted to refresh themselves, and the horses of the stage had a + breathing spell, at a certain old-fashion'd tavern, about half way between + the two places. It was a quaint, comfortable, ancient house, that tavern. + Huge buttonwood trees embower'd it round about, and there was a long porch + in front, the trellis'd work whereof, though old and moulder'd, had been, + and promised still to be for years, held together by the tangled folds of + a grape vine wreath'd about it like a tremendous serpent. + </p> + <p> + How clean and fragrant everything was there! How bright the pewter + tankards wherefrom cider or ale went into the parch'd throat of the + thirsty man! How pleasing to look into the expressive eyes of Kate, the + land-lord's lovely daughter, who kept everything so clean and bright! + </p> + <p> + Now the reason why Kate's eyes had become so expressive was, that, besides + their proper and natural office, they stood to the poor girl in the place + of tongue and ears also. Kate had been dumb from her birth. Everybody + loved the helpless creature when she was a child. Gentle, timid, and + affectionate was she, and beautiful as the lilies of which she loved to + cultivate so many every summer in her garden. Her light hair, and the + like-color'd lashes, so long and silky, that droop'd over her blue eyes of + such uncommon size and softness—her rounded shape, well set off by a + little modest art of dress—her smile—the graceful ease of her + motions, always attracted the admiration of the strangers who stopped + there, and were quite a pride to her parents and friends. + </p> + <p> + How could it happen that so beautiful and inoffensive a being should + taste, even to its dregs, the bitterest unhappiness? Oh, there must indeed + be a mysterious, unfathomable meaning in the decrees of Providence which + is beyond the comprehension of man; for no one on earth less deserved or + needed "the uses of adversity" than Dumb Kate. Love, the mighty and + lawless passion, came into the sanctuary of the maid's pure breast, and + the dove of peace fled away forever. + </p> + <p> + One of the persons who had occasion to stop most frequently at the tavern + kept by Dumb Kate's parents was a young man, the son of a wealthy farmer, + who own'd an estate in the neighborhood. He saw Kate, and was struck with + her natural elegance. Though not of thoroughly wicked propensities, the + fascination of so fine a prize made this youth determine to gain her love, + and, if possible, to win her to himself. At first he hardly dared, even + amid the depths of his own soul, to entertain thoughts of vileness against + one so confiding and childlike. But in a short time such feelings wore + away, and he made up his mind to become the betrayer of poor Kate. He was + a good-looking fellow, and made but too sure of his victim. Kate was lost! + </p> + <p> + The villain came to New York soon after, and engaged in a business which + prosper'd well, and which has no doubt by this time made him what is + call'd a man of fortune. + </p> + <p> + Not long did sickness of the heart wear into the life and happiness of + Dumb Kate. One pleasant spring day, the neighbors having been called by a + notice the previous morning, the old churchyard was thrown open, and a + coffin was borne over the early grass that seem'd so delicate with its + light green hue. There was a new made grave, and by its side the bier was + rested—while they paused a moment until holy words had been said. An + idle boy, call'd there by curiosity, saw something lying on the fresh + earth thrown out from the grave, which attracted his attention. A little + blossom, the only one to be seen around, had grown exactly on the spot + where the sexton chose to dig poor Kate's last resting-place. It was a + weak but lovely flower, and now lay where it had been carelessly toss'd + amid the coarse gravel. The boy twirl'd it a moment in his fingers—the + bruis'd fragments gave out a momentary perfume, and then fell to the edge + of the pit, over which the child at that moment lean'd and gazed in his + inquisitiveness. As they dropp'd, they were wafted to the bottom of the + grave. The last look was bestow'd on the dead girl's face by those who + loved her so well in life, and then she was softly laid away to her sleep + beneath that green grass covering. + </p> + <p> + Yet in the churchyard on the hill is Kate's grave. There stands a little + white stone at the head, and verdure grows richly there; and gossips, + some-times of a Sabbath afternoon, rambling over that gathering-place of + the gone from earth, stop a while, and con over the dumb girl's hapless + story. + </p> + <h3> + TALK TO AN ART-UNION + </h3> + <p> + <i>A Brooklyn fragment</i> + </p> + <p> + It is a beautiful truth that all men contain something of the artist in + them. And perhaps it is the case that the greatest artists live and die, + the world and themselves alike ignorant what they possess. Who would not + mourn that an ample palace, of surpassingly graceful architecture, fill'd + with luxuries, and embellish'd with fine pictures and sculpture, should + stand cold and still and vacant, and never be known or enjoy'd by its + owner? Would such a fact as this cause your sadness? Then be sad. For + there is a palace, to which the courts of the most sumptuous kings are but + a frivolous patch, and, though it is always waiting for them, not one of + its owners ever enters there with any genuine sense of its grandeur and + glory. + </p> + <p> + I think of few heroic actions, which cannot be traced to the artistical + impulse. He who does great deeds, does them from his innate sensitiveness + to moral beauty. Such men are not merely artists, they are also artistic + material. Washington in some great crisis, Lawrence on the bloody deck of + the Chesapeake, Mary Stuart at the block, Kossuth in captivity, and + Mazzini in exile—all great rebels and innovators, exhibit the + highest phases of the artist spirit. The painter, the sculptor, the poet, + express heroic beauty better in description; but the others <i>are</i> + heroic beauty, the best belov'd of art. + </p> + <p> + Talk not so much, then, young artist, of the great old masters, who but + painted and chisell'd. Study not only their productions. There is a still + higher school for him who would kindle his fire with coal from the altar + of the loftiest and purest art. It is the school of all grand actions and + grand virtues, of heroism, of the death of patriots and martyrs—of + all the mighty deeds written in the pages of history—deeds of + daring, and enthusiasm, devotion, and fortitude. + </p> + <h3> + BLOOD-MONEY + </h3> + <p> + "<i>Guilty of the body and the blood of Christ</i>." + </p> + <h3> + I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of olden time, when it came to pass + That the beautiful god, Jesus, should finish his work on earth, + Then went Judas, and sold the divine youth, + And took pay for his body. + + Curs'd was the deed, even before the sweat of the clutching hand + grew dry; + And darkness frown'd upon the seller of the like of God, + Where, as though earth lifted her breast to throw him from her, + and heaven refused him, + He hung in the air, self-slaughter'd. + + The cycles, with their long shadows, have stalk'd silently forward, + Since those ancient days—many a pouch enwrapping meanwhile + Its fee, like that paid for the son of Mary. + + And still goes one, saying, + "What will ye give me, and I will deliver this man unto you?" + And they make the covenant, and pay the pieces of silver. +</pre> + <h3> + II + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Look forth, deliverer, + Look forth, first-born of the dead, + Over the tree-tops of Paradise; + See thyself in yet continued bonds, + Toilsome and poor, thou bear'st man's form again, + Thou art reviled, scourged, put into prison, + Hunted from the arrogant equality of the rest; + With staves and swords throng the willing servants of authority, + Again they surround thee, mad with devilish spite; + Toward thee stretch the hands of a multitude, like vultures' talons, + The meanest spit in thy face, they smite thee with their palms; + Bruised, bloody, and pinion'd is thy body, + More sorrowful than death is thy soul. + + Witness of anguish, brother of slaves, + Not with thy price closed the price of thine image: + And still Iscariot plies his trade. + + <i>April, 1843</i>. + + PAUMANOK. +</pre> + <h3> + WOUNDED IN THE HOUSE OF FRIENDS + </h3> + <p> + <i>"And one shall say unto him. What are these wounds in thy hands? Then + he shall answer Those with which I was wounded in the house of my + friends."—Zechariah, xiii. 6.</i> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If thou art balk'd, O Freedom, + The victory is not to thy manlier foes; + From the house of friends comes the death stab. + + Virginia, mother of greatness, + Blush not for being also mother of slaves; + You might have borne deeper slaves— + Doughfaces, crawlers, lice of humanity— + Terrific screamers of freedom, + Who roar and bawl, and get hot i' the face, + But were they not incapable of august crime, + Would quench the hopes of ages for a drink— + Muck-worms, creeping flat to the ground, + A dollar dearer to them than Christ's blessing; + All loves, all hopes, less than the thought of gain, + In life walking in that as in a shroud; + Men whom the throes of heroes, + Great deeds at which the gods might stand appal'd, + The shriek of the drown'd, the appeal of women, + The exulting laugh of untied empires, + Would touch them never in the heart, + But only in the pocket. + + Hot-headed Carolina, + Well may you curl your lip; + With all your bondsmen, bless the destiny + Which brings you no such breed as this. + + Arise, young North! + Our elder blood flows in the veins of cowards: + The gray-hair'd sneak, the blanch'd poltroon, + The feign'd or real shiverer at tongues, + That nursing babes need hardly cry the less for— + Are they to be our tokens always? +</pre> + <h3> + SAILING THE MISSISSIPPI AT MIDNIGHT + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Vast and starless, the pall of heaven + Laps on the trailing pall below; + And forward, forward, in solemn darkness, + As if to the sea of the lost we go. + + Now drawn nigh the edge of the river, + Weird-like creatures suddenly rise; + Shapes that fade, dissolving outlines + Baffle the gazer's straining eyes. + + Towering upward and bending forward, + Wild and wide their arms are thrown, + Ready to pierce with forked fingers + Him who touches their realm upon. + + Tide of youth, thus thickly planted, + While in the eddies onward you swim, + Thus on the shore stands a phantom army, + Lining forever the channel's rim. + + Steady, helmsman! you guide the immortal; + Many a wreck is beneath you piled, + Many a brave yet unwary sailor + Over these waters has been beguiled. + + Nor is it the storm or the scowling midnight, + Cold, or sickness, or fire's dismay— + Nor is it the reef, or treacherous quicksand, + Will peril you most on your twisted way. + + But when there comes a voluptuous languor, + Soft the sunshine, silent the air, + Bewitching your craft with safety and sweetness, + Then, young pilot of life, beware. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NOVEMBER BOUGHS + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OUR EMINENT VISITORS + </h2> + <h3> + <i>Past, Present and Future</i> + </h3> + <p> + Welcome to them each and all! They do good—the deepest, widest, most + needed good—though quite certainly not in the ways attempted—which + have, at times, something irresistibly comic. What can be more farcical, + for instance, than the sight of a worthy gentleman coming three or four + thousand miles through wet and wind to speak complacently and at great + length on matters of which he both entirely mistakes or knows nothing—before + crowds of auditors equally complacent, and equally at fault? + </p> + <p> + Yet welcome and thanks, we say, to those visitors we have, and have had, + from abroad among us—and may the procession continue! We have had + Dickens and Thackeray, Froude, Herbert Spencer, Oscar Wilde, Lord + Coleridge—soldiers, savants, poets—and now Matthew Arnold and + Irving the actor. Some have come to make money—some for a "good + time"—some to help us along and give us advice—and some + undoubtedly to investigate, <i>bona fide</i>, this great problem, + democratic America, looming upon the world with such cumulative power + through a hundred years, now with the evident intention (since the + secession war) to stay, and take a leading hand, for many a century to + come, in civilization's and humanity's eternal game. But alas! that very + investigation—the method of that investigation—is where the + deficit most surely and helplessly comes in. Let not Lord Coleridge and + Mr. Arnold (to say nothing of the illustrious actor) imagine that when + they have met and survey'd the etiquettical gatherings of our wealthy, + distinguish'd and sure-to-be-put-forward-on-such-occasions citizens (New + York, Boston, Philadelphia, &c., have certain stereotyped strings of + them, continually lined and paraded like the lists of dishes at hotel + tables—you are sure to get the same over and over again—it is + very amusing)—and the bowing and introducing, the receptions at the + swell clubs, the eating and drinking and praising and praising back—and + the next "day riding about Central Park, or doing the" Public Institutions + "—and so passing through, one after another, the full-dress coteries + of the Atlantic cities, all grammatical and cultured and correct, with the + toned-down manners of the gentlemen, and the kid-gloves, and luncheons and + finger-glasses—Let not our eminent visitors, we say, suppose that, + by means of these experiences, they have "seen America," or captur'd any + distinctive clew or purport thereof. Not a bit of it. Of the pulse-beats + that lie within and vitalize this Commonweal to-day—of the hard-pan + purports and idiosyncrasies pursued faithfully and triumphantly by its + bulk of men North and South, generation after generation, superficially + unconscious of their own aims, yet none the less pressing onward with + deathless intuition—those coteries do not furnish the faintest + scintilla. In the Old World the best flavor and significance of a race may + possibly need to be look'd for in its "upper classes," its gentries, its + court, its <i>état major</i>. In the United States the rule is revers'd. + Besides (and a point, this, perhaps deepest of all,) the special marks of + our grouping and design are not going to be understood in a hurry. The + lesson and scanning right on the ground are difficult; I was going to say + they are impossible to foreigners—but I have occasionally found the + clearest appreciation of all, coming from far-off quarters. Surely nothing + could be more apt, not only for our eminent visitors present and to come, + but for home study, than the following editorial criticism of the London + <i>Times</i> on Mr. Froude's visits and lectures here a few years ago, and + the culminating dinner given at Delmonico's, with its brilliant array of + guests: + </p> + <p> + "We read the list," says the <i>Times</i>, "of those who assembled to do + honor to Mr. Froude: there were Mr. Emerson, Mr. Beecher, Mr. Curtis, Mr. + Bryant; we add the names of those who sent letters of regret that they + could not attend in person—Mr. Longfellow, Mr. Whittier. They are + names which are well known—almost as well known and as much honor'd + in England as in America; and yet what must we say in the end? The + American people outside this assemblage of writers is something vaster and + greater than they, singly or together, can comprehend. It cannot be said + of any or all of them that they can speak for their nation. We who look on + at this distance are able perhaps on that account to see the more clearly + that there are qualities of the American people which find no + representation, no voice, among these their spokesmen. And what is true of + them is true of the English class of whom Mr. Froude may be said to be the + ambassador. Mr. Froude is master of a charming style. He has the gift of + grace and the gift of sympathy. Taking any single character as the subject + of his study, he may succeed after a very short time in so comprehending + its workings as to be able to present a living figure to the intelligence + and memory of his readers. But the movements of a nation, the, <i>voiceless + purpose of a people which cannot put its own thoughts into words, yet acts + upon them in each successive generation</i>—these things do not lie + within his grasp.... The functions of literature such as he represents are + limited in their action; the influence he can wield is artificial and + restricted, and, while he and his hearers please and are pleas'd with + pleasant periods, his great mass of national life will flow around them + unmov'd in its tides by action as powerless as that of the dwellers by the + shore to direct the currents of the ocean." + </p> + <p> + A thought, here, that needs to be echoed, expanded, permanently treasur'd + by our literary classes and educators. (The gestation, the youth, the + knitting preparations, are now over, and it is full time for definite + purpose, result.) How few think of it, though it is the impetus and + background of our whole Nationality and popular life. In the present brief + memorandum I very likely for the first time awake "the intelligent reader" + to the idea and inquiry whether there isn't such a thing as the + distinctive genius of our democratic New World, universal, immanent, + bringing to a head the best experience of the past—not specially + literary or intellectual—not merely "good," (in the Sunday School + and Temperance Society sense,)-some invisible spine and great sympathetic + to these States, resident only in the average people, in their practical + life, in their physiology, in their emotions, in their nebulous yet fiery + patriotism, in the armies (both sides) through the whole secession war—an + identity and character which indeed so far "finds no voice among their + spokesmen." + </p> + <p> + To my mind America, vast and fruitful as it appears to-day, is even yet, + for its most important results, entirely in the tentative state; its very + formation-stir and whirling trials and essays more splendid and + picturesque, to my thinking, than the accomplish'd growths and shows of + other lands, through European history, or Greece, or all the past. Surely + a New World literature, worthy the name, is not to be, if it ever comes, + some fiction, or fancy, or bit of sentimentalism or polish'd work merely + by itself, or in abstraction. So long as such literature is no born branch + and offshoot of the Nationality, rooted and grown from its roots, and + fibred with its fibre, it can never answer any deep call or perennial + need. Perhaps the untaught Republic is wiser than its teachers. The best + literature is always a result of something far greater than itself—not + the hero, but the portrait of the hero. Before there can be recorded + history or poem there must be the transaction. Beyond the old + masterpieces, the Iliad, the interminable Hindu epics, the Greek + tragedies, even the Bible itself, range the immense facts of what must + have preceded them, their <i>sine qua non</i>—the veritable poems + and masterpieces, of which, grand as they are, the word-statements are but + shreds and cartoons. + </p> + <p> + For to-day and the States, I think the vividest, rapidest, most stupendous + processes ever known, ever perform'd by man or nation, on the largest + scales and in countless varieties, are now and here presented. Not as our + poets and preachers are always conventionally putting it—but quite + different. Some colossal foundry, the flaming of the fire, the melted + metal, the pounding trip-hammers, the surging crowds of workmen shifting + from point to point, the murky shadows, the rolling haze, the discord, the + crudeness, the deafening din, the disorder, the dross and clouds of dust, + the waste and extravagance of material, the shafts of darted sunshine + through the vast open roof-scuttles aloft-the mighty castings, many of + them not yet fitted, perhaps delay'd long, yet each in its due time, with + definite place and use and meaning—Such, more like, is a symbol of + America. + </p> + <p> + After all of which, returning to our starting-point, we reiterate, and in + the whole Land's name, a welcome to our eminent guests. Visits like + theirs, and hospitalities, and hand-shaking, and face meeting face, and + the distant brought near—what divine solvents they are! Travel, + reciprocity, "interviewing," intercommunion of lands—what are they + but Democracy's and the highest Law's best aids? O that our own country—that + every land in the world—could annually, continually, receive the + poets, thinkers, scientists, even the official magnates, of other lands, + as honor'd guests. O that the United States, especially the West, could + have had a good long visit and explorative jaunt, from the noble and + melancholy Tourguéneff, before he died—or from Victor Hugo—or + Thomas Carlyle. Castelar, Tennyson, any of the two or three great Parisian + essayists—were they and we to come face to face, how is it possible + but that the right understanding would ensue? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BIBLE AS POETRY + </h2> + <p> + I suppose one cannot at this day say anything new, from a literary point + of view, about those autochthonic bequests of Asia—the Hebrew Bible, + the mighty Hindu epics, and a hundred lesser but typical works; (not now + definitely including the Iliad—though that work was certainly of + Asiatic genesis, as Homer himself was—considerations which seem + curiously ignored.) But will there ever be a time or place—ever a + student, however modern, of the grand art, to whom those compositions will + not afford profounder lessons than all else of their kind in the garnerage + of the past? Could there be any more opportune suggestion, to the current + popular writer and reader of verse, what the office of poet was in + primeval times—and is yet capable of being, anew, adjusted entirely + to the modern? + </p> + <p> + All the poems of Orientalism, with the Old and New Testaments at the + centre, tend to deep and wide, (I don't know but the deepest and widest,) + psychological development—with little, or nothing at all, of the + mere esthetic, the principal verse-requirement of our day. Very late, but + unerringly, comes to every capable student the perception that it is not + in beauty, it is not in art, it is not even in science, that the + profoundest laws of the case have their eternal sway and outcropping. + </p> + <p> + In his discourse on "Hebrew Poets" De Sola Mendes said: "The fundamental + feature of Judaism, of the Hebrew nationality, was religion; its poetry + was naturally religious. Its subjects, God and Providence, the covenants + with Israel, God in Nature, and as reveal'd, God the Creator and Governor, + Nature in her majesty and beauty, inspired hymns and odes to Nature's God. + And then the checker'd history of the nation furnish'd allusions, + illustrations, and subjects for epic display—the glory of the + sanctuary, the offerings, the splendid ritual, the Holy City, and lov'd + Palestine with its pleasant valleys and wild tracts." Dr. Mendes said + "that rhyming was not a characteristic of Hebrew poetry at all. Metre was + not a necessary mark of poetry. Great poets discarded it; the early Jewish + poets knew it not." Compared with the famed epics of Greece, and lesser + ones since, the spinal supports of the Bible are simple and meagre. All + its history, biography, narratives, &c., are as beads, strung on and + indicating the eternal thread of the Deific purpose and power. Yet with + only deepest faith for impetus, and such Deific purpose for palpable or + impalpable theme, it often transcends the masterpieces of Hellas, and all + masterpieces. + </p> + <p> + The metaphors daring beyond account, the lawless soul, extravagant by our + standards, the glow of love and friendship, the fervent kiss—nothing + in argument or logic, but unsurpass'd in proverbs, in religious ecstasy, + in suggestions of common mortality and death, man's great equalizers—the + spirit everything, the ceremonies and forms of the churches nothing, faith + limitless, its immense sensuousness immensely spiritual—an + incredible, all-inclusive non-worldliness and dew-scented illiteracy (the + antipodes of our Nineteenth Century business absorption and morbid + refinement)—no hair-splitting doubts, no sickly sulking and + sniffling, no "Hamlet," no "Adonais," no "Thanatopsis," no "In Memoriam." + </p> + <p> + The culminated proof of the poetry of a country is the quality of its + personnel, which, in any race, can never be really superior without + superior poems. The finest blending of individuality with universality (in + my opinion nothing out of the galaxies of the "Iliad," or Shakspere's + heroes, or from the Tennysonian "Idylls," so lofty, devoted and starlike,) + typified in the songs of those old Asiatic lands. Men and women as great + columnar trees. Nowhere else the abnegation of self towering in such + quaint sublimity; nowhere else the simplest human emotions conquering the + gods of heaven, and fate itself. (The episode, for instance, toward the + close of the "Mahabharata"—the journey of the wife Savitri with the + god of death, Yama, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "One terrible to see—blood-red his garb, + His body huge and dark, bloodshot his eyes, + Which flamed like suns beneath his turban cloth, + Arm'd was he with a noose," +</pre> + <p> + who carries off the soul of the dead husband, the wife tenaciously + following, and—by the resistless charm of perfect poetic recitation!—eventually + redeeming her captive mate.) + </p> + <p> + I remember how enthusiastically William H. Seward, in his last days, once + expatiated on these themes, from his travels in Turkey, Egypt, and Asia + Minor, finding the oldest Biblical narratives exactly illustrated there + to-day with apparently no break or change along three thousand years—the + veil'd women, the costumes, the gravity and simplicity, all the manners + just the same. The veteran Trelawney said he found the only real <i>nobleman</i> + of the world in a good average specimen of the mid-aged or elderly + Oriental. In the East the grand figure, always leading, is the <i>old man</i>, + majestic, with flowing beard, paternal, &c. In Europe and America, it + is, as we know, the young fellow—in novels, a handsome and + interesting hero, more or less juvenile—in operas, a tenor with + blooming cheeks, black mustache, superficial animation, and perhaps good + lungs, but no more depth than skim-milk. But reading folks probably get + their information of those Bible areas and current peoples, as depicted in + print by English and French cads, the most shallow, impudent, supercilious + brood on earth. + </p> + <p> + I have said nothing yet of the cumulus of associations (perfectly + legitimate parts of its influence, and finally in many respects the + dominant parts,) of the Bible as a poetic entity, and of every portion of + it. Not the old edifice only—the congeries also of events and + struggles and surroundings, of which it has been the scene and motive—even + the horrors, dreads, deaths. How many ages and generations have brooded + and wept and agonized over this book! What untellable joys and ecstasies—what + support to martyrs at the stake—from it. (No really great song can + ever attain full purport till long after the death of its singer—till + it has accrued and incorporated the many passions, many joys and sorrows, + it has itself arous'd.) To what myriads has it been the shore and rock of + safety—the refuge from driving tempest and wreck! Translated in all + languages, how it has united this diverse world! Of civilized lands + to-day, whose of our retrospects has it not interwoven and link'd and + permeated? Not only does it bring us what is clasp'd within its covers; + nay, that is the least of what it brings. Of its thousands, there is not a + verse, not a word, but is thick-studded with human emotions, successions + of fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, of our own antecedents, + inseparable from that background of us, on which, phantasmal as it is, all + that we are to-day inevitably depends—our ancestry, our past. + </p> + <p> + Strange, but true, that the principal factor in cohering the nations, eras + and paradoxes of the globe, by giving them a common platform of two or + three great ideas, a commonalty of origin, and projecting kosmic + brotherhood, the dream of all hope, all time—that the long trains + gestations, attempts and failures, resulting in the New World, and in + modern solidarity and politics—are to be identified and resolv'd + back into a collection of old poetic lore, which, more than any one thing + else, has been the axis of civilization and history through thousands of + years—and except for which this America of ours, with its polity and + essentials, could not now be existing. + </p> + <p> + No true bard will ever contravene the Bible. If the time ever comes when + iconoclasm does its extremest in one direction against the Books of the + Bible in its present form, the collection must still survive in another, + and dominate just as much as hitherto, or more than hitherto, through its + divine and primal poetic structure. To me, that is the living and definite + element-principle of the work, evolving everything else. Then the + continuity; the oldest and newest Asiatic utterance and character, and all + between, holding together, like the apparition of the sky, and coming to + us the same. Even to our Nineteenth Century here are the fountain heads of + song. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FATHER TAYLOR (AND ORATORY) + </h2> + <p> + I have never heard but one essentially perfect orator—one who + satisfied those depths of the emotional nature that in most cases go + through life quite untouch'd, unfed—who held every hearer by spells + which no conventionalist, high or low—nor any pride or composure, + nor resistance of intellect—could stand against for ten minutes. + </p> + <p> + And by the way, is it not strange, of this first-class genius in the + rarest and most profound of humanity's arts, that it will be necessary, + (so nearly forgotten and rubb'd out is his name by the rushing whirl of + the last twenty-five years,) to first inform current readers that he was + an orthodox minister, of no particular celebrity, who during a long life + preach'd especially to Yankee sailors in an old fourth-class church down + by the wharves in Boston—had practically been a seafaring man + through his earlier years—and died April 6, 1871, "just as the tide + turn'd, going out with the ebb as an old salt should"? His name is now + comparatively unknown, outside of Boston—and even there, (though + Dickens, Mr. Jameson, Dr. Bartol and Bishop Haven have commemorated him,) + is mostly but a reminiscence. + </p> + <p> + During my visits to "the Hub," in 1859 and '60 I several times saw and + heard Father Taylor. In the spring or autumn, quiet Sunday forenoons, I + liked to go down early to the quaint ship-cabin-looking church where the + old man minister'd—to enter and leisurely scan the building, the low + ceiling, everything strongly timber'd (polish'd and rubb'd apparently,) + the dark rich colors, the gallery, all in half-light—and smell the + aroma of old wood—to watch the auditors, sailors, mates, "matlows," + officers, singly or in groups, as they came in—their physiognomies, + forms, dress, gait, as they walk'd along the aisles—their postures, + seating themselves in the rude, roomy, undoor'd, uncushion'd pews—and + the evident effect upon them of the place, occasion, and atmosphere. + </p> + <p> + The pulpit, rising ten or twelve feet high, against the rear wall, was + back' d by a significant mural painting, in oil—showing out its bold + lines and strong hues through the subdued light of the building—of a + stormy sea, the waves high-rolling, and amid them an old-style ship, all + bent over, driving through the gale, and in great peril—a vivid and + effectual piece of limning, not meant for the criticism of artists (though + I think it had merit even from that standpoint,) but for its effect upon + the congregation, and what it would convey to them. + </p> + <p> + Father Taylor was a moderate-sized man, indeed almost small, (reminded me + of old Booth, the great actor, and my favorite of those and preceding + days,) well advanced in years, but alert, with mild blue or gray eyes, and + good presence and voice. Soon as he open'd his mouth I ceas'd to pay any + attention to church or audience, or pictures or lights and shades; a far + more potent charm entirely sway'd me. In the course of the sermon, (there + was no sign of any MS., or reading from notes,) some of the parts would be + in the highest degree majestic and picturesque. Colloquial in a severe + sense, it often lean'd to Biblical and Oriental forms. Especially were all + allusions to ships and the ocean and sailors' lives, of unrival'd power + and life-likeness. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes there were passages of fine language and composition, even from + the purist's point of view. A few arguments, and of the best, but always + brief and simple. One realized what grip there might have been in such + words-of-mouth talk as that of Socrates and Epictetus. In the main, I + should say, of any of these discourses, that the old Demosthenean rule and + requirement of "action, action, action," first in its inward and then + (very moderate and restrain'd) its outward sense, was the quality that had + leading fulfilment. + </p> + <p> + I remember I felt the deepest impression from the old man's prayers, which + invariably affected me to tears. Never, on similar or any other occasions, + have I heard such impassion'd pleading—such human-harassing reproach + (like Hamlet to his mother, in the closet)—such probing to the very + depths of that latent conscience and remorse which probably lie somewhere + in the background of every life, every soul. For when Father Taylor + preach'd or pray'd, the rhetoric and art, the mere words, (which usually + play such a big part) seem'd altogether to disappear, and the <i>live + feeling</i> advanced upon you and seiz'd you with a power before unknown. + Everybody felt this marvellous and awful influence. One young sailor, a + Rhode Islander, (who came every Sunday, and I got acquainted with, and + talk'd to once or twice as we went away,) told me, "that must be the Holy + Ghost we read of in the Testament." + </p> + <p> + I should be at a loss to make any comparison with other preachers or + public speakers. When a child I had heard Elias Hicks—and Father + Taylor (though so different in personal appearance, for Elias was of tall + and most shapely form, with black eyes that blazed at times like meteors,) + always reminded me of him. Both had the same inner, apparently + inexhaustible, fund of latent volcanic passion—the same tenderness, + blended with a curious remorseless firmness, as of some surgeon operating + on a belov'd patient. Hearing such men sends to the winds all the books, + and formulas, and polish'd speaking, and rules of oratory. + </p> + <p> + Talking of oratory, why is it that the unsophisticated practices often + strike deeper than the train'd ones? Why do our experiences perhaps of + some local country exhorter—or often in the West or South at + political meetings—bring the most definite results? In my time I + have heard Webster, Clay, Edward Everett, Phillips, and such <i>célébrès</i> + yet I recall the minor but life-eloquence of men like John P. Hale, + Cassius Clay, and one or two of the old abolition "fanatics" ahead of all + those stereotyped fames. Is not—I sometimes question—the + first, last, and most important quality of all, in training for a + "finish'd speaker," generally unsought, unreck'd of, both by teacher and + pupil? Though may-be it cannot be taught, anyhow. At any rate, we need to + clearly understand the distinction between oratory and elocution. Under + the latter art, including some of high order, there is indeed no scarcity + in the United States, preachers, lawyers, actors, lecturers, &c. With + all, there seem to be few real orators—almost none. + </p> + <p> + I repeat, and would dwell upon it (more as suggestion than mere fact)—among + all the brilliant lights of bar or stage I have heard in my time (for + years in New York and other cities I haunted the courts to witness notable + trials, and have heard all the famous actors and actresses that have been + in America the past fifty years) though I recall marvellous effects from + one or other of them, I never had anything in the way of vocal utterance + to shake me through and through, and become fix'd, with its + accompaniments, in my memory, like those prayers and sermons—like + Father Taylor's personal electricity and the whole scene there—the + prone ship in the gale, and dashing wave and foam for background—in + the little old sea-church in Boston, those summer Sundays just before the + secession war broke out. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SPANISH ELEMENT IN OUR NATIONALITY + </h2> + <p> + {Our friends at Santa Fe, New Mexico, have just finish'd their + long-drawn-out anniversary of the 333d year of the settlement of their + city by the Spanish. The good, gray Walt Whitman was asked to write them a + poem in commemoration. Instead he wrote them a letter as follows:—<i>Philadelphia + Press</i>, August 5, 1883.} + </p> + <p> + CAMDEN, NEW JERSEY, <i>July 20, 1883</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>To Messrs. Griffin, Martinez, Prince, and other Gentlemen at Santa Fé</i>: + </p> + <p> + DEAR SIRS:—Your kind invitation to visit you and deliver a poem for + the 333d Anniversary of founding Santa Fé has reach'd me so late that I + have to decline, with sincere regret. But I will say a few words offhand. + </p> + <p> + We Americans have yet to really learn our own antecedents, and sort them, + to unify them. They will be found ampler than has been supposed, and in + widely different sources. Thus far, impress'd by New England writers and + schoolmasters, we tacitly abandon ourselves to the notion that our United + States have been fashion'd from the British Islands only, and essentially + form a second England only—which is a very great mistake. Many + leading traits for our future national personality, and some of the best + ones, will certainly prove to have originated from other than British + stock. As it is, the British and German, valuable as they are in the + concrete, already threaten excess. Or rather, I should say, they have + certainly reach'd that excess. To-day, something outside of them, and to + counterbalance them, is seriously needed. + </p> + <p> + The seething materialistic and business vortices of the United States, in + their present devouring relations, controlling and belittling everything + else, are, in my opinion, but a vast and indispensable stage in the new + world's development, and are certainly to be follow'd by something + entirely different—at least by immense modifications. Character, + literature, a society worthy the name, are yet to be establish'd, through + a nationality of noblest spiritual, heroic and democratic attributes—not + one of which at present definitely exists—entirely different from + the past, though unerringly founded on it, and to justify it. + </p> + <p> + To that composite American identity of the future, Spanish character will + supply some of the most needed parts. No stock shows a grander historic + retrospect—grander in religiousness and loyalty, or for patriotism, + courage, decorum, gravity and honor. (It is time to dismiss utterly the + illusion-compound, half raw-head-and-bloody-bones and half + Mysteries-of-Udolpho, inherited from the English writers of the past 200 + years. It is time to realize—for it is certainly true—that + there will not be found any more cruelty, tyranny, superstition, &c., + in the <i>résumé</i> of past Spanish history than in the corresponding <i>résumé</i> + of Anglo-Norman history. Nay, I think there will not be found so much.) + </p> + <p> + Then another point, relating to American ethnology, past and to come, I + will here touch upon at a venture. As to our aboriginal or Indian + population—the Aztec in the South, and many a tribe in the North and + West—I know it seems to be agreed that they must gradually dwindle + as time rolls on, and in a few generations more leave only a reminiscence, + a blank. But I am not at all clear about that. As America, from its many + far-back sources and current supplies, develops, adapts, entwines, + faithfully identifies its own—are we to see it cheerfully accepting + and using all the contributions of foreign lands from the whole outside + globe—and then rejecting the only ones distinctively its own—the + autochthonic ones? + </p> + <p> + As to the Spanish stock of our Southwest, it is certain to me that we do + not begin to appreciate the splendor and sterling value of its race + element. Who knows but that element, like the course of some subterranean + river, dipping invisibly for a hundred or two years, is now to emerge in + broadest flow and permanent action? + </p> + <p> + If I might assume to do so, I would like to send you the most cordial, + heartfelt congratulations of your American fellow-countrymen here. You + have more friends in the Northern and Atlantic regions than you suppose, + and they are deeply interested in the development of the great + Southwestern interior, and in what your festival would arouse to public + attention. + </p> + <p> + Very respectfully, &c., + </p> + <h3> + WALT WHITMAN. + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHAT LURKS BEHIND SHAKSPERE'S HISTORICAL PLAYS + </h2> + <p> + We all know how much <i>mythus</i> there is in the Shakspere question as + it stands to-day. Beneath a few foundations of proved facts are certainly + engulf d far more dim and elusive ones, of deepest importance—tantalizing + and half suspected—suggesting explanations that one dare not put in + plain statement. But coming at once to the point, the English historical + plays are to me not only the most eminent as dramatic performances (my + maturest judgment confirming the impressions of my early years, that the + distinctiveness and glory of the Poet reside not in his vaunted dramas of + the passions, but those founded on the contests of English dynasties, and + the French wars,) but form, as we get it all, the chief in a complexity of + puzzles. Conceiv'd out of the fullest heat and pulse of European feudalism—personifying + in unparallel'd ways the mediaeval aristocracy, its towering spirit of + ruthless and gigantic caste, with its own peculiar air and arrogance (no + mere imitation)—only one of the "wolfish earls" so plenteous in the + plays themselves, or some born descendant and knower, might seem to be the + true author of those amazing works—works in some respects greater + than anything else in recorded literature. + </p> + <p> + The start and germ-stock of the pieces on which the present speculation is + founded are undoubtedly (with, at the outset, no small amount of bungling + work) in "Henry VI." It is plain to me that as profound and forecasting a + brain and pen as ever appear'd in literature, after floundering somewhat + in the first part of that trilogy—or perhaps draughting it more or + less experimentally or by accident—afterward developed and defined + his plan in the Second and Third Parts, and from time to time, + thenceforward, systematically enlarged it to majestic and mature + proportions in "Richard II," "Richard III," "King John," "Henry IV," + "Henry V," and even in "Macbeth," "Coriolanus" and "Lear." For it is + impossible to grasp the whole cluster of those plays, however wide the + intervals and different circumstances of their composition, without + thinking of them as, in a free sense, the result of an <i>essentially + controling plan</i>. 'What was that plan? Or, rather, what was veil'd + behind it?—for to me there was certainly something so veil'd. Even + the episodes of Cade, Joan of Arc, and the like (which sometimes seem to + me like interpolations allow'd,) may be meant to foil the possible sleuth, + and throw any too 'cute pursuer off the scent. In the whole matter I + should specially dwell on, and make much of, that inexplicable element of + every highest poetic nature which causes it to cover up and involve its + real purpose and meanings in folded removes and far recesses. Of this + trait—hiding the nest where common seekers may never find it—the + Shaksperean works afford the most numerous and mark'd illustrations known + to me. I would even call that trait the leading one through the whole of + those works. + </p> + <p> + All the foregoing to premise a brief statement of how and where I get my + new light on Shakspere. Speaking of the special English plays, my friend + William O'Connor says: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + They seem simply and rudely historical in their motive, as aiming + to give in the rough a tableau of warring dynasties,—and carry to + me a lurking sense of being in aid of some ulterior design, probably + well enough understood in that age, which perhaps time and criticism + will reveal.... Their atmosphere is one of barbarous and tumultuous + gloom,—they do not make us love the times they limn,... and it is + impossible to believe that the greatest of the Elizabethan men could + have sought to indoctrinate the age with the love of feudalism which + his own drama in its entirety, if the view taken of it herein be true, + certainly and subtly saps and mines. +</pre> + <p> + Reading the just-specified play in the light of Mr. O'Connor's suggestion, + I defy any one to escape such new and deep utterance-meanings, like magic + ink, warm' d by the fire, and previously invisible. Will it not indeed be + strange if the author of "Othello" and "Hamlet" is destin'd to live in + America, in a generation or two, less as the cunning draughtsman of the + passions, and more as putting on record the first full exposé—and by + far the most vivid one, immeasurably ahead of doctrinaires and economists—of + the political theory and results, or the reason-why and necessity for them + which America has come on earth to abnegate and replace? + </p> + <p> + The summary of my suggestion would be, therefore, that while the more the + rich and tangled jungle of the Shaksperean area is travers'd and studied, + and the more baffled and mix'd, as so far appears, becomes the exploring + student (who at last surmises everything, and remains certain of nothing,) + it is possible a future age of criticism, diving deeper, mapping the land + and lines freer, completer than hitherto, may discover in the plays named + the scientific (Baconian?) inauguration of modern democracy—furnishing + realistic and first-class artistic portraitures of the mediaeval world, + the feudal personalities, institutes, in their morbid accumulations, + deposits, upon politics and sociology,—may penetrate to that + hard-pan, far down and back of the ostent of to-day, on which (and on + which only) the progressism of the last two centuries has built this + Democracy which now hold's secure lodgment over the whole civilized world. + </p> + <p> + Whether such was the unconscious, or (as I think likely) the more or less + conscious, purpose of him who fashion'd those marvellous architectonics, + is a secondary question. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A THOUGHT ON SHAKSPERE + </h2> + <p> + The most distinctive poems—the most permanently rooted and with + heartiest reason for being—the copious cycle of Arthurian legends, + or the almost equally copious Charlemagne cycle, or the poems of the Cid, + or Scandinavian Eddas, or Nibelungen, or Chaucer, or Spenser, or <i>bona + fide</i> Ossian, or Inferno—probably had their rise in the great + historic perturbations, which they came in to sum up and confirm, + indirectly embodying results to date. Then however precious to "culture," + the grandest of those poems, it may be said, preserve and typify results + offensive to the modern spirit, and long past away. To state it briefly, + and taking the strongest examples, in Homer lives the ruthless military + prowess of Greece, and of its special god-descended dynastic houses; in + Shakspere the dragon-rancors and stormy feudal Splendor of mediaeval + caste. + </p> + <p> + Poetry, largely consider'd, is an evolution, sending out improved + and-ever-expanded types—in one sense, the past, even the best of it, + necessarily giving place, and dying out. For our existing world, the bases + on which all the grand old poems were built have become vacuums—and + even those of many comparatively modern ones are broken and half-gone. For + us to-day, not their own intrinsic value, vast as that is, backs and + maintains those poems—but a mountain-high growth of associations, + the layers of successive ages. Everywhere—their own lands included—(is + there not something terrible in the tenacity with which the one book out + of millions holds its grip?)—the Homeric and Virgilian works, the + interminable ballad-romances of the middle ages, the utterances of Dante, + Spenser, and others, are upheld by their cumulus-entrenchment in + scholarship, and as precious, always welcome, unspeakably valuable + reminiscences. + </p> + <p> + Even the one who at present reigns unquestion'd—of Shakspere—for + all he stands for so much in modern literature, he stands entirely for the + mighty esthetic sceptres of the past, not for the spiritual and + democratic, the sceptres of the future. The inward and outward + characteristics of Shakspere are his vast and rich variety of persons and + themes, with his wondrous delineation of each and all,—not only + limitless funds of verbal and pictorial resource, but great excess, + superfoetation—mannerism, like a fine, aristocratic perfume, holding + a touch of musk (Euphues, his mark)—with boundless sumptuousness and + adornment, real velvet and gems, not shoddy nor paste—but a good + deal of bombast and fustian—(certainly some terrific mouthing in + Shakspere!) + </p> + <p> + Superb and inimitable as all is, it is mostly an objective and + physiological kind of power and beauty the soul finds in Shakspere—a + style supremely grand of the sort, but in my opinion stopping short of the + grandest sort, at any rate for fulfilling and satisfying modern and + scientific and democratic American purposes. Think, not of growths as + forests primeval, or Yellowstone geysers, or Colorado ravines, but of + costly marble palaces, and palace rooms, and the noblest fixings and + furniture, and noble owners and occupants to correspond—think of + carefully built gardens from the beautiful but sophisticated gardening art + at its best, with walks and bowers and artificial lakes, and appropriate + statue-groups and the finest cultivated roses and lilies and japonicas in + plenty—and you have the tally of Shakspere. The low characters, + mechanics, even the loyal henchmen—all in themselves nothing—serve + as capital foils to the aristocracy. The comedies (exquisite as they + certainly are) bringing in admirably portray'd common characters, have the + unmistakable hue of plays, portraits, made for the divertisement only of + the élite of the castle, and from its point of view. The comedies are + altogether non-acceptable to America and Democracy. + </p> + <p> + But to the deepest soul, it seems a shame to pick and choose from the + riches Shakspere has left us—to criticise his infinitely royal, + multiform quality—to gauge, with optic glasses, the dazzle of his + sun-like beams. + </p> + <p> + The best poetic utterance, after all, can merely hint, or remind, often + very indirectly, or at distant removes. Aught of real perfection, or the + solution of any deep problem, or any completed statement of the moral, the + true, the beautiful, eludes the greatest, deftest poet—flies away + like an always uncaught bird. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ROBERT BURNS AS POET AND PERSON + </h2> + <p> + What the future will decide about Robert Burns and his works—what + place will be assign'd them on that great roster of geniuses and genius + which can only be finish'd by the slow but sure balancing of the centuries + with their ample average—I of course cannot tell. But as we know + him, from his recorded utterances, and after nearly one century, and its + diligence of collections, songs, letters, anecdotes, presenting the figure + of the canny Scotchman in a fullness and detail wonderfully complete, and + the lines mainly by his own hand, he forms to-day, in some respects, the + most interesting personality among singers. Then there are many things in + Burns's poems and character that specially endear him to America. He was + essentially a Republican—would have been at home in the Western + United States, and probably become eminent there. He was an average sample + of the good-natured, warm-blooded, proud-spirited, amative, alimentive, + convivial, young and early-middle-aged man of the decent-born middle + classes everywhere and any how. Without the race of which he is a distinct + specimen, (and perhaps his poems) America and her powerful Democracy could + not exist to-day—could not project with unparallel'd historic sway + into the future. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the peculiar coloring of the era of Burns needs always first to be + consider'd. It included the times of the '76-'83 Revolution in America, of + the French Revolution, and an unparallel'd chaos development in Europe and + elsewhere. In every department, shining and strange names, like stars, + some rising, some in meridian, some declining—Voltaire, Franklin, + Washington, Kant, Goethe, Fulton, Napoleon, mark the era. And while so + much, and of grandest moment, fit for the trumpet of the world's fame, was + being transacted—that little tragi-comedy of R. B,'s life and death + was going on in a country by-place in Scotland! + </p> + <p> + Burns's correspondence, generally collected and publish'd since his death, + gives wonderful glints into both the amiable and weak (and worse than + weak) parts of his portraiture, habits, good and bad luck, ambition and + associations. His letters to Mrs. Dunlop, Mrs. McLehose, (Clarinda,) Mr. + Thompson, Dr. Moore, Robert Muir, Mr. Cunningham, Miss Margaret Chalmers, + Peter Hill, Richard Brown, Mrs. Riddel, Robert Ainslie, and Robert Graham, + afford valuable lights and shades to the outline, and with numerous + others, help to a touch here, and fill-in there, of poet and poems. There + are suspicions, it is true, of "the Genteel Letter-Writer," with scraps + and words from "the Manual of French Quotations," and, in the + love-letters, some hollow mouthings. Yet we wouldn't on any account lack + the letters. A full and true portrait is always what is wanted; veracity + at every hazard. Besides, do we not all see by this time that the story of + Burns, even for its own sake, requires the record of the whole and + several, with nothing left out? Completely and every point minutely told + out its fullest, explains and justifies itself—(as perhaps almost + any life does.) He is very close to the earth. He pick'd up his best words + and tunes directly from the Scotch home-singers, but tells Thompson they + would not please his, T.'s, "learn'd lugs," adding, "I call them simple—you + would pronounce them silly." Yes, indeed; the idiom was undoubtedly his + happiest hit. Yet Dr. Moore, in 1789, writes to Burns, "If I were to offer + an opinion, it would be that in your future productions you should abandon + the Scotch stanza and dialect, and adopt the measure and language of + modern English poetry"! + </p> + <p> + As the 128th birth-anniversary of the poet draws on, (January, 1887,) with + its increasing club-suppers, vehement celebrations, letters, speeches, and + so on—(mostly, as William O'Connor says, from people who would not + have noticed R. B. at all during his actual life, nor kept his company, or + read his verses, on any account)—it may be opportune to print some + leisurely-jotted notes I find in my budget. I take my observation of the + Scottish bard by considering him as an individual amid the crowded + clusters, galaxies, of the old world—and fairly inquiring and + suggesting what out of these myriads he too may be to the Western + Republic. In the first place no poet on record so fully bequeaths his own + personal magnetism,{39} nor illustrates more pointedly how one's verses, + by time and reading, can so curiously fuse with the versifier's own life + and death, and give final light and shade to all. + </p> + <p> + I would say a large part of the fascination of Burns's homely, simple + dialect-melodies is due, for all current and future readers, to the poet's + personal "errors," the general bleakness of his lot, his ingrain'd + pensiveness, his brief dash into dazzling, tantalizing, evanescent + sunshine—finally culminating in those last years of his life, his + being taboo'd and in debt, sick and sore, yaw'd as by contending gales, + deeply dissatisfied with everything, most of all with himself—high-spirited + too—(no man ever really higher-spirited than Robert Burns.) I think + it a perfectly legitimate part too. At any rate it has come to be an + impalpable aroma through which only both the songs and their singer must + henceforth be read and absorb'd. Through that view-medium of misfortune—of + a noble spirit in low environments, and of a squalid and premature death—we + view the undoubted facts, (giving, as we read them now, a sad kind of + pungency,) that Burns's were, before all else, the lyrics of illicit loves + and carousing intoxication. Perhaps even it is this strange, impalpable <i>post-mortem</i> + comment and influence referr'd to, that gives them their contrast, + attraction, making the zest of their author's after fame. If he had lived + steady, fat, moral, comfortable, well-to-do years, on his own grade, (let + alone, what of course was out of the question, the ease and velvet and + rosewood and copious royalties of Tennyson or Victor Hugo or Longfellow,) + and died well-ripen'd and respectable, where could have come in that burst + of passionate sobbing and remorse which well'd forth instantly and + generally in Scotland, and soon follow'd everywhere among English-speaking + races, on the announcement of his death? and which, with no sign of + stopping, only regulated and vein'd with fitting appreciation, flows + deeply, widely yet? + </p> + <p> + Dear Rob! manly, witty, fond, friendly, full of weak spots as well as + strong ones-essential type of so many thousands—perhaps the average, + as just said, of the decent-born young men and the early mid-aged, not + only of the British Isles, but America, too, North and South, just the + same. I think, indeed, one best part of Burns is the unquestionable proof + he presents of the perennial existence among the laboring classes, + especially farmers, of the finest latent poetic elements in their blood. + (How clear it is to me that the common soil has always been, and is now, + thickly strewn with just such gems.) He is well-called the <i>Ploughman</i>. + "Holding the plough," said his brother Gilbert, "was the favorite + situation with Robert for poetic compositions; and some of his best verses + were produced while he was at that exercise." "I must return to my humble + station, and woo my rustic muse in my wonted way, at the plough-tail." + 1787, to the Earl of Buchan. He has no high ideal of the poet or the + poet's office; indeed quite a low and contracted notion of both: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still + Hale breeks, a scone, and whiskey gill, + An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, + Tak' a' the rest." +</pre> + <p> + See also his rhym'd letters to Robert Graham invoking patronage; "one + stronghold," Lord Glencairn, being dead, now these appeals to "Fintra, my + other stay," (with in one letter a copious shower of vituperation + generally.) In his collected poems there is no particular unity, nothing + that can be called a leading theory, no unmistakable spine or skeleton. + Perhaps, indeed, their very desultoriness is the charm of his songs: "I + take up one or another," he says in a letter to Thompson, "just as the bee + of the moment buzzes in my bonnet-lug." + </p> + <p> + Consonantly with the customs of the time—yet markedly inconsistent + in spirit with Burns's own case, (and not a little painful as it remains + on record, as depicting some features of the bard himself,) the relation + called <i>patronage</i> existed between the nobility and gentry on one + side, and literary people on the other, and gives one of the strongest + side-lights to the general coloring of poems and poets. It crops out a + good deal in Burns's Letters, and even necessitated a certain flunkeyism + on occasions, through life. It probably, with its requirements, (while it + help'd in money and countenance) did as much as any one cause in making + that life a chafed and unhappy one, ended by a premature and miserable + death. + </p> + <p> + Yes, there is something about Burns peculiarly acceptable to the concrete, + human points of view. He poetizes work-a-day agricultural labor and life, + (whose spirit and sympathies, as well as practicalities, are much the same + everywhere,) and treats fresh, often coarse, natural occurrences, loves, + persons, not like many new and some old poets in a genteel style of gilt + and china, or at second or third removes, but in their own born + atmosphere, laughter, sweat, unction. Perhaps no one ever sang "lads and + lasses"—that universal race, mainly the same, too, all ages, all + lands—down on their own plane, as he has. He exhibits no philosophy + worth mentioning; his morality is hardly more than parrot-talk—not + bad or deficient, but cheap, shopworn, the platitudes of old aunts and + uncles to the youngsters (be good boys and keep your noses clean.) Only + when he gets at Poosie Nansie's, celebrating the "barley bree," or among + tramps, or democratic bouts and drinking generally, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ("Freedom and whiskey gang the gither.") +</pre> + <p> + we have, in his own unmistakable color and warmth, those interiors of + rake-helly life and tavern fun—the cantabile of jolly beggars in + highest jinks—lights and groupings of rank glee and brawny + amorousness, outvying the best painted pictures of the Dutch school, or + any school. + </p> + <p> + By America and her democracy such a poet, I cannot too often repeat, must + be kept in loving remembrance; but it is best that discriminations be + made. His admirers (as at those anniversary suppers, over the "hot + Scotch") will not accept for their favorite anything less than the highest + rank, alongside of Homer, Shakspere, etc. Such, in candor, are not the + true friends of the Ayrshire bard, who really needs a different place + quite by himself. The Iliad and the Odyssey express courage, craft, + full-grown heroism in situations of danger, the sense of command and + leadership, emulation, the last and fullest evolution of self-poise as in + kings, and god-like even while animal appetites. The Shaksperean + compositions, on vertebers and frame-work of the primary passions, portray + (essentially the same as Homer's,) the spirit and letter of the feudal + world, the Norman lord, ambitious and arrogant, taller and nobler than + common men—with much underplay and gusts of heat and cold, volcanoes + and stormy seas. Burns (and some will say to his credit) attempts none of + these themes. He poetizes the humor, riotous blood, sulks, amorous + torments, fondness for the tavern and for cheap objective nature, with + disgust at the grim and narrow ecclesiasticism of his time and land, of a + young farmer on a bleak and hired farm in Scotland, through the years and + under the circumstances of the British politics of that time, and of his + short personal career as author, from 1783 to 1796. He is intuitive and + affectionate, and just emerged or emerging from the shackles of the kirk, + from poverty, ignorance, and from his own rank appetites—(out of + which latter, however, he never extricated himself.) It is to be said that + amid not a little smoke and gas in his poems, there is in almost every + piece a spark of fire, and now and then the real afflatus. He has been + applauded as democratic, and with some warrant; while Shakspere, and with + the greatest warrant, has been called monarchical or aristocratic (which + he certainly is.) But the splendid personalizations of Shakspere, + formulated on the largest, freest, most heroic, most artistic mould, are + to me far dearer as lessons, and more precious even as models for + Democracy, than the humdrum samples Burns presents. The motives of some of + his effusions are certainly discreditable personally—one or two of + them markedly so. He has, moreover, little or no spirituality. This last + is his mortal flaw and defect, tried by highest standards. The ideal he + never reach'd (and yet I think he leads the way to it.) He gives melodies, + and now and then the simplest and sweetest ones; but harmonies, + complications, oratorios in words, never. (I do not speak this in any + deprecatory sense. Blessed be the memory of the warm-hearted Scotchman for + what he has left us, just as it is!) He likewise did not know himself, in + more ways than one. Though so really fret and independent, he prided + himself in his songs on being a reactionist and a Jacobite—on + persistent sentimental adherency to the cause of the Stuarts—the + weakest, thinnest, most faithless, brainless dynasty that ever held a + throne. + </p> + <p> + Thus, while Burns is not at all great for New World study, in the sense + that Isaiah and Eschylus and the book of Job are unquestionably great—is + not to be mention'd with Shakspere—hardly even with current Tennyson + or our Emerson—he has a nestling niche of his own, all fragrant, + fond, and quaint and homely—a lodge built near but outside the + mighty temple of the gods of song and art—those universal strivers, + through their works of harmony and melody and power, to ever show or + intimate man's crowning, last, victorious fusion in himself of Real and + Ideal. Precious, too—fit and precious beyond all singers, high or + low—will Burns ever be to the native Scotch, especially to the + working-classes of North Britain; so intensely one of them, and so racy of + the soil, sights, and local customs. He often apostrophizes Scotland, and + is, or would be, enthusiastically patriotic. His country has lately + commemorated him in a statue.{40} His aim is declaredly to be 'a Rustic + Bard.' His poems were all written in youth or young manhood, (he was + little more than a young man when he died.) His collected works in giving + everything, are nearly one half first drafts. His brightest hit is his use + of the Scotch patois, so full of terms flavor'd like wild fruits or + berries. Then I should make an allowance to Burns which cannot be made for + any other poet. Curiously even the frequent crudeness, haste, + deficiencies, (flatness and puerilities by no means absent) prove upon the + whole not out of keeping in any comprehensive collection of his works, + heroically printed, "following copy," every piece, every line according to + originals. Other poets might tremble for such boldness, such rawness. In + "this odd-kind chiel" such points hardly mar the rest. Not only are they + in consonance with the underlying spirit of the pieces, but complete the + full abandon and veracity of the farm-fields and the home-brew'd flavor of + the Scotch vernacular. (Is there not often something in the very neglect, + unfinish, careless nudity, slovenly hiatus, coming from intrinsic genius, + and not "put on," that secretly pleases the soul more than the wrought and + re-wrought polish of the most perfect verse?) Mark the native spice and + untranslatable twang in the very names of his songs-"O for ane and twenty, + Tam," "John Barleycorn," "Last May a braw Wooer," "Rattlin roarin Willie," + "O wert thou in the cauld, cauld blast," "Gude e'en to you, Kimmer," + "Merry hae I been teething a Heckle," "O lay thy loof in mine, lass," and + others. + </p> + <p> + The longer and more elaborated poems of Burns are just such as would + please a natural but homely taste, and cute but average intellect, and are + inimitable in their way. The "Twa Dogs," (one of the best) with the + conversation between Cesar and Luath, the "Brigs of Ayr," "the Cotter's + Saturday Night," "Tam O'Shanter"—all will be long read and re-read + and admired, and ever deserve to be. With nothing profound in any of them, + what there is of moral and plot has an inimitably fresh and racy flavor. + If it came to question, Literature could well afford to send adrift many a + pretensive poem, and even book of poems, before it could spare these + compositions. + </p> + <p> + Never indeed was there truer utterance in a certain range of idiosyncrasy + than by this poet. Hardly a piece of his, large or small, but has "snap" + and raciness. He puts in cantering rhyme (often doggerel) much cutting + irony and idiomatic ear-cuffing of the kirk-deacons—drilygood-natured + addresses to his cronies, (he certainly would not stop us if he were here + this moment, from classing that "to the De'il" among them)—"to + Mailie and her Lambs," "to auld Mare Maggie," "to a Mouse," + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie:" +</pre> + <p> + "to a Mountain Daisy," "to a Haggis," "to a Louse," "to the Toothache," + &c.—and occasionally to his brother bards and lady or gentleman + patrons, often with strokes of tenderest sensibility, idiopathic humor, + and genuine poetic imagination—still oftener with shrewd, original, + sheeny, steel-flashes of wit, home-spun sense, or lance-blade puncturing. + Then, strangely, the basis of Burns's character, with all its fun and + manliness, was hypochondria, the blues, palpable enough in "Despondency," + "Man was made to Mourn," "Address to Ruin," a "Bard's Epitaph," &c. + From such deep-down elements sprout up, in very contrast and paradox, + those riant utterances of which a superficial reading will not detect the + hidden foundation. Yet nothing is clearer to me than the black and + desperate background behind those pieces—as I shall now specify + them. I find his most characteristic, Nature's masterly touch and + luxuriant life-blood, color and heat, not in "Tam O'Shanter," "the + Cotter's Saturday Night," "Scots wha hae," "Highland Mary," "the Twa + Dogs," and the like, but in "the Jolly Beggars," "Rigs of Barley," "Scotch + Drink," "the Epistle to John Rankine," "Holy Willie's Prayer," and in + "Halloween," (to say nothing of a certain cluster, known still to a small + inner circle in Scotland, but, for good reasons, not published anywhere.) + In these compositions, especially the first, there is much indelicacy + (some editions flatly leave it out,) but the composer reigns alone, with + handling free and broad and true, and is an artist. You may see and feel + the man indirectly in his other verses, all of them, with more or less + life-likeness—but these I have named last call out pronouncedly in + his own voice, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I, Rob, am here." +</pre> + <p> + Finally, in any summing-up of Burns, though so much is to be said in the + way of fault-finding, drawing black marks, and doubtless severe literary + criticism—(in the present outpouring I have "kept myself in," rather + than allow'd any free flow)—after full retrospect of his works and + life, the aforesaid "odd-kind chiel" remains to my heart and brain as + almost the tenderest, manliest, and (even if contradictory) dearest + flesh-and-blood figure in all the streams and clusters of by-gone poets. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {39} Probably no man that ever lived—a friend has made the statement—was + so fondly loved, both by men and women, as Robert Burns. The reason is not + hard to find: he had a real heart of flesh and blood beating in his bosom; + you could almost hear it throb. "Some one said, that if you had shaken + hands with him his hand would have burnt yours. The gods, indeed, made him + poetical, but Nature had a hand in him first. His heart was in the right + place; he did not pile up cantos of poetic diction; he pluck'd the + mountain daisy under his feet; he wrote of field-mouse hurrying from its + ruin'd dwelling. He held the plough or the pen with the same firm, manly + grasp. And he was loved. The simple roll of the women who gave him their + affection and their sympathy would make a long manuscript; and most of + these were of such noble worth that, as Robert Chambers says, 'their + character may stand as a testimony in favor of that of Burns.'" {As I + understand, the foregoing is from an extremely rare book publish'd by + M'Kie, in Kilmarnock. I find the whole beautiful paragraph in a capital + paper on Burns, by Amelia Barr.} + </p> + <p> + {40} The Dumfries statue of Robert Burns was successfully unveil'd April + 1881 by Lord Rosebery, the occasion having been made national in its + character. Before the ceremony, a large procession paraded the streets of + the town, all the trades and societies of that part of Scotland being + represented, at the head of which went dairymen and ploughmen, the former + driving their carts and being accompanied by their maids. The statue is of + Sicilian marble. It rests on a pedestal of gray stone five feet high. The + poet is represented as sitting easily on an old tree root, holding in his + left hand a cluster of daisies. His face is turn'd toward the right + shoulder, and the eyes gaze into the distance. Near by lie a collie dog, a + broad bonnet half covering a well-thumb'd song-book, and a rustic + flageolet. The costume is taken from the Nasmyth portrait, which has been + follow'd for the features of the face. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A WORD ABOUT TENNYSON + </h2> + <p> + Beautiful as the song was, the original "Locksley Hall" of half a century + ago was essentially morbid, heart-broken, finding fault with everything, + especially the fact of money's being made (as it ever must be, and perhaps + should be) the paramount matter in worldly affairs; + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Every door is barr'd with gold, and opens but to golden keys. +</pre> + <p> + First, a father, having fallen in battle, his child (the singer) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's ward. +</pre> + <p> + Of course love ensues. The woman in the chant or monologue proves a false + one; and as far as appears the ideal of woman, in the poet's reflections, + is a false one—at any rate for America. Woman is <i>not</i> "the + lesser man." (The heart is not the brain.) The best of the piece of fifty + years since is its concluding line: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For the mighty wind arises roaring seaward and I go. +</pre> + <p> + Then for this current 1886-7, a just-out sequel, which (as an apparently + authentic summary says) "reviews the life of mankind during the past sixty + years, and comes to the conclusion that its boasted progress is of + doubtful credit to the world in general and to England in particular. A + cynical vein of denunciation of democratic opinions and aspirations runs + throughout the poem in mark'd contrast with the spirit of the poet's + youth." Among the most striking lines of this sequel are the following: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Envy wears the mask of love, and, laughing sober fact to scorn, + Cries to weakest as to strongest, 'Ye are equals, equal born,' + Equal-born! Oh yes, if yonder hill be level with the flat. + Charm us, orator, till the lion look no larger than the cat: + Till the cat, through that mirage of overheated language, loom + Larger than the lion Demo—end in working its own doom. + Tumble Nature heel o'er head, and, yelling with the yelling street, + Set the feet above the brain, and swear the brain is in the feet, + Bring the old dark ages back, without the faith, without the hope. + Beneath the State, the Church, the Throne, and roll their ruins down + the slope. +</pre> + <p> + I should say that all this is a legitimate consequence of the tone and + convictions of the earlier standards and points of view. Then some + reflections, down to the hard-pan of this sort of thing. + </p> + <p> + The course of progressive politics (democracy) is so certain and + resistless, not only in America but in Europe, that we can well afford the + warning calls, threats, checks, neutralizings, in imaginative literature, + or any department, of such deep-sounding, and high-soaring voices as + Carlyle's and Tennyson's. Nay, the blindness, excesses, of the prevalent + tendency—the dangers of the urgent trends of our times—in my + opinion, need such voices almost more than any. I should, too, call it a + signal instance of democratic humanity's luck that it has such enemies to + contend with—so candid, so fervid, so heroic. But why do I say + enemies? Upon the whole is not Tennyson—and was not Carlyle (like an + honest and stern physician)—the true friend of our age? + </p> + <p> + Let me assume to pass verdict, or perhaps momentary judgment, for the + United States on this poet—a remov'd and distant position giving + some advantages over a nigh one. What is Tennyson's service to his race, + times, and especially to America? First, I should say—or at least + not forget—his personal character. He is not to be mention'das a + rugged, evolutionary, aboriginal force—but (and a great lesson is in + it) he has been consistent throughout with the native, healthy, patriotic + spinal element and promptings of himself. His moral line is local and + conventional, but it is vital and genuine. He reflects the uppercrust of + his time, its pale cast of thought—even its <i>ennui</i>. Then the + simile of my friend John Burroughs is entirely true, "his glove is a glove + of silk, but the hand is a hand of iron." He shows how one can be a royal + laureate, quite elegant and "aristocratic," and a little queer and + affected, and at the same time perfectly manly and natural. As to his + non-democracy, it fits him well, and I like him the better for it. I guess + we all like to have (I am sure I do) some one who presents those sides of + a thought, or possibility, different from our own—different and yet + with a sort of home-likeness—a tartness and contradiction offsetting + the theory as we view it, and construed from tastes and proclivities not + at all his own. + </p> + <p> + To me, Tennyson shows more than any poet I know (perhaps has been a + warning to me) how much there is in finest verbalism. There is such a + latent charm in mere words, cunning collocutions, and in the voice ringing + them, which he has caught and brought out, beyond all others—as in + the line, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And hollow, hollow, hollow, all delight, +</pre> + <p> + in "The Passing of Arthur," and evidenced in "The Lady of Shalott," "The + Deserted House," and many other pieces. Among the best (I often linger + over them again and again) are "Lucretius," "The Lotos Eaters," and "The + Northern Farmer." His mannerism is great, but it is a noble and welcome + mannerism. His very best work, to me, is contain'd in the books of "The + Idylls of the King," and all that has grown out of them. Though indeed we + could spare nothing of Tennyson, however small or however peculiar—not + "Break, Break," nor "Flower in the Crannied Wall," nor the old, + eternally-told passion of "Edward Gray:" + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Love may come and love may go, + And fly like a bird from tree to tree. + But I will love no more, no more + Till Ellen Adair come back to me. +</pre> + <p> + Yes, Alfred Tennyson's is a superb character, and will help give + illustriousness, through the long roll of time, to our Nineteenth Century. + In its bunch of orbic names, shining like a constellation of stars, his + will be one of the brightest. His very faults, doubts, swervings, + doublings upon himself, have been typical of our age. We are like the + voyagers of a ship, casting off for new seas, distant shores. We would + still dwell in the old suffocating and dead haunts, remembering and + magnifying their pleasant experiences only, and more than once impell'd to + jump ashore before it is too late, and stay where our fathers stay'd, and + live as they lived. + </p> + <p> + May-be I am non-literary and non-decorous (let me at least be human, and + pay part of my debt) in this word about Tennyson. I want him to realize + that here is a great and ardent Nation that absorbs his songs, and has a + respect and affection for him personally, as almost for no other + foreigner. I want this word to go to the old man at Farringford as + conveying no more than the simple truth; and that truth (a little + Christmas gift) no slight one either. I have written impromptu, and shall + let it all go at that. The readers of more than fifty millions of people + in the New World not only owe to him some of their most agreeable and + harmless and healthy hours, but he has enter'd into the formative + influences of character here, not only in the Atlantic cities, but inland + and far West, out in Missouri, in Kansas, and away in Oregon, in farmer's + house and miner's cabin. + </p> + <p> + Best thanks, anyhow, to Alfred Tennyson—thanks and appreciation in + America's name. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SLANG IN AMERICA + </h2> + <p> + View'd freely, the English language is the accretion and growth of every + dialect, race, and range of time, and is both the free and compacted + composition of all. From this point of view, it stands for Language in the + largest sense, and is really the greatest of studies. It involves so much; + is indeed a sort of universal absorber, combiner, and conqueror. The scope + of its etymologies is the scope not only of man and civilization, but the + history of Nature in all departments, and of the organic Universe, brought + up to date; for all are comprehended in words, and their backgrounds. This + is when words become vitaliz'd, and stand for things, as they unerringly + and soon come to do, in the mind that enters on their study with fitting + spirit, grasp, and appreciation. + </p> + <p> + Slang, profoundly consider'd, is the lawless germinal element, below all + words and sentences, and behind all poetry, and proves a certain perennial + rankness and protestantism in speech. As the United States inherit by far + their most precious possession—the language they talk and write—from + the Old World, under and out of its feudal institutes, I will allow myself + to borrow a simile even of those forms farthest removed from American + Democracy. Considering Language then as some mighty potentate, into the + majestic audience-hall of the monarch ever enters a personage like one of + Shakspere's clowns, and takes position there, and plays a part even in the + stateliest ceremonies. Such is Slang, or indirection, an attempt of common + humanity to escape from bald literalism, and express itself illimitably, + which in highest walks produces poets and poems, and doubtless in + pre-historic times gave the start to, and perfected, the whole immense + tangle of the old mythologies. For, curious as it may appear, it is + strictly the same impulse-source, the same thing. Slang, too, is the + wholesome fermentation or eructation of those processes eternally active + in language, by which froth and specks are thrown up, mostly to pass away; + though occasionally to settle and permanently crystallize. + </p> + <p> + To make it plainer, it is certain that many of the oldest and solidest + words we use, were originally generated from the daring and license of + slang. In the processes of word-formation, myriads die, but here and there + the attempt attracts superior meanings, becomes valuable and + indispensable, and lives forever. Thus the term <i>right</i> means + literally only straight. <i>Wrong</i> primarily meant twisted, distorted. + <i>Integrity</i> meant oneness. <i>Spirit</i> meant breath, or flame. A <i>supercilious</i> + person was one who rais'd his eyebrows. To <i>insult</i> was to leap + against. If you <i>influenced</i> a man, you but flow'd into him. The + Hebrew word which is translated <i>prophesy</i> meant to bubble up and + pour forth as a fountain. The enthusiast bubbles up with the Spirit of God + within him, and it pours forth from him like a fountain. The word prophecy + is misunderstood. Many suppose that it is limited to mere prediction; that + is but the lesser portion of prophecy. The greater work is to reveal God. + Every true religious enthusiast is a prophet. + </p> + <p> + Language, be it remember'd, is not an abstract construction of the + learn'd, or of dictionary-makers, but is something arising out of the + work, needs, ties, joys, affections, tastes, of long generations of + humanity, and has its bases broad and low, close to the ground. Its final + decisions are made by the masses, people nearest the concrete, having most + to do with actual land and sea. It impermeates all, the Past as well as + the Present, and is the grandest triumph of the human intellect. "Those + mighty works of art," says Addington Symonds, "which we call languages, in + the construction of which whole peoples unconsciously co-operated, the + forms of which were determin'd not by individual genius, but by the + instincts of successive generations, acting to one end, inherent in the + nature of the race—Those poems of pure thought and fancy, cadenced + not in words, but in living imagery, fountain-heads of inspiration, + mirrors of the mind of nascent nations, which we call Mythologies—these + surely are more marvellous in their infantine spontaneity than any more + mature production of the races which evolv'd them. Yet we are utterly + ignorant of their embryology; the true science of Origins is yet in its + cradle." + </p> + <p> + Daring as it is to say so, in the growth of Language it is certain that + the retrospect of slang from the start would be the recalling from their + nebulous conditions of all that is poetical in the stores of human + utterance. Moreover, the honest delving, as of late years, by the German + and British workers in comparative philology, has pierc'd and dispers'd + many of the falsest bubbles of centuries; and will disperse many more. It + was long recorded that in Scandinavian mythology the heroes in the Norse + Paradise drank out of the skulls of their slain enemies. Later + investigation proves the word taken for skulls to mean <i>horns</i> of + beasts slain in the hunt. And what reader had not been exercis'd over the + traces of that feudal custom, by which <i>seigneurs</i> warm'd their feet + in the bowels of serfs, the abdomen being open'd for the purpose? It now + is made to appear that the serf was only required to submit his unharm'd + abdomen as a foot cushion while his lord supp' d, and was required to + chafe the legs of the seigneur with his hands. + </p> + <p> + It is curiously in embryons and childhood, and among the illiterate, we + always find the groundwork and start, of this great science, and its + noblest products. What a relief most people have in speaking of a man not + by his true and formal name, with a "Mister" to it, but by some odd or + homely appellative. The propensity to approach a meaning not directly and + squarely, but by circuitous styles of expression, seems indeed a born + quality of the common people everywhere, evidenced by nick-names, and the + inveterate determination of the masses to bestow sub-titles, sometimes + ridiculous, sometimes very apt. Always among the soldiers during the + secession war, one heard of "Little Mac" (Gen. McClellan), or of "Uncle + Billy" (Gen. Sherman.) "The old man" was, of course, very common. Among + the rank and file, both armies, it was very general to speak of the + different States they came from by their slang names. Those from Maine + were call'd Foxes; New Hampshire, Granite Boys; Massachusetts, Bay + Staters; Vermont, Green Mountain Boys; Rhode Island, Gun Flints; + Connecticut, Wooden Nutmegs; New York, Knickerbockers; New Jersey, Clam + Catchers; Pennsylvania, Logher Heads; Delaware, Muskrats; Maryland, Claw + Thumpers; Virginia, Beagles; North Carolina, Tar Boilers; South Carolina, + Weasels; Georgia, Buzzards; Louisiana, Creoles; Alabama, Lizards; + Kentucky, Corn Crackers; Ohio, Buckeyes; Michigan, Wolverines; Indiana, + Hoosiers; Illinois, Suckers; Missouri, Pukes; Mississippi, Tadpoles; + Florida, Fly up the Creeks; Wisconsin, Badgers; Iowa, Hawkeyes; Oregon, + Hard Cases. Indeed I am not sure but slang names have more than once made + Presidents. "Old Hickory," (Gen. Jackson) is one case in point. + "Tippecanoe, and Tyler too," another. + </p> + <p> + I find the same rule in the people's conversations everywhere. I heard + this among the men of the city horse-cars, where the conductor is often + call'd a "snatcher" (i. e. because his characteristic duty is to + constantly pull or snatch the bell-strap, to stop or go on.) Two young + fellows are having a friendly talk, amid which, says 1st conductor, "What + did you do before you was a snatcher?" Answer of 2d conductor, "Nail'd." + (Translation of answer: "I work'd as carpenter.") What is a "boom"? says + one editor to another. "Esteem'd contemporary," says the other, "a boom is + a bulge." "Barefoot whiskey" is the Tennessee name for the undiluted + stimulant. In the slang of the New York common restaurant waiters a plate + of ham and beans is known as "stars and stripes," codfish balls as + "sleeve-buttons," and hash as "mystery." + </p> + <p> + The Western States of the Union are, however, as may be supposed, the + special areas of slang, not only in conversation, but in names of + localities, towns, rivers, etc. A late Oregon traveller says: + </p> + <p> + "On your way to Olympia by rail, you cross a river called the + Shookum-Chuck; your train stops at places named Newaukum, Tumwater, and + Toutle; and if you seek further you will hear of whole counties labell' d + Wahkiakum, or Snohomish, or Kitsar, or Klikatat; and Cowlitz, Hookium, and + Nenolelops greet and offend you. They complain in Olympia that Washington + Territory gets but little immigration; but what wonder? What man, having + the whole American continent to choose from, would willingly date his + letters from the county of Snohomish or bring up his children in the city + of Nenolelops? The village of Tumwater is, as I am ready to bear witness, + very pretty indeed; but surely an emigrant would think twice before he + establish' d himself either there or at Toutle. Seattle is sufficiently + barbarous; Stelicoom is no better; and I suspect that the Northern Pacific + Railroad terminus has been fixed at Tacoma because it is one of the few + places on Puget Sound whose name does not inspire horror." + </p> + <p> + Then a Nevada paper chronicles the departure of a mining party from Reno: + "The toughest set of roosters that ever shook the dust off any town left + Reno yesterday for the new mining district of Cornucopia. They came here + from Virginia. Among the crowd were four New York cock-fighters, two + Chicago murderers, three Baltimore bruisers, one Philadelphia + prize-fighter, four San Francisco hoodlums, three Virginia beats, two + Union Pacific roughs, and two check guerrillas." Among the far-west + newspapers, have been, or are, <i>The Fairplay</i> (Colorado) <i>Flume, + The Solid Muldoon</i>, of Ouray, <i>The Tombstone Epitaph</i>, of Nevada, + <i>The Jimplecute</i>, of Texas, and <i>The Bazoo</i>, of Missouri. + Shirttail Bend, Whiskey Flat, Puppytown, Wild Yankee Ranch, Squaw Flat, + Rawhide Ranch, Loafer's Ravine, Squitch Gulch, Toenail Lake, are a few of + the names of places in Butte county, Cal. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps indeed no place or term gives more luxuriant illustrations of the + fermentation processes I have mention'd, and their froth and specks, than + those Mississippi and Pacific coast regions, at the present day. Hasty and + grotesque as are some of the names, others are of an appropriateness and + originality unsurpassable. This applies to the Indian words, which are + often perfect. Oklahoma is proposed in Congress for the name of one of our + new Territories. Hog-eye, Lick-skillet, Rake-pocket and Steal-easy are the + names of some Texan towns. Miss Bremer found among the aborigines the + following names: <i>Men's</i>, Horn-point; Round-Wind; Stand-and-look-out; + The-Cloud-that-goes-aside; Iron-toe; Seek-the-sun; Iron-flash; Red-bottle; + White-spindle; Black-dog; Two-feathers-of-honor; Gray-grass; Bushy-tail; + Thunder-face; Go-on-the-burning-sod; Spirits-of-the-dead. <i>Women's</i>, + Keep-the-fire; Spiritual-woman; Second-daughter-of-the-house; Blue-bird. + </p> + <p> + Certainly philologists have not given enough attention to this element and + its results, which, I repeat, can probably be found working every where + to-day, amid modern conditions, with as much life and activity as in + far-back Greece or India, under prehistoric ones. Then the wit—the + rich flashes of humor and genius and poetry—darting out often from a + gang of laborers, railroad-men, miners, drivers or boatmen! How often have + I hover'd at the edge of a crowd of them, to hear their repartees and + impromptus! You get more real fun from half an hour with them than from + the books of all "the American humorists." + </p> + <p> + The science of language has large and close analogies in geological + science, with its ceaseless evolution, its fossils, and its numberless + submerged layers and hidden strata, the infinite go-before of the present. + Or, perhaps Language is more like some vast living body, or perennial body + of bodies. And slang not only brings the first feeders of it, but is + afterward the start of fancy, imagination and humor, breathing into its + nostrils the breath of life. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN INDIAN BUREAU REMINISCENCE + </h2> + <p> + After the close of the secession war in 1865, I work'd several months + (until Mr. Harlan turn'd me out for having written "Leaves of Grass") in + the Interior Department at Washington, in the Indian Bureau. Along this + time there came to see their Great Father an unusual number of aboriginal + visitors, delegations for treaties, settlement of lands, &c.—some + young or middle-aged, but mainly old men, from the West, North, and + occasionally from the South—parties of from five to twenty each—the + most wonderful proofs of what Nature can produce, (the survival of the + fittest, no doubt—all the frailer samples dropt, sorted out by + death)—as if to show how the earth and woods, the attrition of + storms and elements, and the exigencies of life at first hand, can train + and fashion men, indeed <i>chiefs</i>, in heroic massiveness, + imperturbability, muscle, and that last and highest beauty consisting of + strength—the full exploitation and fruitage of a human identity, not + from the culmination-points of "culture" and artificial civilization, but + tallying our race, as it were, with giant, vital, gnarl'd, enduring trees, + or monoliths of separate hardiest rocks, and humanity holding its own with + the best of the said trees or rocks, and outdoing them. + </p> + <p> + There were Omahas, Poncas, Winnebagoes, Cheyennes, Navahos, Apaches, and + many others. Let me give a running account of what I see and hear through + one of these conference collections at the Indian Bureau, going back to + the present tense. Every head and face is impressive, even artistic; + Nature redeems herself out of her crudest recesses. Most have red paint on + their cheeks, however, or some other paint. ("Little Hill" makes the + opening speech, which the interpreter translates by scraps.) Many wear + head tires of gaudy-color'd braid, wound around thickly—some with + circlets of eagles' feathers. Necklaces of bears' claws are plenty around + their necks. Most of the chiefs are wrapt in large blankets of the + brightest scarlet. + </p> + <p> + Two or three have blue, and I see one black. (A wise man call'd "the + Flesh" now makes a short speech, apparently asking something. Indian + Commissioner Dole answers him, and the interpreter translates in scraps + again.) All the principal chiefs have tomahawks or hatchets, some of them + very richly ornamented and costly. Plaid shirts are to be observ'd—none + too clean. Now a tall fellow, "Hole-in-the-Day," is speaking. He has a + copious head-dress composed of feathers and narrow ribbon, under which + appears a countenance painted all over a bilious yellow. Let us note this + young chief. For all his paint, "Hole-in-the-Day" is a handsome Indian, + mild and calm, dress'd in drab buckskin leggings, dark gray surtout, and a + soft black hat. His costume will bear full observation, and even fashion + would accept him. His apparel is worn loose and scant enough to show his + superb physique, especially in neck, chest, and legs. ("The Apollo + Belvidere!" was the involuntary exclamation of a famous European artist + when he first saw a full-grown young Choctaw.) + </p> + <p> + One of the red visitors—a wild, lean-looking Indian, the one in the + black woolen wrapper—has an empty buffalo head, with the horns on, + for his personal surmounting. I see a markedly Bourbonish countenance + among the chiefs—(it is not very uncommon among them, I am told.) + Most of them avoided resting on chairs during the hour of their "talk" in + the Commissioner's office; they would sit around on the floor, leaning + against something, or stand up by the walls, partially wrapt in their + blankets. Though some of the young fellows were, as I have said, + magnificent and beautiful animals, I think the palm of unique + picturesqueness, in body, limb, physiognomy, &c., was borne by the old + or elderly chiefs, and the wise men. + </p> + <p> + My here-alluded-to experience in the Indian Bureau produced one very + definite conviction, as follows: There is something about these aboriginal + Americans, in their highest characteristic representations, essential + traits, and the ensemble of their physique and physiognomy—something + very remote, very lofty, arousing comparisons with our own civilized + ideals—something that our literature, portrait painting, &c., + have never caught, and that will almost certainly never be transmitted to + the future, even as a reminiscence. No biographer, no historian, no + artist, has grasp'd it—perhaps could not grasp it. It is so + different, so far outside our standards of eminent humanity. Their + feathers, paint—even the empty buffalo skull—did not, to say + the least, seem any more ludicrous to me than many of the fashions I have + seen in civilized society. I should not apply the word savage (at any + rate, in the usual sense) as a leading word in the description of those + great aboriginal specimens, of whom I certainly saw many of the best. + There were moments, as I look'd at them or studied them, when our own + exemplification of personality, dignity, heroic presentation anyhow (as in + the conventions of society, or even in the accepted poems and plays,) + seem'd sickly, puny, inferior. + </p> + <p> + The interpreters, agents of the Indian Department, or other whites + accompanying the bands, in positions of responsibility, were always + interesting to me; I had many talks with them. Occasionally I would go to + the hotels where the bands were quarter'd, and spend an hour or two + informally. Of course we could not have much conversation—though + (through the interpreters) more of this than might be supposed—sometimes + quite animated and significant. I had the good luck to be invariably + receiv'd and treated by all of them in their most cordial manner. + </p> + <p> + {Letter to W. W. from an artist, B. H., who has been much among the + American Indians:} + </p> + <p> + "I have just receiv'd your little paper on the Indian delegations. In the + fourth paragraph you say that there is something about the essential + traits of our aborigines which 'will almost certainly never be transmitted + to the future.' If I am so fortunate as to regain my health I hope to + weaken the force of that statement, at least in so far as my talent and + training will permit. I intend to spend some years among them, and shall + endeavor to perpetuate on canvas some of the finer types, both men and + women, and some of the characteristic features of their life. It will + certainly be well worth the while. My artistic enthusiasm was never so + thoroughly stirr'd up as by the Indians. They certainly have more of + beauty, dignity and nobility mingled with their own wild individuality, + than any of the other indigenous types of man. Neither black nor Afghan, + Arab nor Malay (and I know them all pretty well) can hold a candle to the + Indian. All of the other aboriginal types seem to be more or less + distorted from the model of perfect human form—as we know it—the + blacks, thin-hipped, with bulbous limbs, not well mark'd; the Arabs + large-jointed, &c. But I have seen many a young Indian as perfect in + form and feature as a Greek statue—very different from a Greek + statue, of course, but as satisfying to the artistic perceptions and + demand. + </p> + <p> + "And the worst, or perhaps the best of it all is that it will require an + artist—and a good one—to record the real facts and + impressions. Ten thousand photographs would not have the value of one + really finely felt painting. Color is all-important. No one but an artist + knows how much. An Indian is only half an Indian without the blue-black + hair and the brilliant eyes shining out of the wonderful dusky ochre and + rose complexion." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SOME DIARY NOTES AT RANDOM + </h2> + <h3> + NEGRO SLAVES IN NEW YORK + </h3> + <p> + I can myself almost remember negro slaves in New York State, as my + grandfather and great-grandfather (at West Hills, Suffolk county, New + York) own'd a number. The hard labor of the farm was mostly done by them, + and on the floor of the big kitchen, toward sundown, would be squatting a + circle of twelve or fourteen "pickaninnies," eating their supper of + pudding (Indian corn mush) and milk. A friend of my grandfather, named + Wortman, of Oyster Bay, died in 1810, leaving ten slaves. Jeanette + Treadwell, the last of them, died suddenly in Flushing last summer (1884,) + at the age of ninety-four years. I remember "old Mose," one of the + liberated West Hills slaves, well. He was very genial, correct, manly, and + cute, and a great friend of my childhood. + </p> + <p> + CANADA NIGHTS—<i>Late in August</i>— + </p> + <p> + Three wondrous nights. Effects of moon, clouds, stars, and night-sheen, + never surpass'd. I am out every night, enjoying all. The sunset begins it. + (I have said already how long evening lingers here.) The moon, an hour + high just after eight, is past her half, and looks somehow more like a + human face up there than ever before. As it grows later, we have such + gorgeous and broad cloud-effects, with Luna's tawny halos, silver edgings—great + fleeces, depths of blue-black in patches, and occasionally long, low bars + hanging silently a while, and then gray bulging masses rolling along + stately, sometimes in long procession. The moon travels in Scorpion + to-night, and dims all the stars of that constellation except fiery + Antares, who keeps on shining just to the big one's side. + </p> + <h3> + COUNTRY DAYS AND NIGHTS— + </h3> + <p> + <i>Sept. 30, '82, 4.30 A.M.</i>—I am down in Camden county, New + Jersey, at the farmhouse of the Staffords—have been looking a long + while at the comet—have in my time seen longer-tail'd ones, but + never one so pronounc'd in cometary character, and so spectral-fierce—so + like some great, pale, living monster of the air or sea. The atmosphere + and sky, an hour or so before sunrise, so cool, still, translucent, give + the whole apparition to great advantage. It is low in the east. The head + shows about as big as an ordinary good-sized saucer—is a perfectly + round and defined disk—the tail some sixty or seventy feet—not + a stripe, but quite broad, and gradually expanding. Impress'd with the + silent, inexplicably emotional sight, I linger and look till all begins to + weaken in the break of day. + </p> + <p> + <i>October 2</i>.—The third day of mellow, delicious, sunshiny + weather. I am writing this in the recesses of the old woods, my seat on a + big pine log, my back against a tree. Am down here a few days for a + change, to bask in the Autumn sun, to idle lusciously and simply, and to + eat hearty meals, especially my breakfast. Warm mid-days—the other + hours of the twenty-four delightfully fresh and mild—cool evenings, + and early mornings perfect. The scent of the woods, and the peculiar aroma + of a great yet unreap'd maize-field near by—the white butterflies in + every direction by day—the golden-rod, the wild asters, and + sunflowers—the song of the katydid all night. + </p> + <p> + Every day in Cooper's Woods, enjoying simple existence and the passing + hours—taking short walks—exercising arms and chest with the + saplings, or my voice with army songs or recitations. A perfect week for + weather; seven continuous days bright and dry and cool and sunny. The + nights splendid, with full moon—about 10 the grandest of star-shows + up in the east and south, Jupiter, Saturn, Capella, Aldebaran, and great + Orion. Am feeling pretty well—am outdoors most of the time, + absorbing the days and nights all I can. + </p> + <h3> + CENTRAL PARK NOTES + </h3> + <p> + <i>American Society from a Park Policeman's Point of View</i> + </p> + <p> + Am in New York city, upper part—visit Central Park almost every day + (and have for the last three weeks) off and on, taking observations or + short rambles, and sometimes riding around. I talk quite a good deal with + one of the Park policemen, C.C., up toward the Ninetieth street entrance. + One day in particular I got him a-going, and it proved deeply interesting + to me. Our talk floated into sociology and politics. I was curious to find + how these things appear'd on their surfaces to my friend, for he plainly + possess'd sharp wits and good nature, and had been seeing, for years, + broad streaks of humanity somewhat out of my latitude. I found that as he + took such appearances the inward caste-spirit of European "aristocracy" + pervaded rich America, with cynicism and artificiality at the fore. Of the + bulk of official persons, Executives, Congressmen, Legislators, Aldermen, + Department heads, &c., &c., or the candidates for those positions, + nineteen in twenty, in the policeman's judgment, were just players in a + game. Liberty, Equality, Union, and all the grand words of the Republic, + were, in their mouths, but lures, decoys, chisel'd likenesses of dead + wood, to catch the masses. Of fine afternoons, along the broad tracks of + the Park, for many years, had swept by my friend, as he stood on guard, + the carriages, &c., of American Gentility, not by dozens and scores, + but by hundreds and thousands. Lucky brokers, capitalists, contractors, + grocery-men, successful political strikers, rich butchers, dry goods' + folk, &c. And on a large proportion of these vehicles, on panels or + horse-trappings, were conspicuously borne <i>heraldic family crests</i>. + (Can this really be true?) In wish and willingness (and if that were so, + what matter about the reality?) titles of nobility, with a court and + spheres fit for the capitalists, the highly educated, and the + carriage-riding classes—to fence them off from "the common people"—were + the heart's desire of the "good society" of our great cities—aye, of + North and South. + </p> + <p> + So much for my police friend's speculations—which rather took me + aback—and which I have thought I would just print as he gave them + (as a doctor records symptoms.) + </p> + <h3> + PLATE GLASS NOTES + </h3> + <p> + <i>St. Louis, Missouri, November, '79</i>.—What do you think I find + manufactur'd out here—and of a kind the clearest and largest, best, + and the most finish'd and luxurious in the world—and with ample + demand for it too? <i>Plate glass</i>! One would suppose that was the last + dainty outcome of an old, almost effete-growing civilization; and yet here + it is, a few miles from St. Louis, on a charming little river, in the + wilds of the West, near the Mississippi. I went down that way to-day by + the Iron Mountain Railroad—was switch'd off on a side-track four + miles through woods and ravines, to Swash Creek, so-call'd, and there + found Crystal city, and immense Glass Works, built (and evidently built to + stay) right in the pleasant rolling forest. Spent most of the day, and + examin'd the inexhaustible and peculiar sand the glass is made of—the + original whity-gray stuff in the banks—saw the melting in the pots + (a wondrous process, a real poem)—saw the delicate preparation the + clay material undergoes for these great pots (it has to be kneaded finally + by human feet, no machinery answering, and I watch'd the picturesque + bare-legged Africans treading it)—saw the molten stuff (a great mass + of a glowing pale yellow color) taken out of the furnaces (I shall never + forget that Pot, shape, color, concomitants, more beautiful than any + antique statue,) pass'd into the adjoining casting-room, lifted by + powerful machinery, pour'd out on its bed (all glowing, a newer, vaster + study for colorists, indescribable, a pale red-tinged yellow, of tarry + consistence, all lambent,) roll'd by a heavy roller into rough plate + glass, I should say ten feet by fourteen, then rapidly shov'd into the + annealing oven, which stood ready for it. The polishing and grinding rooms + afterward—the great glass slabs, hundreds of them, on their flat + beds, and the see-saw music of the steam machinery constantly at work + polishing them—the myriads of human figures (the works employ'd 400 + men) moving about, with swart arms and necks, and no superfluous clothing—the + vast, rude halls, with immense play of shifting shade, and slow-moving + currents of smoke and steam, and shafts of light, sometimes sun, striking + in from above with effects that would have fill'd Michel Angelo with + rapture. + </p> + <p> + Coming back to St. Louis this evening, at sundown, and for over an hour + afterward, we follow'd the Mississippi, close by its western bank, giving + me an ampler view of the river, and with effects a little different from + any yet. In the eastern sky hung the planet Mars, just up, and of a very + clear and vivid yellow. It was a soothing and pensive hour—the + spread of the river off there in the half-light—the glints of the + down-bound steamboats plodding along—and that yellow orb (apparently + twice as large and significant as usual) above the Illinois shore. (All + along, these nights, nothing can exceed the calm, fierce, golden, + glistening domination of Mars over all the stars in the sky.) + </p> + <p> + As we came nearer St. Louis, the night having well set in, I saw some (to + me) novel effects in the zinc smelting establishments, the tall chimneys + belching flames at the top, while inside through the openings at the + façades of the great tanks burst forth (in regular position) hundreds of + fierce tufts of a peculiar blue (or green) flame, of a purity and + intensity, like electric lights—illuminating not only the great + buildings themselves, but far and near outside, like hues of the aurora + borealis, only more vivid. (So that—remembering the Pot from the + crystal furnace—my jaunt seem'd to give me new revelations in the + color line.) + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SOME WAR MEMORANDA + </h2> + <h3> + <i>Jotted Down at the Time</i> + </h3> + <p> + I find this incident in my notes (I suppose from "chinning" in hospital + with some sick or wounded soldier who knew of it): + </p> + <p> + When Kilpatrick and his forces were cut off at Brandy station (last of + September, '63, or thereabouts,) and the bands struck up "Yankee Doodle," + there were not cannon enough in the Southern Confederacy to keep him and + them "in." It was when Meade fell back. K. had his large cavalry division + (perhaps 5,000 men,) but the rebs, in superior force, had surrounded them. + Things look'd exceedingly desperate. K. had two fine bands, and order'd + them up immediately; they join'd and play'd "Yankee Doodle" with a will! + It went through the men like lightning—but to inspire, not to + unnerve. Every man seem'd a giant. They charged like a cyclone, and cut + their way out. Their loss was but 20. It was about two in the afternoon. + </p> + <h3> + WASHINGTON STREET SCENES + </h3> + <p> + <i>Walking Down Pennsylvania Avenue</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>April 7, 1864</i>.—Warmish forenoon, after the storm of the past + few days. I see, passing up, in the broad space between the curbs, a big + squad of a couple of hundred conscripts, surrounded by a strong cordon of + arm'd guards, and others interspers'd between the ranks. The government + has learn'd caution from its experiences; there are many hundreds of + "bounty jumpers," and already, as I am told, eighty thousand deserters! + Next (also passing up the Avenue,) a cavalry company, young, but evidently + well drill'd and service-harden'd men. Mark the upright posture in their + saddles, the bronz'd and bearded young faces, the easy swaying to the + motions of the horses, and the carbines by their right knees; handsome and + reckless, some eighty of them, riding with rapid gait, clattering along. + Then the tinkling bells of passing cars, the many shops (some with large + show-windows, some with swords, straps for the shoulders of different + ranks, hat-cords with acorns, or other insignia,) the military patrol + marching along, with the orderly or second-lieutenant stopping different + ones to examine passes—the forms, the faces, all sorts crowded + together, the worn and pale, the pleas'd, some on their way to the + railroad depot going home, the cripples, the darkeys, the long trains of + government wagons, or the sad strings of ambulances conveying wounded—the + many officers' horses tied in front of the drinking or oyster saloons, or + held by black men or boys, or orderlies. + </p> + <h3> + THE 195TH PENNSYLVANIA + </h3> + <p> + <i>Tuesday, Aug. 1, 1865</i>.—About 3 o'clock this afternoon (sun + broiling hot) in Fifteenth street, by the Treasury building, a large and + handsome regiment, 195th Pennsylvania, were marching by—as it + happen'd, receiv'd orders just here to halt and break ranks, so that they + might rest themselves awhile. I thought I never saw a finer set of men—so + hardy, candid, bright American looks, all weather-beaten, and with warm + clothes. Every man was home-born. My heart was much drawn toward them. + They seem'd very tired, red, and streaming with sweat. It is a one-year + regiment, mostly from Lancaster county, Pa.; have been in Shenandoah + valley. On halting, the men unhitch'd their knapsacks, and sat down to + rest themselves. Some lay flat on the pavement or under trees. The fine + physical appearance of the whole body was remarkable. Great, very great, + must be the State where such young farmers and mechanics are the practical + average. I went around for half an hour and talk'd with several of them, + sometimes squatting down with the groups. + </p> + <h3> + LEFT-HAND WRITING BY SOLDIERS + </h3> + <p> + <i>April 30, 1866</i>.—Here is a single significant fact, from which + one may judge of the character of the American soldiers in this just + concluded war: A gentleman in New York city, a while since, took it into + his head to collect specimens of writing from soldiers who had lost their + right hands in battle, and afterwards learn'd to use the left. He gave + public notice of his desire, and offer'd prizes for the best of these + specimens. Pretty soon they began to come in, and by the time specified + for awarding the prizes three hundred samples of such left-hand writing by + maim'd soldiers had arrived. + </p> + <p> + I have just been looking over some of this writing. A great many of the + specimens are written in a beautiful manner. All are good. The writing in + nearly all cases slants backward instead of forward. One piece of writing, + from a soldier who had lost both arms, was made by holding the pen in his + mouth. + </p> + <h3> + CENTRAL VIRGINIA IN '64 + </h3> + <p> + Culpepper, where I am stopping, looks like a place of two or three + thousand inhabitants. Must be one of the pleasantest towns in Virginia. + Even now, dilapidated fences, all broken down, windows out, it has the + remains of much beauty. I am standing on an eminence overlooking the town, + though within its limits. To the west the long Blue Mountain range is very + plain, looks quite near, though from 30 to 50 miles distant, with some + gray splashes of snow yet visible. The show is varied and fascinating. I + see a great eagle up there in the air sailing with pois'd wings, quite + low. Squads of red-legged soldiers are drilling; I suppose some of the new + men of the Brooklyn 14th; they march off presently with muskets on their + shoulders. In another place, just below me, are some soldiers squaring off + logs to build a shanty—chopping away, and the noise of the axes + sounding sharp. I hear the bellowing, unmusical screech of the mule. I + mark the thin blue smoke rising from camp fires. Just below me is a + collection of hospital tents, with a yellow flag elevated on a stick, and + moving languidly in the breeze. Two discharged men (I know them both) are + just leaving. One is so weak he can hardly walk; the other is stronger, + and carries his comrade's musket. They move slowly along the muddy road + toward the depot. The scenery is full of breadth, and spread on the most + generous scale (everywhere in Virginia this thought fill'd me.) The + sights, the scenes, the groups, have been varied and picturesque here + beyond description, and remain so. + </p> + <p> + I heard the men return in force the other night—heard the shouting, + and got up and went out to hear what was the matter. That night scene of + so many hundred tramping steadily by, through the mud (some big flaring + torches of pine knots,) I shall never forget. I like to go to the + paymaster's tent, and watch the men getting paid off. Some have furloughs, + and start at once for home, sometimes amid great chaffing and blarneying. + There is every day the sound of the wood-chopping axe, and the plentiful + sight of negroes, crows, and mud. I note large droves and pens of cattle. + The teamsters have camps of their own, and I go often among them. The + officers occasionally invite me to dinner or supper at headquarters. The + fare is plain, but you get something good to drink, and plenty of it. Gen. + Meade is absent; Sedgwick is in command. + </p> + <h3> + PAYING THE 1ST U. S. C. T. + </h3> + <p> + One of my war time reminiscences comprises the quiet side scene of a visit + I made to the First Regiment U. S. Color'd Troops, at their encampment, + and on the occasion of their first paying off, July 11, 1863. Though there + is now no difference of opinion worth mentioning, there was a powerful + opposition to enlisting blacks during the earlier years of the secession + war. Even then, however, they had their champions. "That the color'd + race," said a good authority, "is capable of military training and + efficiency, is demonstrated by the testimony of numberless witnesses, and + by the eagerness display'd in the raising, organizing, and drilling of + African troops. Few white regiments make a better appearance on parade + than the First and Second Louisiana Native Guards. The same remark is true + of other color'd regiments. At Milliken's Bend, at Vicksburg, at Port + Hudson, on Morris Island, and wherever tested, they have exhibited + determin'd bravery, and compell'd the plaudits alike of the thoughtful and + thoughtless soldiery. During the siege of Port Hudson the question was + often ask'd those who beheld their resolute charges, how the 'niggers' + behav'd under fire; and without exception the answer was complimentary to + them. 'O, tip-top!' 'first-rate!' 'bully!' were the usual replies. But I + did not start out to argue the case—only to give my reminiscence + literally, as jotted on the spot at the time." + </p> + <p> + I write this on Mason's (otherwise Analostan) island, under the fine shade + trees of an old white stucco house, with big rooms; the white stucco + house, originally a fine country seat (tradition says the famous Virginia + Mason, author of the Fugitive Slave Law, was born here.) I reach'd the + spot from my Washington quarters by ambulance up Pennsylvania avenue, + through Georgetown, across the Aqueduct bridge, and around through a cut + and winding road, with rocks and many bad gullies not lacking. After + reaching the island, we get presently in the midst of the camp of the 1st + Regiment U. S. C. T. The tents look clean and good; indeed, altogether, in + locality especially, the pleasantest camp I have yet seen. The spot is + umbrageous, high and dry, with distant sounds of the city, and the puffing + steamers of the Potomac, up to Georgetown and back again. Birds are + singing in the trees, the warmth is endurable here in this moist shade, + with the fragrance and freshness. A hundred rods across is Georgetown. The + river between is swell'd and muddy from the late rains up country. So + quiet here, yet full of vitality, all around in the far distance glimpses, + as I sweep my eye, of hills, verdure-clad, and with plenteous trees; right + where I sit, locust, sassafras, spice, and many other trees, a few with + huge parasitic vines; just at hand the banks sloping to the river, wild + with beautiful, free vegetation, superb weeds, better, in their natural + growth and forms, than the best garden. Lots of luxuriant grape vines and + trumpet flowers; the river flowing far down in the distance. + </p> + <p> + Now the paying is to begin. The Major (paymaster) with his clerk seat + themselves at a table—the rolls are before them—the money box + is open'd—there are packages of five, ten, twenty-five cent pieces. + Here comes the first Company (B), some 82 men, all blacks. Certes, we + cannot find fault with the appearance of this crowd—negroes though + they be. They are manly enough, bright enough, look as if they had the + soldier-stuff in them, look hardy, patient, many of them real handsome + young fellows. The paying, I say, has begun. The men are march'd up in + close proximity. The clerk calls off name after name, and each walks up, + receives his money, and passes along out of the way. It is a real study, + both to see them come close, and to see them pass away, stand counting + their cash—(nearly all of this company get ten dollars and three + cents each.) The clerk calls George Washington. That distinguish'd + personage steps from the ranks, in the shape of a very black man, good + sized and shaped, and aged about 30, with a military mustache; he takes + his "ten three," and goes off evidently well pleas'd. (There are about a + dozen Washingtons in the company. Let us hope they will do honor to the + name.) At the table, how quickly the Major handles the bills, counts + without trouble, everything going on smoothly and quickly. The regiment + numbers to-day about 1,000 men (including 20 officers, the only whites.) + </p> + <p> + Now another company. These get $5.36 each. The men look well. They, too, + have great names; besides the Washingtons aforesaid, John Quincy Adams, + Daniel Webster, Calhoun, James Madison, Alfred Tennyson, John Brown, Benj. + G. Tucker, Horace Greeley, &c. The men step off aside, count their + money with a pleas'd, half-puzzled look. Occasionally, but not often, + there are some thoroughly African physiognomies, very black in color, + large, protruding lips, low forehead, &c. But I have to say that I do + not see one utterly revolting face. + </p> + <p> + Then another company, each man of this getting $10.03 also. The pay + proceeds very rapidly (the calculation, roll-signing, &c., having been + arranged beforehand.) Then some trouble. One company, by the rigid rules + of official computation, gets only 23 cents each man. The company (K) is + indignant, and after two or three are paid, the refusal to take the paltry + sum is universal, and the company marches off to quarters unpaid. + </p> + <p> + Another company (I) gets only 70 cents. The sullen, lowering, disappointed + look is general. Half refuse it in this case. Company G, in full dress, + with brass scales on shoulders, look'd, perhaps, as well as any of the + companies—the men had an unusually alert look. These, then, are the + black troops,—or the beginning of them. Well, no one can see them, + even under these circumstances—their military career in its + novitiate—without feeling well pleas'd with them. + </p> + <p> + As we enter'd the island, we saw scores at a little distance, bathing, + washing their clothes, &c. The officers, as far as looks go, have a + fine appearance, have good faces, and the air military. Altogether it is a + significant show, and brings up some "abolition" thoughts. The scene, the + porch of an Old Virginia slave-owner's house, the Potomac rippling near, + the Capitol just down three or four miles there, seen through the pleasant + blue haze of this July day. + </p> + <p> + After a couple of hours I get tired, and go off for a ramble. I write + these concluding lines on a rock, under the shade of a tree on the banks + of the island. It is solitary here, the birds singing, the sluggish + muddy-yellow waters pouring down from the late rains of the upper Potomac; + the green heights on the south side of the river before me. The single + cannon from a neighboring fort has just been fired, to signal high noon. I + have walk'd all around Analostan, enjoying its luxuriant wildness, and + stopt in this solitary spot. A water snake wriggles down the bank, + disturb'd, into the water. The bank near by is fringed with a dense growth + of shrubbery, vines, &c. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FIVE THOUSAND POEMS + </h2> + <p> + There have been collected in a cluster nearly five thousand big and little + American poems—all that diligent and long-continued research could + lay hands on! The author of 'Old Grimes is Dead' commenced it, more than + fifty years ago; then the cluster was pass'd on and accumulated by C. F. + Harris; then further pass'd on and added to by the late Senator Anthony, + from whom the whole collection has been bequeath'd to Brown University. A + catalogue (such as it is) has been made and publish'd of these five + thousand poems—and is probably the most curious and suggestive part + of the whole affair. At any rate it has led me to some abstract reflection + like the following. + </p> + <p> + I should like, for myself, to put on record my devout acknowledgment not + only of the great masterpieces of the past, but of the benefit of <i>all</i> + poets, past and present, and of <i>all</i> poetic utterance—in its + entirety the dominant moral factor of humanity's progress. In view of that + progress, and of evolution, the religious and esthetic elements, the + distinctive and most important of any, seem to me more indebted to poetry + than to all other means and influences combined. In a very profound sense + <i>religion is the poetry of humanity</i>. Then the points of union and + rapport among all the poems and poets of the world, however wide their + separations of time and place and theme, are much more numerous and + weighty than the points of contrast. Without relation as they may seem at + first sight, the whole earth's poets and poetry—<i>en masse</i>—the + Oriental, the Greek, and what there is of Roman—the oldest myths—the + interminable ballad-romances of the Middle Ages—the hymns and psalms + of worship—the epics, plays, swarms of lyrics of the British + Islands, or the Teutonic old or new—or modern French—or what + there is in America, Bryant's, for instance, or Whittier's or Longfellow's—the + verse of all tongues and ages, all forms, all subjects, from primitive + times to our own day inclusive—really combine in one aggregate and + electric globe or universe, with all its numberless parts and radiations + held together by a common centre or verteber. To repeat it, all poetry + thus has (to the point of view comprehensive enough) more features of + resemblance than difference, and becomes essentially, like the planetary + globe itself, compact and orbic and whole. Nature seems to sow countless + seeds—makes incessant crude attempts—thankful to get now and + then, even at rare and long intervals, something approximately good. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE OLD BOWERY + </h2> + <p> + <i>A Reminiscence of New York Plays and Acting Fifty Years Ago</i> + </p> + <p> + In an article not long since, "Mrs. Siddons as Lady Macbeth," in "The + Nineteenth Century," after describing the bitter regretfulness to mankind + from the loss of those first-class poems, temples, pictures, gone and + vanish'd from any record of men, the writer (Fleeming Jenkin) continues: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If this be our feeling as to the more durable works of art, what + shall we say of those triumphs which, by their very nature, la + no longer than the action which creates them—the triumphs of the + orator, the singer, or the actor? There is an anodyne in the words, + "must be so," "inevitable," and there is even some absurdity in + longing for the impossible. This anodyne and our sense of humor + temper the unhappiness we feel when, after hearing some great + performance, we leave the theatre and think, "Well, this great thing + has been, and all that is now left of it is the feeble print up + my brain, the little thrill which memory will send along my nerves, + mine and my neighbors; as we live longer the print and thrill must + be feebler, and when we pass away the impress of the great artist + will vanish from the world." The regret that a great art should in + its nature be transitory, explains the lively interest which many + feel in reading anecdotes or descriptions of a great actor. +</pre> + <p> + All this is emphatically my own feeling and reminiscence about the best + dramatic and lyric artists I have seen in bygone days—for instance, + Marietta Alboni, the elder Booth, Forrest, the tenor Bettini, the baritone + Badiali, "old man Clarke"—(I could write a whole paper on the + latter's peerless rendering of the Ghost in "Hamlet" at the Park, when I + was a young fellow)—an actor named Ranger, who appear'd in America + forty years ago in <i>genre</i> characters; Henry Placide, and many + others. But I will make a few memoranda at least of the best one I knew. + </p> + <p> + For the elderly New Yorker of to-day, perhaps, nothing were more likely to + start up memories of his early manhood than the mention of the Bowery and + the elder Booth, At the date given, the more stylish and select theatre + (prices, 50 cents pit, $1 boxes) was "The Park," a large and + well-appointed house on Park Row, opposite the present Post-office. + English opera and the old comedies were often given in capital style; the + principal foreign stars appear'd here, with Italian opera at wide + intervals. The Park held a large part in my boyhood's and young manhood's + life. Here I heard the English actor, Anderson, in "Charles de Moor," and + in the fine part of "Gisippus." Here I heard Fanny Kemble, Charlotte + Cushman, the Seguins, Daddy Rice, Hackett as Falstaff, Nimrod Wildfire, + Rip Van Winkle, and in his Yankee characters. (See pages 19, 20, "Specimen + Days.") It was here (some years later than the date in the headline) I + also heard Mario many times, and at his best. In such parts as Gennaro, in + "Lucrezia Borgia," he was inimitable—the sweetest of voices, a pure + tenor, of considerable compass and respectable power. His wife, Grisi, was + with him, no longer first-class or young—a fine Norma, though, to + the last. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps my dearest amusement reminiscences are those musical ones. I doubt + if ever the senses and emotions of the future will be thrill'd as were the + auditors of a generation ago by the deep passion of Alboni's contralto (at + the Broadway Theatre, south side, near Pearl street)—or by the + trumpet notes of Badiali's baritone, or Bettini's pensive and incomparable + tenor in Fernando in "Favorita," or Marini's bass in "Faliero," among the + Havana troupe, Castle Garden. + </p> + <p> + But getting back more specifically to the date and theme I started from—the + heavy tragedy business prevail'd more decidedly at the Bowery Theatre, + where Booth and Forrest were frequently to be heard. Though Booth <i>pere,</i> + then in his prime, ranging in age from 40 to 44 years (he was born in + 1796,) was the loyal child and continuer of the traditions of orthodox + English play-acting, he stood out "himself alone" in many respects beyond + any of his kind on record, and with effects and ways that broke through + all rules and all traditions. He has been well describ'd as an actor + "whose instant and tremendous concentration of passion in his delineations + overwhelm'd his audience, and wrought into it such enthusiasm that it + partook of the fever of inspiration surging through his own veins." He + seems to have been of beautiful private character, very honorable, + affectionate, good-natured, no arrogance, glad to give the other actors + the best chances. He knew all stage points thoroughly, and curiously + ignored the mere dignities. I once talk'd with a man who had seen him do + the Second Actor in the mock play to Charles Kean's Hamlet in Baltimore. + He was a marvellous linguist. He play'd Shylock once in London, giving the + dialogue in Hebrew, and in New Orleans Oreste (Racine's "Andromaque") in + French. One trait of his habits, I have heard, was strict vegetarianism. + He was exceptionally kind to the brute creation. Every once in a while he + would make a break for solitude or wild freedom, sometimes for a few + hours, sometimes for days. (He illustrated Plato's rule that to the + forming an artist of the very highest rank a dash of insanity or what the + world calls insanity is indispensable.) He was a small-sized man—yet + sharp observers noticed that however crowded the stage might be in certain + scenes, Booth never seem'd overtopt or hidden. He was singularly + spontaneous and fluctuating; in the same part each rendering differ'd from + any and all others. He had no stereotyped positions and made no arbitrary + requirements on his fellow-performers. + </p> + <p> + As is well known to old play-goers, Booth's most effective part was + Richard III. Either that, or lago, or Shylock, or Pescara in "The + Apostate," was sure to draw a crowded house. (Remember heavy pieces were + much more in demand those days than now.) He was also unapproachably grand + in Sir Giles Overreach, in "A New Way to Pay Old Debts," and the principal + character in "The Iron Chest." + </p> + <p> + In any portraiture of Booth, those years, the Bowery Theatre, with its + leading lights, and the lessee and manager, Thomas Hamblin, cannot be left + out. It was at the Bowery I first saw Edwin Forrest (the play was John + Howard Payne's "Brutus, or the Fall of Tarquin," and it affected me for + weeks; or rather I might say permanently filter'd into my whole nature,) + then in the zenith of his fame and ability. Sometimes (perhaps a veteran's + benefit night,) the Bowery would group together five or six of the + first-class actors of those days—Booth, Forrest, Cooper, Hamblin, + and John R. Scott, for instance. At that time and here George Jones + ("Count Joannes") was a young, handsome actor, and quite a favorite. I + remember seeing him in the title role in "Julius Caesar," and a capital + performance it was. + </p> + <p> + To return specially to the manager. Thomas Hamblin made a first-rate foil + to Booth, and was frequently cast with him. He had a large, shapely, + imposing presence, and dark and flashing eyes. I remember well his + rendering of the main role in Maturin's "Bertram, or the Castle of St. + Aldobrand." But I thought Tom Hamblin's best acting was in the + comparatively minor part of Faulconbridge in "King John"—he himself + evidently revell'd in the part, and took away the house's applause from + young Kean (the King) and Ellen Tree (Constance,) and everybody else on + the stage—some time afterward at the Park. Some of the Bowery + actresses were remarkably good. I remember Mrs. Pritchard in "Tour de + Nesle," and Mrs. McClure in "Fatal Curiosity," and as Millwood in "George + Barnwell." (I wonder what old fellow reading these lines will recall the + fine comedietta of "The Youth That Never Saw a Woman," and the jolly + acting in it of Mrs. Herring and old Gates.) + </p> + <p> + The Bowery, now and then, was the place, too, for spectacular pieces, such + as "The Last Days of Pompeii," "The Lion-Doom'd" and the yet undying + "Mazeppa." At one time "Jonathan Bradford, or the Murder at the Roadside + Inn, "had a long and crowded run; John Sefton and his brother William + acted in it. I remember well the Frenchwoman Celeste, a splendid + pantomimist, and her emotional "Wept of the Wishton-Wish." But certainly + the main "reason for being" of the Bowery Theatre those years was to + furnish the public with Forrest's and Booth's performances—the + latter having a popularity and circles of enthusiastic admirers and + critics fully equal to the former—though people were divided as + always. For some reason or other, neither Forrest nor Booth would accept + engagements at the more fashionable theatre, the Park. And it is a curious + reminiscence, but a true one, that both these great actors and their + performances were taboo'd by "polite society" in New York and Boston at + the time—probably as being too robustuous. But no such scruples + affected the Bowery. + </p> + <p> + Recalling from that period the occasion of either Forrest or Booth, any + good night at the old Bowery, pack'd from ceiling to pit with its audience + mainly of alert, well-dress'd, full-blooded young and middle-aged men, the + best average of American-born mechanics—the emotional nature of the + whole mass arous'd by the power and magnetism of as mighty mimes as ever + trod the stage—the whole crowded auditorium, and what seeth'd in it, + and flush'd from its faces and eyes, to me as much a part of the show as + any—bursting forth in one of those long-kept-up tempests of + hand-clapping peculiar to the Bowery—no dainty kid-glove business, + but electric force and muscle from perhaps 2,000 full-sinew'd men—(the + inimitable and chromatic tempest of one of those ovations to Edwin + Forrest, welcoming him back after an absence, comes up to me this moment)—Such + sounds and scenes as here resumed will surely afford to many old New + Yorkers some fruitful recollections. + </p> + <p> + I can yet remember (for I always scann'd an audience as rigidly as a play) + the faces of the leading authors, poets, editors, of those times—Fenimore + Cooper, Bryant, Paulding, Irving, Charles King, Watson Webb, N. P. Willis, + Hoffman, Halleck, Mumford, Morris, Leggett, L. G. Clarke, R. A. Locke and + others, occasionally peering from the first tier boxes; and even the great + National Eminences, Presidents Adams, Jackson, Van Buren and Tyler, all + made short visits there on their Eastern tours. + </p> + <p> + Awhile after 1840 the character of the Bowery as hitherto described + completely changed. Cheap prices and vulgar programmes came in. People who + of after years saw the pandemonium of the pit and the doings on the boards + must not gauge by them the times and characters I am describing. Not but + what there was more or less rankness in the crowd even then. For types of + sectional New York those days—the streets East of the Bowery, that + intersect Division, Grand, and up to Third avenue—types that never + found their Dickens, or Hogarth, or Balzac, and have pass'd away + unportraitured—the young ship-builders, cartmen, butchers, firemen + (the old-time "soap-lock" or exaggerated "Mose" or "Sikesey," of + Chanfrau's plays,) they, too, were always to be seen in these audiences, + racy of the East river and the Dry Dock. Slang, wit, occasional shirt + sleeves, and a picturesque freedom of looks and manners, with a rude + good-nature and restless movement, were generally noticeable. Yet there + never were audiences that paid a good actor or an interesting play the + compliment of more sustain'd attention or quicker rapport. Then at times + came the exceptionally decorous and intellectual congregations I have + hinted it; for the Bowery really furnish'd plays and players you could get + nowhere else. Notably, Booth always drew the best hearers; and to a + specimen of his acting I will now attend in some detail. + </p> + <p> + I happen'd to see what has been reckon'd by experts one of the most + marvellous pieces of histrionism ever known. It must have been about 1834 + or '35. A favorite comedian and actress at the Bowery, Thomas Flynn and + his wife, were to have a joint benefit, and, securing Booth for Richard, + advertised the fact many days beforehand. The house fill'd early from top + to bottom. There was some uneasiness behind the scenes, for the afternoon + arrived, and Booth had not come from down in Maryland, where he lived. + However, a few minutes before ringing-up time he made his appearance in + lively condition. + </p> + <p> + After a one-act farce over, as contrast and prelude, the curtain rising + for the tragedy, I can, from my good seat in the pit, pretty well front, + see again Booth's quiet entrance from the side, as, with head bent, he + slowly and in silence, (amid the tempest of boisterous hand-clapping,) + walks down the stage to the footlights with that peculiar and abstracted + gesture, musingly kicking his sword, which he holds off from him by its + sash. Though fifty years have pass'd since then, I can hear the clank, and + feel the perfect following hush of perhaps three thousand people waiting. + (I never saw an actor who could make more of the said hush or wait, and + hold the audience in an indescribable, half-delicious, half-irritating + suspense.) And so throughout the entire play, all parts, voice, + atmosphere, magnetism, from + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Now is the winter of our discontent," +</pre> + <p> + to the closing death fight with Richmond, were of the finest and grandest. + The latter character was play'd by a stalwart young fellow named + Ingersoll. Indeed, all the renderings were wonderfully good. But the great + spell cast upon the mass of hearers came from Booth. Especially was the + dream scene very impressive. A shudder went through every nervous system + in the audience; it certainly did through mine. + </p> + <p> + Without question Booth was royal heir and legitimate representative of the + Garrick-Kemble-Siddons dramatic traditions; but he vitalized and gave an + unnamable <i>race</i> to those traditions with his own electric personal + idiosyncrasy. (As in all art-utterance it was the subtle and powerful + something <i>special to the individual</i> that really conquer'd.) + </p> + <p> + To me, too, Booth stands for much else besides theatricals. I consider + that my seeing the man those years glimps'd for me, beyond all else, that + inner spirit and form—the unquestionable charm and vivacity, but + intrinsic sophistication and artificiality—crystallizing rapidly + upon the English stage and literature at and after Shakspere's time, and + coming on accumulatively through the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries + to the beginning, fifty or forty years ago, of those disintegrating, + decomposing processes now authoritatively going on. Yes; although Booth + must be class'd in that antique, almost extinct school, inflated, stagy, + rendering Shakspere (perhaps inevitably, appropriately) from the growth of + arbitrary and often cockney conventions, his genius was to me one of the + grandest revelations of my life, a lesson of artistic expression. The + words fire, energy, <i>abandon</i>, found in him unprecedented meanings. I + never heard a speaker or actor who could give such a sting to hauteur or + the taunt. I never heard from any other the charm of unswervingly perfect + vocalization without trenching at all on mere melody, the province of + music. + </p> + <p> + So much for a Thespian temple of New York fifty years since, where + "sceptred tragedy went trailing by" under the gaze of the Dry Dock youth, + and both players and auditors were of a character and like we shall never + see again. And so much for the grandest histrion of modern times, as near + as I can deliberately judge (and the phrenologists put my "caution" at 7)—grander, + I believe, than Kean in the expression of electric passion, the prime + eligibility of the tragic artist. For though those brilliant years had + many fine and even magnificent actors, undoubtedly at Booth's death (in + 1852) went the last and by far the noblest Roman of them all. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_NOTE2" id="link2H_NOTE2"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NOTES TO LATE ENGLISH BOOKS + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF5" id="link2H_PREF5"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE TO THE READER IN THE BRITISH ISLANDS—"Specimen Days in + </h2> + <p> + America" + </p> + <p> + London Edition, <i>June 1887</i> If you will only take the following + pages, as you do some long and gossippy letter written for you by a + relative or friend travelling through distant scenes and incidents and + jotting them down lazily and informally, but ever veraciously (with + occasional diversion of critical thought about sombody or something,) it + might remove all formal or literary impediments at once, and bring you and + me closer together in the spirt in which the jottings were collated to be + read. You have had, and have, plenty of public events and facts and + general statistics of America;—in the following book is a common + individual New World <i>private life</i>, its birth and growth, its + struggles for a living, its goings and comings and observations (or + representative portions of them) amid the United States of America the + last thirty or forty years, with their varied war and peace, their local + coloring, the unavoidable egotism, and the lights and shades and sights + and joys and pains and sympathies common to humanity. Further introductory + light may be found in the paragraph, "A Happy Hour's Command," and the + bottom note belonging to it at the beginning of the book. I have said in + the text that if I were required to give good reason-for-being of + "Specimen Days," I should be unable to do so. Let me fondly hope that it + has at least the reason and excuse of such off-hand gossippy letter as + just alluded to, portraying American life-sights and incidents as they + actually occurred—their presentation, making additions as far as it + goes, to the simple experience and association of your soul, from a + comrade soul;—and that also, in the volume, as below any page of + mine, anywhere, ever remains, for seen or unseen basis-phrase, GOOD-WILL + BETWEEN THE COMMON PEOPLE OF ALL NATIONS. + </p> + <h3> + ADDITIONAL NOTE, 1887 + </h3> + <p> + <i>To English Edition "Specimen Days"</i> + </p> + <p> + As I write these lines I still continue living in Camden, New Jersey, + America. Coming this way from Washington city, on my road to the sea-shore + (and a temporary rest, as I supposed) in the early summer of 1873, I broke + down disabled, and have dwelt here, as my central residence, all the time + since—almost 14 years. In the preceding pages I have described how, + during those years, I partially recuperated (in 1876) from my worst + paralysis by going down to Timber creek, living close to Nature, and + domiciling with my dear friends George and Susan Stafford. From 1877 or '8 + to '83 or '4 I was well enough to travel around, considerably—journey'd + westward to Kansas, leisurely exploring the Prairies, and on to Denver and + the Rocky Mountains; another time north to Canada, where I spent most of + the summer with my friend Dr. Bucke, and jaunted along the great lakes, + and the St. Lawrence and Saguenay rivers; another time to Boston, to + properly print the final edition of my poems (I was there over two months, + and had a "good time.") I have so brought out the completed "Leaves of + Grass" during this period; also "Specimen Days," of which the foregoing is + a transcript; collected and re-edited the "Democratic Vistas" cluster (see + companion volume to the present)—commemorated Abraham Lincoln's + death, on the successive anniversaries of its occurrence, by delivering my + lecture on it ten or twelve times; and "put in," through many a month and + season, the aimless and resultless ways of most human lives. + </p> + <p> + Thus the last 14 years have pass'd. At present (end-days of March, 1887—I + am nigh entering my 69th year) I find myself continuing on here, quite + dilapidated and even wreck'd bodily from the paralysis, &c.—but + in <i>good heart</i> (to use a Long Island country phrase,) and with about + the same mentality as ever. The worst of it is, I have been growing + feebler quite rapidly for a year, and now can't walk around—hardly + from one room to the next. I am forced to stay in-doors and in my big + chair nearly all the time. We have had a sharp, dreary winter too, and it + has pinch'd me. I am alone most of the time; every week, indeed almost + every day, write some—reminiscences, essays, sketches, for the + magazines; and read, or rather I should say dawdle over books and papers a + good deal—spend half the day at that. + </p> + <p> + Nor can I finish this note without putting on record—wafting over + sea from hence—my deepest thanks to certain friends and helpers (I + would specify them all and each by name, but imperative reasons, outside + of my own wishes, forbid,) in the British Islands, as well as in America. + Dear, even in the abstract, is such flattering unction always no doubt to + the soul! Nigher still, if possible, I myself have been, and am to-day + indebted to such help for my very sustenance, clothing, shelter, and + continuity. And I would not go to the grave without briefly, but plainly, + as I here do, acknowledging—may I not say even glorying in it? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF6" id="link2H_PREF6"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE TO "DEMOCRATIC VISTAS" WITH OTHER PAPERS—<i>English Edition</i> + </h2> + <p> + Mainly I think I should base the request to weigh the following pages on + the assumption that they present, however indirectly, some views of the + West and Modern, or of a distinctly western and modern (American) + tendency, about certain matters. Then, too, the pages include (by + attempting to illustrate it,) a theory herein immediately mentioned. For + another and different point of the issue, the Enlightenment, Democracy and + Fair-show of the bulk, the common people of America (from sources + representing not only the British Islands, but all the world,) means, at + least, eligibility to Enlightenment, Democracy and Fair-show for the bulk, + the common people of all civilized nations. + </p> + <p> + That positively "the dry land has appeared," at any rate, is an important + fact. + </p> + <p> + America is really the great test or trial case for all the problems and + promises and speculations of humanity, and of the past and present. + </p> + <p> + I say, too, we{41} are not to look so much to changes, ameliorations, and + adaptations in Politics as to those of Literature and (thence) domestic + Sociology. I have accordingly in the following melange introduced many + themes besides political ones. + </p> + <p> + Several of the pieces are ostensibly in explanation of my own writings; + but in that very process they best include and set forth their side of + principles and generalities pressing vehemently for consideration our age. + </p> + <p> + Upon the whole, it is on the atmosphere they are born in, and, (I hope) + give out, more than any specific piece or trait, I would care to rest. + </p> + <p> + I think Literature—a new, superb, democratic literature—is to + be the medicine and lever, and (with Art) the chief influence in modern + civilization. I have myself not so much made a dead set at this theory, or + attempted to present it directly, as admitted it to color and sometimes + dominate what I had to say. In both Europe and America we have serried + phalanxes who promulge and defend the political claims: I go for an equal + force to uphold the other. + </p> + <h3> + WALT WHITMAN, + </h3> + <p> + CAMDEN, NEW JERSEY, <i>April, 1888</i>. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {41} We who, in many departments, ways, make <i>the building up of the + masses,</i> by <i>building up grand individuals</i>, our shibboleth: and + in brief that is the marrow of this book. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ABRAHAM LINCOLN + </h2> + <p> + Glad am I to give—were anything better lacking—even the most + brief and shorn testimony of Abraham Lincoln. Everything I heard about him + authentically, and every time I saw him (and it was my fortune through + 1862 to '65 to see, or pass a word with, or watch him, personally, perhaps + twenty or thirty times,) added to and anneal'd my respect and love at the + moment. And as I dwell on what I myself heard or saw of the mighty + Westerner, and blend it with the history and literature of my age, and of + what I can get of all ages, and conclude it with his death, it seems like + some tragic play, superior to all else I know—vaster and fierier and + more convulsionary, for this America of ours, than Eschylus or Shakspere + ever drew for Athens or for England. And then the Moral permeating, + underlying all! the Lesson that none so remote—none so illiterate—no + age, no class—but may directly or indirectly read! + </p> + <p> + Abraham Lincoln's was really one of those characters, the best of which is + the result of long trains of cause and effect—needing a certain + spaciousness of time, and perhaps even remoteness, to properly enclose + them—having unequal'd influence on the shaping of this Republic (and + therefore the world) as to-day, and then far more important in the future. + Thus the time has by no means yet come for a thorough measurement of him. + Nevertheless, we who live in his era—who have seen him, and heard + him, face to face, and are in the midst of, or just parting from, the + strong and strange events which he and we have had to do with—can in + some respects bear valuable, perhaps indispensable testimony concerning + him. + </p> + <p> + I should first like to give a very fair and characteristic likeness of + Lincoln, as I saw him and watch'd him one afternoon in Washington, for + nearly half an hour, not long before his death. It was as he stood on the + balcony of the National Hotel, Pennsylvania avenue, making a short speech + to the crowd in front, on the occasion either of a set of new colors + presented to a famous Illinois regiment, or of the daring capture, by the + Western men, of some flags from "the enemy," (which latter phrase, by the + by, was not used by him at all in his remarks.) How the picture happen'd + to be made I do not know, but I bought it a few days afterward in + Washington, and it was endors'd by every one to whom I show'd it. Though + hundreds of portraits have been made, by painters and photographers, (many + to pass on, by copies, to future times,) I have never seen one yet that in + my opinion deserv'd to be called a perfectly <i>good likeness</i>; nor do + I believe there is really such a one in existence. May I not say too, + that, as there is no entirely competent and emblematic likeness of Abraham + Lincoln in picture or statue, there is not—perhaps cannot be—any + fully appropriate literary statement or summing-up of him yet in + existence? + </p> + <p> + The best way to estimate the value of Lincoln is to think what the + condition of America would be to-day, if he had never lived—never + been President. His nomination and first election were mainly accidents, + experiments. Severely view'd, one cannot think very much of American + Political Parties, from the beginning, after the Revolutionary War, down + to the present time. Doubtless, while they have had their uses—have + been and are "the grass on which the cow feeds"—and indispensable + economies of growth—it is undeniable that under flippant names they + have merely identified temporary passions, or freaks, or sometimes + prejudice, ignorance, or hatred. The only thing like a great and worthy + idea vitalizing a party, and making it heroic, was the enthusiasm in '64 + for re-electing Abraham Lincoln, and the reason behind that enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + How does this man compare with the acknowledg'd "Father of his country"? + Washington was model'd on the best Saxon, and Franklin—of the age of + the Stuarts (rooted in the Elizabethan period)—was essentially a + noble Englishman, and just the kind needed for the occasions and the times + of 1776-'83. Lincoln, underneath his practicality, was far less European, + was quite thoroughly Western, original, essentially non-conventional, and + had a certain sort of out-door or prairie stamp. One of the best of the + late commentators on Shakspere, (Professor Dowden,) makes the height and + aggregate of his quality as a poet to be, that he thoroughly blended the + ideal with the practical or realistic. If this be so, I should say that + what Shakspere did in poetic expression, Abraham Lincoln essentially did + in his personal and official life. I should say the invisible foundations + and vertebra of his character, more than any man's in history, were + mystical, abstract, moral and spiritual—while upon all of them was + built, and out of all of them radiated, under the control of the average + of circumstances, what the vulgar call <i>horse-sense</i>, and a life + often bent by temporary but most urgent materialistic and political + reasons. + </p> + <p> + He seems to have been a man of indomitable firmness (even obstinacy) on + rare occasions, involving great points; but he was generally very easy, + flexible, tolerant, almost slouchy, respecting minor matters. I note that + even those reports and anecdotes intended to level him down, all leave the + tinge of a favorable impression of him. As to his religious nature, it + seems to me to have certainly been of the amplest, deepest-rooted, + loftiest kind. + </p> + <p> + Already a new generation begins to tread the stage, since the persons and + events of the secession war. I have more than once fancied to myself the + time when the present century has closed, and a new one open'd, and the + men and deeds of that contest have become somewhat vague and + mythical-fancied perhaps in some great Western city, or group collected + together, or public festival, where the days of old, of 1863, and '4 and + '5 are discuss'd—some ancient soldier sitting in the background as + the talk goes on, and betraying himself by his emotion and moist eyes—like + the journeying Ithacan at the banquet of King Alcinoiis, when the bard + sings the contending warriors and their battles on the plains of Troy: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "So from the sluices of Ulysses' eyes + Fast fell the tears, and sighs succeeded sighs." +</pre> + <p> + I have fancied, I say, some such venerable relic of this time of ours, + preserv'd to the next or still the next generation of America. I have + fancied, on such occasion, the young men gathering around; the awe, the + eager questions: "What! have you seen Abraham Lincoln—and heard him + speak—and touch'd his hand? Have you, with your own eyes, look'd on + Grant, and Lee, and Sherman?" + </p> + <p> + Dear to Democracy, to the very last! And among the paradoxes generated by + America, not the least curious was that spectacle of all the kings and + queens and emperors of the earth, many from remote distances, sending + tributes of condolence and sorrow in memory of one rais'd through the + commonest average of life—a rail-splitter and flat-boatman! + </p> + <p> + Consider'd from contemporary points of view—who knows what the + future may decide?—and from the points of view of current Democracy + and The Union, (the only thing like passion or infatuation in the man was + the passion for the Union of These States,) Abraham Lincoln seems to me + the grandest figure yet, on all the crowded canvas of the Nineteenth + Century. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NEW ORLEANS IN 1848 + </h2> + <p> + <i>Walt Whitman gossips of his sojourn here years ago as a newspaper + writer. Notes of his trip up the Mississippi and to New York.</i> + </p> + <p> + Among the letters brought this morning (Camden, New Jersey, Jan. 15, + 1887,) by my faithful post-office carrier, J.G., is one as follows: + </p> + <p> + "NEW ORLEANS, Jan. 11, '87.—We have been informed that when you were + younger and less famous than now, you were in New Orleans and perhaps have + helped on the <i>Picayune</i>. If you have any remembrance of the <i>Picayune's</i> + young days, or of journalism in New Orleans of that era, and would put it + in writing (verse or prose) for the <i>Picayune's</i> fiftieth year + edition, Jan. 25, we shall be pleased," etc. + </p> + <p> + In response to which: I went down to New Orleans early in 1848 to work on + a daily newspaper, but it was not the <i>Picayune</i>, though I saw quite + a good deal of the editors of that paper, and knew its personnel and ways. + But let me indulge my pen in some gossipy recollections of that time and + place, with extracts from my journal up the Mississippi and across the + great lakes to the Hudson. + </p> + <p> + Probably the influence most deeply pervading everything at that time + through the United States, both in physical facts and in sentiment, was + the Mexican War, then just ended. Following a brilliant campaign (in which + our troops had march'd to the capital city, Mexico, and taken full + possession,) we were returning after our victory. From the situation of + the country, the city of New Orleans had been our channel and <i>entrepot</i> + for everything, going and returning. It had the best news and war + correspondents; it had the most to say, through its leading papers, the <i>Picayune</i> + and <i>Delta</i> especially, and its voice was readiest listen'd to; from + it "Chapparal" had gone out, and his army and battle letters were copied + everywhere, not only in the United States, but in Europe. Then the social + cast and results; no one who has never seen the society of a city under + similar circumstances can understand what a strange vivacity and <i>rattle</i> + were given throughout by such a situation. I remember the crowds of + soldiers, the gay young officers, going or coming, the receipt of + important news, the many discussions, the returning wounded, and so on. + </p> + <p> + I remember very well seeing Gen. Taylor with his staff and other officers + at the St. Charles Theatre one evening (after talking with them during the + day.) There was a short play on the stage, but the principal performance + was of Dr. Colyer's troupe of "Model Artists," then in the full tide of + their popularity. They gave many fine groups and solo shows. The house was + crowded with uniforms and shoulder-straps. Gen. T. himself, if I remember + right, was almost the only officer in civilian clothes; he was a jovial, + old, rather stout, plain man, with a wrinkled and dark-yellow face, and, + in ways and manners, show'd the least of conventional ceremony or + etiquette I ever saw; he laugh'd unrestrainedly at everything comical. (He + had a great personal resemblance to Fenimore Cooper, the novelist, of New + York.) I remember Gen. Pillow and quite a cluster of other militaires also + present. + </p> + <p> + One of my choice amusements during my stay in New Orleans was going down + to the old French Market, especially of a Sunday morning. The show was a + varied and curious one; among the rest, the Indian and negro hucksters + with their wares. For there were always fine specimens of Indians, both + men and women, young and old. I remember I nearly always on these + occasions got a large cup of delicious coffee with a biscuit, for my + breakfast, from the immense shining copper kettle of a great Creole + mulatto woman (I believe she weigh'd 230 pounds.) I never have had such + coffee since. About nice drinks, anyhow, my recollection of the "cobblers" + (with strawberries and snow on top of the large tumblers,) and also the + exquisite wines, and the perfect and mild French brandy, help the + regretful reminiscence of my New Orleans experiences of those days. And + what splendid and roomy and leisurely bar-rooms! particularly the grand + ones of the St. Charles and St. Louis. Bargains, auctions, appointments, + business conferences, &c., were generally held in the spaces or + recesses of these bar-rooms. + </p> + <p> + I used to wander a midday hour or two now and then for amusement on the + crowded and bustling levees, on the banks of the river. The diagonally + wedg'd-in boats, the stevedores, the piles of cotton and other + merchandise, the carts, mules, negroes, etc., afforded never-ending + studies and sights to me. I made acquaintances among the captains, + boatmen, or other characters, and often had long talks with them—sometimes + finding a real rough diamond among my chance encounters. Sundays I + sometimes went forenoons to the old Catholic Cathedral in the French + quarter. I used to walk a good deal in this arrondissement; and I have + deeply regretted since that I did not cultivate, while I had such a good + opportunity, the chance of better knowledge of French and Spanish Creole + New Orleans people. (I have an idea that there is much and of importance + about the Latin race contributions to American nationality in the South + and Southwest that will never be put with sympathetic understanding and + tact on record.) + </p> + <p> + Let me say, for better detail, that through several months (1848) I work'd + on a new daily paper, <i>The Crescent</i>; my situation rather a pleasant + one. My young brother, Jeff, was with me; and he not only grew very + homesick, but the climate of the place, and especially the water, + seriously disagreed with him. From this and other reasons (although I was + quite happily fix'd) I made no very long stay in the South. In due time we + took passage northward for St. Louis in the "Pride of the West" steamer, + which left her wharf just at dusk. My brother was unwell, and lay in his + berth from the moment we left till the next morning; he seem'd to me to be + in a fever, and I felt alarm'd. However, the next morning he was all right + again, much to my relief. + </p> + <p> + Our voyage up the Mississippi was after the same sort as the voyage, some + months before, down it. The shores of this great river are very monotonous + and dull—one continuous and rank flat, with the exception of a + meagre stretch of bluff, about the neighborhood of Natchez, Memphis, &c. + Fortunately we had good weather, and not a great crowd of passengers, + though the berths were all full. The "Pride" jogg'd along pretty well, and + put us into St. Louis about noon Saturday. After looking around a little I + secured passage on the steamer "Prairie Bird," (to leave late in the + afternoon,) bound up the Illinois river to La Salle, where we were to take + canal for Chicago. During the day I rambled with my brother over a large + portion of the town, search'd after a refectory, and, after much trouble, + succeeded in getting some dinner. + </p> + <p> + Our "Prairie Bird" started out at dark, and a couple of hours after there + was quite a rain and blow, which made them haul in along shore and tie + fast. We made but thirty miles the whole night. The boat was excessively + crowded with passengers, and had withal so much freight that we could + hardly turn around. I slept on the floor, and the night was uncomfortable + enough. The Illinois river is spotted with little villages with big names, + Marseilles, Naples, etc.; its banks are low, and the vegetation + excessively rank. Peoria, some distance up, is a pleasant town; I went + over the place; the country back is all rich land, for sale cheap. Three + or four miles from P., land of the first quality can be bought for $3 or + $4 an acre. (I am transcribing from my notes written at the time.) + </p> + <p> + Arriving at La Salle Tuesday morning, we went on board a canal-boat, had a + detention by sticking on a mud bar, and then jogg'd along at a slow trot, + some seventy of us, on a moderate-sized boat. (If the weather hadn't been + rather cool, particularly at night, it would have been insufferable.) + Illinois is the most splendid agricultural country I ever saw; the land is + of surpassing richness; the place par excellence for farmers. We stopt at + various points along the canal, some of them pretty villages. + </p> + <p> + It was 10 o'clock A.M. when we got in Chicago, too late for the steamer; + so we went to an excellent public house, the "American Temperance," and I + spent the time that day and till next morning, looking around Chicago. + </p> + <p> + At 9 the next forenoon we started on the "Griffith" (on board of which I + am now inditing these memoranda,) up the blue waters of Lake Michigan. I + was delighted with the appearance of the towns along Wisconsin. At + Milwaukee I went on shore, and walk'd around the place. They say the + country back is beautiful and rich. (It seems to me that if we should ever + remove from Long Island, Wisconsin would be the proper place to come to.) + The towns have a remarkable appearance of good living, without any penury + or want. The country is so good naturally, and labor is in such demand. + </p> + <p> + About 5 o'clock one afternoon I heard the cry of "a woman over-board." It + proved to be a crazy lady, who had become so from the loss of her son a + couple of weeks before. The small boat put off, and succeeded in picking + her up, though she had been in the water 15 minutes. She was dead. Her + husband was on board. They went off at the next stopping place. While she + lay in the water she probably recover'd her reason, as she toss'd up her + arms and lifted her face toward the boat. + </p> + <p> + <i>Sunday Morning, June 11</i>.—We pass'd down Lake Huron yesterday + and last night, and between 4 and 5 o'clock this morning we ran on the + "flats," and have been vainly trying, with the aid of a steam tug and a + lumbering lighter, to get clear again. The day is beautiful and the water + clear and calm. Night before last we stopt at Mackinaw, (the island and + town,) and I went up on the old fort, one of the oldest stations in the + Northwest. We expect to get to Buffalo by to-morrow. The tug has fasten'd + lines to us, but some have been snapt and the others have no effect. We + seem to be firmly imbedded in the sand. (With the exception of a larger + boat and better accommodations, it amounts to about the same thing as a + becalmment I underwent on the Montauk voyage, East Long Island, last + summer.) <i>Later</i>.—We are off again—expect to reach + Detroit before dinner. + </p> + <p> + We did not stop at Detroit. We are now on Lake Erie, jogging along at a + good round pace. A couple of hours since we were on the river above. + Detroit seem'd to me a pretty place and thrifty. I especially liked the + looks of the Canadian shore opposite and of the little village of Windsor, + and, indeed, all along the banks of the river. From the shrubbery and the + neat appearance of some of the cottages, I think it must have been settled + by the French. While I now write we can see a little distance ahead the + scene of the battle between Perry's fleet and the British during the last + war with England. The lake looks to me a fine sheet of water. We are + having a beautiful day. + </p> + <p> + <i>June 12</i>.—We stopt last evening at Cleveland, and though it + was dark, I took the opportunity of rambling about the place; went up in + the heart of the city and back to what appear'd to be the courthouse. The + streets are unusually wide, and the buildings appear to be substantial and + comfortable. We went down through Main street and found, some distance + along, several squares of ground very prettily planted with trees and + looking attractive enough. Return'd to the boat by way of the lighthouse + on the hill. + </p> + <p> + This morning we are making for Buffalo, being, I imagine, a little more + than half across Lake Erie. The water is rougher than on Michigan or + Huron. (On St. Clair it was smooth as glass.) The day is bright and dry, + with a stiff head wind. + </p> + <p> + We arriv'd in Buffalo on Monday evening; spent that night and a portion of + next day going round the city exploring. Then got in the cars and went to + Niagara; went under the falls—saw the whirlpool and all the other + sights. + </p> + <p> + Tuesday night started for Albany; travel'd all night. From the time + daylight afforded us a view of the country all seem'd very rich and well + cultivated. Every few miles were large towns or villages. + </p> + <p> + Wednesday late we arriv'd at Albany. Spent the evening in exploring. There + was a political meeting (Hunker) at the capitol, but I pass'd it by. Next + morning I started down the Hudson in the "Alida;" arriv'd safely in New + York that evening. + </p> + <p> + <i>From the New Orleans Picayune, Jan. 25, 1887.</i> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SMALL MEMORANDA + </h2> + <h3> + <i>Thousands lost—here one or two preserv'd</i> + </h3> + <p> + ATTORNEY GENERAL'S OFFICE, <i>Washington, Aug. 22, 1865</i>.—As I + write this, about noon, the suite of rooms here is fill'd with + Southerners, standing in squads, or streaming in and out, some talking + with the Pardon Clerk, some waiting to see the Attorney General, others + discussing in low tones among themselves. All are mainly anxious about + their pardons. The famous 13th exception of the President's Amnesty + Proclamation of ——, makes it necessary that every + secessionist, whose property is worth $20,000 or over, shall get a special + pardon, before he can transact any legal purchase, sale, &c. So + hundreds and thousands of such property owners have either sent up here, + for the last two months, or have been, or are now coming personally here, + to get their pardons. They are from Virginia, Georgia, Alabama, + Mississippi, North and South Carolina, and every Southern State. Some of + their written petitions are very abject. Secession officers of the rank of + Brigadier General, or higher, also need these special pardons. They also + come here. I see streams of the $20,000 men, (and some women,) every day. + I talk now and then with them, and learn much that is interesting and + significant. All the southern women that come (some splendid specimens, + mothers, &c.) are dress'd in deep black. + </p> + <p> + Immense numbers (several thousands) of these pardons have been pass'd upon + favorably; the Pardon Warrants (like great deeds) have been issued from + the State Department, on the requisition of this office. But for some + reason or other, they nearly all yet lie awaiting the President's + signature. He seems to be in no hurry about it, but lets them wait. + </p> + <p> + The crowds that come here make a curious study for me. I get along, very + sociably, with any of them—as I let them do all the talking; only + now and then I have a long confab, or ask a suggestive question or two. + </p> + <p> + If the thing continues as at present, the property and wealth of the + Southern States is going to legally rest, for the future, on these + pardons. Every single one is made out with the condition that the grantee + shall respect the abolition of slavery, and never make an attempt to + restore it. + </p> + <p> + <i>Washington, Sept. 8, 9, &c., 1865</i>.—The arrivals, swarms, + &c., of the $20,000 men seeking pardons, still continue with increas'd + numbers and pertinacity. I yesterday (I am a clerk in the U. S. Attorney + General's office here) made out a long list from Alabama, nearly 200, + recommended for pardon by the Provisional Governor. This list, in the + shape of a requisition from the Attorney General, goes to the State + Department. There the Pardon Warrants are made out, brought back here, and + then sent to the President, where they await his signature. He is signing + them very freely of late. + </p> + <p> + The President, indeed, as at present appears, has fix'd his mind on a very + generous and forgiving course toward the return'd secessionists. He will + not countenance at all the demand of the extreme Philo-African element of + the North, to make the right of negro voting at elections a condition and + sine qua non of the reconstruction of the United States south, and of + their resumption of co-equality in the Union. + </p> + <p> + A GLINT INSIDE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S CABINET APPOINTMENTS. ONE ITEM OF + MANY. + </p> + <p> + While it was hanging in suspense who should be appointed Secretary of the + Interior, (to take the place of Caleb Smith,) the choice was very close + between Mr. Harlan and Col. Jesse K. Dubois, of Illinois. The latter had + many friends. He was competent, he was honest, and he was a man. Mr. + Harlan, in the race, finally gain'd the Methodist interest, and got + himself to be consider'd as identified with it; and his appointment was + apparently ask'd for by that powerful body. Bishop Simpson, of + Philadephia, came on and spoke for the selection. The President was much + perplex'd. The reasons for appointing Col. Dubois were very strong, almost + insuperable—yet the argument for Mr. Harlan, under the adroit + position he had plac'd himself, was heavy. Those who press'd him adduc'd + the magnitude of the Methodists as a body, their loyalty, more general and + genuine than any other sect—that they represented the West, and had + a right to be heard—that all or nearly all the other great + denominations had their representatives in the heads of the government—that + they as a body and the great sectarian power of the West, formally ask'd + Mr. Harlan's appointment—that he was of them, having been a + Methodist minister—that it would not do to offend them, but was + highly necessary to propitiate them. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lincoln thought deeply over the whole matter. He was in more than + usual tribulation on the subject. Let it be enough to say that though Mr. + Harlan finally receiv'd the Secretaryship, Col. Dubois came as near being + appointed as a man could, and not be. The decision was finally made one + night about 10 o'clock. Bishop Simpson and other clergymen and leading + persons in Mr. Harlan's behalf, had been talking long and vehemently with + the President. A member of Congress who was pressing Col. Dubois's claims, + was in waiting. The President had told the Bishop that he would make a + decision that evening, and that he thought it unnecessary to be press'd + any more on the subject. That night he call'd in the M.C. above alluded + to, and said to him: "Tell Uncle Jesse that I want to give him this + appointment, and yet I cannot. I will do almost anything else in the world + for him I am able. I have thought the matter all over, and under the + circumstances think the Methodists too good and too great a body to be + slighted. They have stood by the government, and help'd us their very + best. I have had no better friends; and as the case stands, I have decided + to appoint Mr. Harlan." + </p> + <h3> + NOTE TO A FRIEND + </h3> + <p> + {<i>Written on the fly-leaf of a copy of</i> Specimen Days, <i>sent to + Peter Doyle, at Washington, June, 1883</i>} + </p> + <p> + Pete, do you remember—(of course you do—I do well)—those + great long jovial walks we had at times for years, (1866-'72) out of + Washington city—often moonlight nights—'way to "Good Hope";—or, + Sundays, up and down the Potomac shores, one side or the other, sometimes + ten miles at a stretch? Or when you work'd on the horse-cars, and I waited + for you, coming home late together—or resting and chatting at the + Market, corner 7th street and the Avenue, and eating those nice musk or + watermelons? Or during my tedious sickness and first paralysis ('73) how + you used to come to my solitary garret-room and make up my bed, and + enliven me, and chat for an hour or so—or perhaps go out and get the + medicines Dr. Drinkard had order'd for me—before you went on + duty?... Give my love to dear Mrs. and Mr. Nash, and tell them I have not + forgotten them, and never will. + </p> + <h3> + W.W. + </h3> + <h3> + WRITTEN IMPROMPTU IN AN ALBUM + </h3> + <p> + <i>Germantown, Phila., Dec. 26, '83</i>. In memory of these merry + Christmas days and nights—to my friends Mr. and Mrs. Williams, + Churchie, May, Gurney, and little Aubrey.... A heavy snow-storm blocking + up everything, and keeping us in. But souls, hearts, thoughts, unloos'd. + And so—one and all, little and big—hav'n't we had a good time? + </p> + <h3> + W.W. + </h3> + <h3> + THE PLACE GRATITUDE FILLS IN A FINE CHARACTER + </h3> + <p> + <i>From the Philadelphia Press, Nov. 27, 1884, (Thanksgiving number)</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Scene</i>.—A large family supper party, a night or two ago, with + voices and laughter of the young, mellow faces of the old, and a by-and-by + pause in the general joviality. "Now, Mr. Whitman," spoke up one of the + girls, "what have you to say about Thanksgiving? Won't you give us a + sermon in advance, to sober us down?" The sage nodded smilingly, look'd a + moment at the blaze of the great wood fire, ran his forefinger right and + left through the heavy white mustache that might have otherwise impeded + his voice, and began: "Thanksgiving goes probably far deeper than you + folks suppose. I am not sure but it is the source of the highest poetry—as + in parts of the Bible. Ruskin, indeed, makes the central source of all + great art to be praise (gratitude) to the Almighty for life, and the + universe with its objects and play of action. + </p> + <p> + "We Americans devote an official day to it every year; yet I sometimes + fear the real article is almost dead or dying in our self-sufficient, + independent Republic. Gratitude, anyhow, has never been made half enough + of by the moralists; it is indispensable to a complete character, man's or + woman's—the disposition to be appreciative, thankful. That is the + main matter, the element, inclination—what geologists call the <i>trend</i>. + Of my own life and writings I estimate the giving thanks part, with what + it infers, as essentially the best item. I should say the quality of + gratitude rounds the whole emotional nature; I should say love and faith + would quite lack vitality without it. There are people—shall I call + them even religious people, as things go?—who have no such trend to + their disposition." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LAST OF THE WAR CASES + </h2> + <h3> + <i>Memorandized at the time, Washington, 1865-'66</i> + </h3> + <p> + {Of reminiscences of the secession war, after the rest is said, I have + thought it remains to give a few special words—in some respects at + the time the typical words of all, and most definite-of the samples of the + kill'd and wounded in action, and of soldiers who linger'd afterward, from + these wounds, or were laid up by obstinate disease or prostration. The + general statistics have been printed already, but can bear to be briefly + stated again. There were over 3,000,000 men (for all periods of + enlistment, large and small) furnish'd to the Union army during the war, + New York State furnishing over 500,000, which was the greatest number of + any one State. The losses by disease, wounds, kill'd in action, accidents, + &c., were altogether about 600,000, or approximating to that number. + Over 4,000,000 cases were treated in the main and adjudicatory army + hospitals. The number sounds strange, but it is true. More than two-thirds + of the deaths were from prostration or disease. To-day there lie buried + over 300,000 soldiers in the various National army Cemeteries, more than + half of them (and that is really the most significant and eloquent bequest + of the war) mark'd "unknown." In full mortuary statistics of the war, the + greatest deficiency arises from our not having the rolls, even as far as + they were kept, of most of the Southern military prisons—a gap which + probably both adds to, and helps conceal, the indescribable horrors of + those places; it is, however, (restricting one vivid point only) certain + that over 30,000 Union soldiers died, largely of actual starvation, in + them. And now, leaving all figures and their "sum totals," I feel sure a + few genuine memoranda of such things—some cases jotted down '64, + '65, and '66—made at the time and on the spot, with all the + associations of those scenes and places brought back, will not only go + directest to the right spot, but give a clearer and more actual sight of + that period, than anything else. Before I give the last cases I begin with + verbatim extracts from letters home to my mother in Brooklyn, the second + year of the war.—W.W.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Washington, Oct. 13, 1863</i>.—There has been a new lot of + wounded and sick arriving for the last three days. The first and second + days, long strings of ambulances with the sick. Yesterday the worst, many + with bad and bloody wounds, inevitably long neglected. I thought I was + cooler and more used to it, but the sight of some cases brought tears into + my eyes. I had the luck yesterday, however, to do lots of good. Had + provided many nourishing articles for the men for another quarter, but, + fortunately, had my stores where I could use them at once for these + new-comers, as they arrived, faint, hungry, fagg'd out from their journey, + with soil'd clothes, and all bloody. I distributed these articles, gave + partly to the nurses I knew, or to those in charge. As many as possible I + fed myself. Then I found a lot of oyster soup handy, and bought it all at + once. + </p> + <p> + It is the most pitiful sight, this, when the men are first brought in, + from some camp hospital broke up, or a part of the army moving. These who + arrived yesterday are cavalry men. Our troops had fought like devils, but + got the worst of it. They were Kilpatrick's cavalry; were in the rear, + part of Meade's retreat, and the reb cavalry, knowing the ground and + taking a favorable opportunity, dash'd in between, cut them off, and + shell'd them terribly. But Kilpatrick turn'd and brought them out mostly. + It was last Sunday. (One of the most terrible sights and tasks is of such + receptions.) + </p> + <p> + <i>Oct. 27, 1863</i>.—If any of the soldiers I know (or their + parents or folks) should call upon you—as they are often anxious to + have my address in Brooklyn—you just use them as you know how, and + if you happen to have pot-luck, and feel to ask them to take a bite, don't + be afraid to do so. I have a friend, Thomas Neat, 2d N.Y. Cavalry, wounded + in leg, now home in Jamaica, on furlough; he will probably call. Then + possibly a Mr. Haskell, or some of his folks, from western New York: he + had a son died here, and I was with the boy a good deal. The old man and + his wife have written me and ask'd me my Brooklyn address; he said he had + children in New York, and was occasionally down there. (When I come home I + will show you some of the letters I get from mothers, sisters, fathers, + &c. They will make you cry.) + </p> + <p> + How the time passes away! To think it is over a year since I left home + suddenly—and have mostly been down in front since. The year has + vanish'd swiftly, and oh, what scenes I have witness'd during that time! + And the war is not settled yet; and one does not see anything certain, or + even promising, of a settlement. But I do not lose the solid feeling, in + myself, that the Union triumph is assured, whether it be sooner or whether + it be later, or whatever roundabout way we may be led there; and I find I + don't change that conviction from any reverses we meet, nor delays, nor + blunders. One realizes here in Washington the great labors, even the + negative ones, of Lincoln; that it is a big thing to have just kept the + United States from being thrown down and having its throat cut. I have not + waver'd or had any doubt of the issue, since Gettysburg. + </p> + <p> + <i>8th September, '63</i>.—Here, now, is a specimen army hospital + case: Lorenzo Strong, Co. A, 9th United States Cavalry, shot by a shell + last Sunday; right leg amputated on the field. Sent up here Monday night, + 14th. Seem'd to be doing pretty well till Wednesday noon, 16th, when he + took a turn for the worse, and a strangely rapid and fatal termination + ensued. Though I had much to do, I staid and saw all. It was a + death-picture characteristic of these soldiers' hospitals—the + perfect specimen of physique, one of the most magnificent I ever saw—the + convulsive spasms and working of muscles, mouth, and throat. There are two + good women nurses, one on each side. The doctor comes in and gives him a + little chloroform. One of the nurses constantly fans him, for it is + fearfully hot. He asks to be rais'd up, and they put him in a half-sitting + posture. He call'd for "Mark" repeatedly, half-deliriously, all day. Life + ebbs, runs now with the speed of a mill race; his splendid neck, as it + lays all open, works still, slightly; his eyes turn back. A religious + person coming in offers a prayer, in subdued tones, bent at the foot of + the bed; and in the space of the aisle, a crowd, including two or three + doctors, several students, and many soldiers, has silently gather'd. It is + very still and warm, as the struggle goes on, and dwindles, a little more, + and a little more—and then welcome oblivion, painlessness, death. A + pause, the crowd drops away, a white bandage is bound around and under the + jaw, the propping pillows are removed, the limpsy head falls down, the + arms are softly placed by the side, all composed, all still,—and the + broad white sheet is thrown over everything. + </p> + <p> + <i>April 10, 1864</i>.—Unusual agitation all around concentrated + here. Exciting times in Congress. The Copperheads are getting furious, and + want to recognize the Southern Confederacy. "This is a pretty time to talk + of recognizing such—," said a Pennsylvania officer in hospital to me + to-day, "after what has transpired the last three years." After first + Fredericksburg I felt discouraged myself, and doubted whether our rulers + could carry on the war. But that has pass'd away. The war <i>must</i> be + carried on. I would willingly go in the ranks myself if I thought it would + profit more than as at present, and I don't know sometimes but I shall, as + it is. Then there is certainly a strange, deep, fervid feeling form'd or + arous'd in the land, hard to describe or name; it is not a majority + feeling, but it will make itself felt. M., you don't know what a nature a + fellow gets, not only after being a soldier a while, but after living in + the sights and influences of the camps, the wounded, &c.—a + nature he never experienced before. The stars and stripes, the tune of + Yankee Doodle, and similar things, produce such an effect on a fellow as + never before. I have seen them bring tears on some men's cheeks, and + others turn pale with emotion. I have a little flag (it belong'd to one of + our cavalry regiments,) presented to me by one of the wounded; it was + taken by the secesh in a fight, and rescued by our men in a bloody + skirmish following. It cost three men's lives to get back that + four-by-three flag—to tear it from the breast of a dead rebel—for + <i>the name</i> of getting their little "rag" back again. The man that + secured it was very badly wounded, and they let him keep it. I was with + him a good deal; he wanted to give me some keepsake, he said,—he + didn't expect to live,—so he gave me that flag. The best of it all + is, dear M., there isn't a regiment, cavalry or infantry, that wouldn't do + the like, on the like occasion. + </p> + <p> + <i>April 12</i>.—I will finish my letter this morning; it is a + beautiful day. I was up in Congress very late last night. The House had a + very excited night session about expelling the men that proposed + recognizing the Southern Confederacy. You ought to hear (as I do) the + soldiers talk; they are excited to madness. We shall probably have hot + times here, not in the military fields alone. The body of the army is true + and firm as the North Star. + </p> + <p> + <i>May 6, '64</i>.—M., the poor soldier with diarrhoea, is still + living, but, oh, what a looking object! Death would be a relief to him—he + cannot last many hours. Cunningham, the Ohio soldier, with leg amputated + at thigh, has pick'd up beyond expectation; now looks indeed like getting + well. (He died a few weeks afterwards.) The hospitals are very full. I am + very well indeed. Hot here to-day. + </p> + <p> + <i>May 23, '64</i>.—Sometimes I think that should it come when it <i>must</i>, + to fall in battle, one's anguish over a son or brother kill'd might be + temper'd with much to take the edge off. Lingering and extreme suffering + from wounds or sickness seem to me far worse than death in battle. I can + honestly say the latter has no terrors for me, as far as I myself am + concern'd. Then I should say, too, about death in war, that our feelings + and imaginations make a thousand times too much of the whole matter. Of + the many I have seen die, or known of, the past year, I have not seen or + known one who met death with terror. In most cases I should say it was a + welcome relief and release. Yesterday I spent a good part of the afternoon + with a young soldier of seventeen, Charles Cutter, of Lawrence city, + Massachusetts, 1st Massachusetts Heavy Artillery, Battery M. He was + brought to one of the hospitals mortally wounded in abdomen. Well, I + thought to myself, as I sat looking at him, it ought to be a relief to his + folks if they could see how little he really suffer'd. He lay very placid, + in a half lethargy, with his eyes closed. As it was extremely hot, and I + sat a good while silently fanning him, and wiping the sweat, at length he + open'd his eyes quite wide and clear, and look'd inquiringly around. I + said, "What is it, my boy? Do you want anything?" He answer'd quietly, + with a good-natured smile, "Oh, nothing; I was only looking around to see + who was with me." His mind was somewhat wandering, yet he lay in an + evident peacefulness that sanity and health might have envied. I had to + leave for other engagements. He died, I heard afterward, without any + special agitation, in the course of the night. + </p> + <p> + <i>Washington, May 26, '63</i>.—M., I think something of commencing + a series of lectures, readings, talks, &c., through the cities of the + North, to supply myself with funds for hospital ministrations. I do not + like to be so beholden to others; I need a pretty free supply of money, + and the work grows upon me, and fascinates me. It is the most magnetic as + well as terrible sight: the lots of poor wounded and helpless men + depending so much, in one ward or another, upon my soothing or talking to + them, or rousing them up a little, or perhaps petting, or feeding them + their dinner or supper (here is a patient, for instance, wounded in both + arms,) or giving some trifle for a novelty or change—anything, + however trivial, to break the monotony of those hospital hours. + </p> + <p> + It is curious: when I am present at the most appalling scenes, deaths, + operations, sickening wounds (perhaps full of maggots,) I keep cool and do + not give out or budge, although my sympathies are very much excited; but + often, hours afterward, perhaps when I am home, or out walking alone, I + feel sick, and actually tremble, when I recall the case again before me. + </p> + <p> + <i>Sunday afternoon, opening of 1865</i>.—Pass'd this afternoon + among a collection of unusually bad cases, wounded and sick secession + soldiers, left upon our hands. I spent the previous Sunday afternoon there + also. At that time two were dying. Two others have died during the week. + Several of them are partly deranged. I went around among them elaborately. + Poor boys, they all needed to be cheer'd up. As I sat down by any + particular one, the eyes of all the rest in the neighboring cots would fix + upon me, and remain steadily riveted as long as I sat within their sight. + Nobody seem'd to wish anything special to eat or drink. The main thing + ask'd for was postage stamps, and paper for writing. I distributed all the + stamps I had. Tobacco was wanted by some. + </p> + <p> + One call'd me over to him and ask'd me in a low tone what denomination I + belong'd to. He said he was a Catholic—wish'd to find some one of + the same faith—wanted some good reading. I gave him something to + read, and sat down by him a few minutes. Moved around with a word for + each. They were hardly any of them personally attractive cases, and no + visitors come here. Of course they were all destitute of money. I gave + small sums to two or three, apparently the most needy. The men are from + quite all the Southern States, Georgia, Mississippi, Louisiana, &c. + </p> + <p> + Wrote several letters. One for a young fellow named Thomas J. Byrd, with a + bad wound and diarrhoea. Was from Russell county, Alabama; been out four + years. Wrote to his mother; had neither heard from her nor written to her + in nine months. Was taken prisoner last Christmas, in Tennessee; sent to + Nashville, then to Camp Chase, Ohio, and kept there a long time; all the + while not money enough to get paper and postage stamps. Was paroled, but + on his way home the wound took gangrene; had diarrhoea also; had evidently + been very low. Demeanor cool, and patient. A dark-skinn'd, quaint young + fellow, with strong Southern idiom; no education. + </p> + <p> + Another letter for John W. Morgan, aged 18, from Shellot, Brunswick + county, North Carolina; been out nine months; gunshot wound in right leg, + above knee; also diarrhoea; wound getting along well; quite a gentle, + affectionate boy; wish'd me to put in the letter for his mother to kiss + his little brother and sister for him. {I put strong envelopes on these, + and two or three other letters, directed them plainly and fully, and dropt + them in the Washington post-office the next morning myself.} + </p> + <p> + The large ward I am in is used for secession soldiers exclusively. One + man, about forty years of age, emaciated with diarrhoea, I was attracted + to, as he lay with his eyes turn'd up, looking like death. His weakness + was so extreme that it took a minute or so, every time, for him to talk + with anything like consecutive meaning; yet he was evidently a man of good + intelligence and education. As I said anything, he would lie a moment + perfectly still, then, with closed eyes, answer in a low, very slow voice, + quite correct and sensible, but in a way and tone that wrung my heart. He + had a mother, wife, and child living (or probably living) in his home in + Mississippi. It was long, long since he had seen them. Had he caus'd a + letter to be sent them since he got here in Washington? No answer. I + repeated the question, very slowly and soothingly. He could not tell + whether he had or not—things of late seem'd to him like a dream. + After waiting a moment, I said: "Well, I am going to walk down the ward a + moment, and when I come back you can tell me. If you have not written, I + will sit down and write." A few minutes after I return'd; he said he + remember'd now that some one had written for him two or three days before. + The presence of this man impress'd me profoundly. The flesh was all sunken + on face and arms; the eyes low in their sockets and glassy, and with + purple rings around them. Two or three great tears silently flow'd out + from the eyes, and roll'd down his temples (he was doubtless unused to be + spoken to as I was speaking to him.)Sickness, imprisonment, exhaustion, + &c., had conquer'd the body, yet the mind held mastery still, and + call'd even wandering remembrance back. + </p> + <p> + There are some fifty Southern soldiers here; all sad, sad cases. There is + a good deal of scurvy. I distributed some paper, envelopes, and postage + stamps, and wrote addresses full and plain on many of the envelopes. + </p> + <p> + I return'd again Tuesday, August 1, and moved around in the same manner a + couple of hours. + </p> + <p> + <i>September 22, '65</i>.—Afternoon and evening at Douglas hospital + to see a friend belonging to 2d New York Artillery (Hiram W. Frazee, + Serg't,) down with an obstinate compound fracture of left leg receiv'd in + one of the last battles near Petersburg. After sitting a while with him, + went through several neighboring wards. In one of them found an old + acquaintance transferr'd here lately, a rebel prisoner, in a dying + condition. Poor fellow, the look was already on his face. He gazed long at + me. I ask'd him if he knew me. After a moment he utter'd something, but + inarticulately. I have seen him off and on for the last five months. He + has suffer'd very much; a bad wound in left leg, severely fractured, + several operations, cuttings, extractions of bone, splinters, &c. I + remember he seem'd to me, as I used to talk with him, a fair specimen of + the main strata of the Southerners, those without property or education, + but still with the stamp which comes from freedom and equality. I liked + him; Jonathan Wallace, of Hurd co., Georgia, age 30 (wife, Susan F. + Wallace, Houston, Hurd co., Georgia.) {If any good soul of that county + should see this, I hope he will send her this word.} Had a family; had not + heard from them since taken prisoner, now six months. I had written for + him, and done trifles for him, before he came here. He made no outward + show, was mild in his talk and behavior, but I knew he worried much + inwardly. But now all would be over very soon. I half sat upon the little + stand near the head of the bed. Wallace was somewhat restless. I placed my + hand lightly on his forehead and face, just sliding it over the surface. + In a moment or so he fell into a calm, regular-breathing lethargy or + sleep, and remain'd so while I sat there. It was dark, and the lights were + lit. I hardly know why (death seem'd hovering near,) but I stay'd nearly + an hour. A Sister of Charity, dress'd in black, with a broad white linen + bandage around her head and under her chin, and a black crape over all and + flowing down from her head in long wide pieces, came to him, and moved + around the bed. She bow'd low and solemn to me. For some time she moved + around there noiseless as a ghost, doing little things for the dying man. + </p> + <p> + <i>December, '65</i>.—The only remaining hospital is now "Harewood," + out in the woods, northwest of the city. I have been visiting there + regularly every Sunday during these two months. + </p> + <p> + <i>January 24, '66</i>.—Went out to Harewood early to-day, and + remain'd all day. + </p> + <p> + <i>Sunday, February 4, 1866</i>.—Harewood Hospital again. Walk'd out + this afternoon (bright, dry, ground frozen hard) through the woods. Ward 6 + is fill'd with blacks, some with wounds, some ill, two or three with limbs + frozen. The boys made quite a picture sitting round the stove. Hardly any + can read or write. I write for three or four, direct envelopes, give some + tobacco, &c. + </p> + <p> + Joseph Winder, a likely boy, aged twenty-three, belongs to 10th Color'd + Infantry (now in Texas;) is from Eastville, Virginia. Was a slave; + belong'd to Lafayette Homeston. The master was quite willing he should + leave. Join'd the army two years ago; has been in one or two battles. Was + sent to hospital with rheumatism. Has since been employ'd as cook. His + parents at Eastville; he gets letters from them, and has letters written + to them by a friend. Many black boys left that part of Virginia and join'd + the army; the 10th, in fact, was made up of Virginia blacks from + thereabouts. As soon as discharged is going back to Eastville to his + parents and home, and intends to stay there. + </p> + <p> + Thomas King, formerly 2d District Color'd Regiment, discharged soldier, + Company E, lay in a dying condition; his disease was consumption. A + Catholic priest was administering extreme unction to him. (I have seen + this kind of sight several times in the hospitals; it is very impressive.) + </p> + <p> + <i>Harewood, April 29, 1866. Sunday afternoon</i>.—Poor Joseph + Swiers, Company H, 155th Pennsylvania, a mere lad (only eighteen years of + age;) his folks living in Reedsburgh, Pennsylvania. I have known him for + nearly a year, transferr'd from hospital to hospital. He was badly wounded + in the thigh at Hatcher's Run, February 6, '65. + </p> + <p> + James E. Ragan, Atlanta, Georgia; 2d United States Infantry. Union folks. + Brother impress'd, deserted, died; now no folks, left alone in the world, + is in a singularly nervous state; came in hospital with intermittent + fever. + </p> + <p> + Walk slowly around the ward, observing, and to see if I can do anything. + Two or three are lying very low with consumption, cannot recover; some + with old wounds; one with both feet frozen off, so that on one only the + heel remains. The supper is being given out: the liquid call'd tea, a + thick slice of bread, and some stew'd apples. + </p> + <p> + That was about the last I saw of the regular army hospitals. + </p> + <p> + {ILLUSTRATION Here is a portrait of E.H. from life, by Henry Inman, in New + York, about 1827 or '28. The painting was finely copper-plated in 1830, + and the present is a fac simile. Looks as I saw him in the following + narrative.} + </p> + <p> + The time was signalized by the <i>separation</i> of the society of + Friends, so greatly talked of—and continuing yet—but so little + really explain'd. (All I give of this separation is in a Note following.) + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Endnotes (<i>such as they are) founded on</i> + </h2> + <h3> + ELIAS HICKS + </h3> + <p> + <i>Prefatory Note</i>—As myself a little boy hearing so much of + E.H., at that time, long ago, in Suffolk and Queens and Kings counties—and + more than once personally seeing the old man—and my dear, dear + father and mother faithful listeners to him at the meetings—I + remember how I dream'd to write perhaps a piece about E.H. and his look + and discourses, however long afterward—for my parents' sake—and + the dear Friends too! And the following is what has at last but all come + out of it—the feeling and intention never forgotten yet! + </p> + <p> + There is a sort of nature of persons I have compared to little rills of + water, fresh, from perennial springs—(and the comparison is indeed + an appropriate one)—persons not so very plenty, yet some few + certainly of them running over the surface and area of humanity, all + times, all lands. It is a specimen of this class I would now present. I + would sum up in E.H., and make his case stand for the class, the sort, in + all ages, all lands, sparse, not numerous, yet enough to irrigate the soil—enough + to prove the inherent moral stock and irrepressible devotional aspirations + growing indigenously of themselves, always advancing, and never utterly + gone under or lost. + </p> + <p> + Always E.H. gives the service of pointing to the fountain of all naked + theology, all religion, all worship, all the truth to which you are + possibly eligible—namely in <i>yourself</i> and your inherent + relations. Others talk of Bibles, saints, churches, exhortations, + vicarious atonements—the canons outside of yourself and apart from + man—E.H. to the religion inside of man's very own nature. This he + incessantly labors to kindle, nourish, educate, bring forward and + strengthen. He is the most <i>democratic</i> of the religionists—the + prophets. + </p> + <p> + I have no doubt that both the curious fate and death of his four sons, and + the facts (and dwelling on them) of George Fox's strange early life, and + permanent "conversion," had much to do with the peculiar and sombre + ministry and style of E.H. from the first, and confirmed him all through. + One must not be dominated by the man's almost absurd saturation in cut and + dried biblical phraseology, and in ways, talk, and standard, regardful + mainly of the one need he dwelt on, above all the rest. This main need he + drove home to the soul; the canting and sermonizing soon exhale away to + any auditor that realizes what E.H. is for and after. The present paper, + (a broken memorandum of his formation, his earlier life,) is the + cross-notch that rude wanderers make in the woods, to remind them + afterward of some matter of first-rate importance and full investigation. + (Remember too, that E.H. was <i>a thorough believer in the Hebrew + Scriptures</i>, in his way.) + </p> + <p> + The following are really but disjointed fragments recall'd to serve and + eke out here the lank printed pages of what I commenc'd unwittingly two + months ago. Now, as I am well in for it, comes an old attack, the sixth or + seventh recurrence, of my war-paralysis, dulling me from putting the notes + in shape, and threatening any further action, head or body. <i>W.W., + Camden, N.J., July, 1888</i>. + </p> + <p> + To begin with, my theme is comparatively featureless. The great historian + has pass'd by the life of Elias Hicks quite without glance or touch. Yet a + man might commence and overhaul it as furnishing one of the amplest + historic and biography's backgrounds. While the foremost actors and events + from 1750 to 1830 both in Europe and America were crowding each other on + the world's stage—While so many kings, queens, soldiers, philosophs, + musicians, voyagers, littérateurs, enter one side, cross the boards, and + disappear—amid loudest reverberating names—Frederick the + Great, Swedenborg, Junius, Voltaire, Rousseau, Linnaeus, Herschel—curiously + contemporary with the long life of Goethe—through the occupancy of + the British throne by George the Third—amid stupendous visible + political and social revolutions, and far more stupendous invisible moral + ones—while the many quarto volumes of the Encyclopaedia Française + are being published at fits and intervals, by Diderot, in Paris—while + Haydn and Beethoven and Mozart and Weber are working out their harmonic + compositions—while Mrs. Siddons and Talma and Kean are acting—while + Mungo Park explores Africa, and Capt. Cook circumnavigates the globe—through + all the fortunes of the American Revolution, the beginning, continuation + and end, the battle of Brooklyn, the surrender at Saratoga, the final + peace of '83—through the lurid tempest of the French Revolution, the + execution of the king and queen, and the Reign of Terror—through the + whole of the meteor-career of Napoleon—through all Washington's, + Adams's, Jefferson's, Madison's, and Monroe's Presidentiads—amid so + many flashing lists of names, (indeed there seems hardly, in any + department, any end to them, Old World or New,) Franklin, Sir Joshua + Reynolds, Mirabeau, Fox, Nelson, Paul Jones, Kant, Fichte, and Hegel, + Fulton, Walter Scott, Byron, Mesmer, Champollion—Amid pictures that + dart upon me even as I speak, and glow and mix and coruscate and fade like + aurora boreales—Louis the 16th threaten'd by the mob, the trial of + Warren Hastings, the death-bed of Robert Burns, Wellington at Waterloo, + Decatur capturing the Macedonian, or the sea-fight between the Chesapeake + and the Shannon—During all these whiles, + </p> + <p> + I say, and though on a far different grade, running parallel and + contemporary with all—a curious, quiet yet busy life centred in a + little country village on Long Island, and within sound on still nights of + the mystic surf-beat of the sea. About this life, this Personality—neither + soldier, nor scientist, nor littérateur—I propose to occupy a few + minutes in fragmentary talk, to give some few melanges, disconnected + impressions, statistics, resultant groups, pictures, thoughts' of him, or + radiating from him. + </p> + <p> + Elias Hicks was born March 19, 1748, in Hempstead township, Queens county, + Long Island, New York State, near a village bearing the old Scripture name + of Jericho, (a mile or so north and east of the present Hicksville, on the + L.I. Railroad.) His father and mother were Friends, of that class working + with their own hands, and mark'd by neither riches nor actual poverty. + Elias as a child and youth had small education from letters, but largely + learn'd from Nature's schooling. He grew up even in his ladhood a thorough + gunner and fisherman. The farm of his parents lay on the south or + sea-shore side of Long Island, (they had early removed from Jericho,) one + of the best regions in the world for wild fowl and for fishing. Elias + became a good horseman, too, and knew the animal well, riding races; also + a singer fond of "vain songs," as he afterwards calls them; a dancer, too, + at the country balls. When a boy of 13 he had gone to live with an elder + brother; and when about 17 he changed again and went as apprentice to the + carpenter's trade. The time of all this was before the Revolutionary War, + and the locality 30 to 40 miles from New York city. My great-grandfather, + Whitman, was often with Elias at these periods, and at merry-makings and + sleigh-rides in winter over "the plains." + </p> + <p> + How well I remember the region—the flat plains of the middle of Long + Island, as then, with their prairie-like vistas and grassy patches in + every direction, and the 'kill-calf' and herds of cattle and sheep. Then + the South Bay and shores and the salt meadows, and the sedgy smell, and + numberless little bayous and hummock-islands in the waters, the habitat of + every sort of fish and aquatic fowl of North America. And the bay men—a + strong, wild, peculiar race—now extinct, or rather entirely changed. + And the beach outside the sandy bars, sometimes many miles at a stretch, + with their old history of wrecks and storms—the weird, white-gray + beach—not without its tales of pathos—tales, too, of grandest + heroes and heroisms. In such scenes and elements and influences—in + the midst of Nature and along the shores of the sea—Elias Hicks was + fashion'd through boyhood and early manhood, to maturity. But a moral and + mental and emotional change was imminent. Along at this time he says: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My apprenticeship being now expir'd, I gradually withdrew from + the company of my former associates, became more acquainted with + Friends, and was more frequent in my attendance of meetings; and + although this was in some degree profitable to me, yet I made but + slow progress in my religious improvement. The occupation of part of + my time in fishing and fowling had frequently tended to preser + me from falling into hurtful associations; but through the rising + intimations and reproofs of divine grace in my heart, I now began to + feel that the manner in which I sometimes amus'd myself with my gun + was not without sin; for although I mostly preferr'd going alone, + and while waiting in stillness for the coming of the fowl, + mind was at times so taken up in divine meditations, that the + opportunities were seasons of instruction and comfort to me; yet, on + other occasions, when accompanied by some of my acquaintances, and + when no fowls appear'd which would be useful to us after being + obtain'd, we sometimes, from wantonness or for mere diversion, would + destroy the small birds which could be of no service to us. This + cruel procedure affects my heart while penning these lines. +</pre> + <p> + In his 23d year Elias was married, by the Friends' ceremony, to Jemima + Seaman. His wife was an only child; the parents were well off for common + people, and at their request the son-in-law mov'd home with them and + carried on the farm—which at their decease became his own, and he + liv'd there all his remaining life. Of this matrimonial part of his + career, (it continued, and with unusual happiness, for 58 years,) he says, + giving the account of his marriage: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On this important occasion, we felt the clear and consoling evidence + of divine truth, and it remain'd with us as a seal upon our spirits, + strengthening us mutually to bear, with becoming fortitude, the + vicissitudes and trials which fell to our lot, and of which we h + a large share in passing through this probationary state. My wife, + although not of a very strong constitution, liv'd to be the mother + of eleven children, four sons and seven daughters. Our second + daughter, a very lovely, promising child, died when young, with the + small-pox, and the youngest was not living at its birth. The rest + all arriv'd to years of discretion, and afforded us considerable + comfort, as they prov'd to be in a good degree dutiful children. All + our sons, however, were of weak constitutions, and were not able to + take care of themselves, being so enfeebl'd as not to be able to + walk after the ninth or tenth year of their age. The two eldest died + in the fifteenth year of their age, the third in his seventeenth + year, and the youngest was nearly nineteen when he died. But, + although thus helpless, the innocency of their lives, and the + resign'd cheerfulness of their dispositions to their allotments, + made the labor and toil of taking care of them agreeable and + pleasant; and I trust we were preserv'd from murmuring or repining, + believing the dispensation to be in wisdom, and according to the + will and gracious disposing of an all-wise providence, for purposes + best known to himself. And when I have observ'd the great anxiety + and affliction which many parents have with undutiful children who + are favor'd with health, especially their sons, I could perceive + very few whose troubles and exercises, on that account, did not far + exceed ours. The weakness and bodily infirmity of our sons tended to + keep them much out of the way of the troubles and temptations + the world; and we believ'd that in their death they were happy, and + admitted into the realms of peace and joy: a reflection, the most + comfortable and joyous that parents can have in regard to their + tender offspring. +</pre> + <p> + Of a serious and reflective turn, by nature, and from his reading and + surroundings, Elias had more than once markedly devotional inward + intimations. These feelings increas'd in frequency and strength, until + soon the following: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + About the twenty-sixth year of my age I was again brought, by the + operative influence of divine grace, under deep concern of mind; and + was led, through adorable mercy, to see, that although I had ceas'd + from many sins and vanities of my youth, yet there were many + remaining that I was still guilty of, which were not yet aton'd for, + and for which I now felt the judgments of God to rest upon m + This caus'd me to cry earnestly to the Most High for pardon and + redemption, and he graciously condescended to hear my cry, and to + open a way before me, wherein I must walk, in order to experience + reconciliation with him; and as I abode in watchfulness and deep + humiliation before him, light broke forth out of obscurity, and my + darkness became as the noon-day. I began to have openings leading to + the ministry, which brought me under close exercise and deep travail + of spirit; for although I had for some time spoken on subjects of + business in monthly and preparative meetings, yet the prospe + of opening my mouth in public meetings was a close trial; but I + endeavor'd to keep my mind quiet and resign' d to the heavenly call, + if it should be made clear to me to be my duty. Nevertheless, + I was, soon after, sitting in a meeting, in much weightiness of + spirit, a secret, though clear, intimation accompanied me to spe + a few words, which were then given to me to utter, yet fear so + prevail'd, that I did not yield to the intimation. For this + omission, I felt close rebuke, and judgment seem'd, for some time, + to cover my mind; but as I humbl'd myself under the Lord's mighty + hand, he again lifted up the light of his countenance upon me, and + enabl'd me to renew covenant with him, that if he would pass by this + my offence, I would, in future, be faithful, if he should again + require such a service of me. +</pre> + <p> + The Revolutionary War following, tried the sect of Friends more than any. + The difficulty was to steer between their convictions as patriots, and + their pledges of non-warring peace. Here is the way they solv'd the + problem: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A war, with all its cruel and destructive effects, having raged for + several years between the British Colonies in North America and the + mother country, Friends, as well as others, were expos' d to many + severe trials and sufferings; yet, in the colony of New York, + Friends, who stood faithful to their principles, and did not meddle + in the controversy, had, after a short period at first, considerable + favor allow'd them. The yearly meeting was held steadily, duri + the war, on Long Island, where the king's party had the rule; yet + Friends from the Main, where the American army ruled, had free + passage through both armies to attend it, and any other meetings + they were desirous of attending, except in a few instances. This was + a favor which the parties would not grant to their best friends, who + were of a war-like disposition; which shows what great advantages + would redound to mankind, were they all of this pacific spirit. I + pass'd myself through the lines of both armies six times during the + war, without molestation, both parties generally receiving me with + openness and civility; and although I had to pass over a tract of + country, between the two armies, sometimes more than thirty miles in + extent, and which was much frequented by robbers, a set, in general, + of cruel, unprincipled banditti, issuing out from both partie + yet, excepting once, I met with no interruption even from the + But although Friends in general experienc'd many favors and + deliverances, yet those scenes of war and confusion occasion + many trials and provings in various ways to the faithful. One + circumstance I am willing to mention, as it caus'd me considerable + exercise and concern. There was a large cellar under the new + meeting-house belonging to Friends in New York, which was generally + let as a store. When the king's troops enter'd the city, they took + possession of it for the purpose of depositing their warlike stores; + and ascertaining what Friends had the care of letting it, their + commissary came forward and offer'd to pay the rent; and those + Friends, for want of due consideration, accepted it. This caus'd + great uneasiness to the concern'd part of the Society, who + apprehended it not consistent with our peaceable principles to + receive payment for the depositing of military stores in our houses. + The subject was brought before the yearly meeting in 1779, and + engag'd its careful attention; but those Friends, who had been + active in the reception of the money, and some few others, were not + willing to acknowledge their proceedings to be inconsistent, nor to + return the money to those from whom it was receiv'd; and in order to + justify themselves therein, they referr'd to the conduct of Friends + in Philadelphia in similar cases. Matters thus appearing very + difficult and embarrassing, it was unitedly concluded to refer the + final determination thereof to the yearly meeting of Pennsylvania; + and several Friends were appointed to attend that meeting in + relation thereto, among whom I was one of the number. We accordingly + set out on the 9th day of the 9th month, 1779, and I was accompanied + from home by my beloved friend John Willis, who was likewise on the + appointment. We took a solemn leave of our families, they feeling + much anxiety at parting with us, on account of the dangers we were + expos'd to, having to pass not only the lines of the two armies, but + the deserted and almost uninhabited country that lay between them, + in many places the grass being grown up in the streets, and many + houses desolate and empty. Believing it, however, my duty to proceed + in the service, my mind was so settled and trust-fix'd in the divine + arm of power, that faith seem'd to banish all fear, and cheerfulness + and quiet resignation were, I believe, my constant companions during + the journey. We got permission, with but little difficulty, to pass + the outguards of the king's army at Kingsbridge, and proceeded to + Westchester. We afterwards attended meetings at Harrison's Purchase, + and Oblong, having the concurrence of our monthly meeting to take + some meetings in our way, a concern leading thereto having for some + time previously attended my mind. We pass'd from thence to Nine + Partners, and attended their monthly meeting, and then turn'd our + faces towards Philadelphia, being join'd by several others of the + Committee. We attended New Marlborough, Hardwick, and Kingswood + meetings on our journey, and arriv'd at Philadelphia on the 7th day + of the week, and 25th of 9th month, on which day we attended the + yearly meeting of Ministers and Elders, which began at the eleventh + hour. I also attended all the sittings of the yearly meeting until + the 4th day of the next week, and was then so indispos'd with a + fever, which had been increasing on me for several days, that I was + not able to attend after that time. I was therefore not present when + the subject was discuss' d, which came from our yearly meeting but I + was inform'd by my companion, that it was a very solemn opportunity, + and the matter was resulted in advising that the money should be + return'd into the office from whence it was receiv'd, accompanied + with our reasons for so doing: and this was accordingly done by the + direction of our yearly meeting the next year. +</pre> + <p> + Then, season after season, when peace and Independence reign'd, year + following year, this remains to be (1791) a specimen of his personal + labors: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I was from home on this journey four months and eleven days; rode + about one thousand five hundred miles, and attended forty-nine + particular meetings among Friends, three quarterly meetings, six + monthly meetings, and forty meetings among other people. +</pre> + <p> + And again another experience: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the forepart of this meeting, my mind was reduc'd into such a + state of great weakness and depression, that my faith was almost + ready to fail, which produc'd great searchings of heart, so that I + was led to call in question all that I had ever before experienc'd. + In this state of doubting, I was ready to wish myself at home, from + an apprehension that I should only expose myself to reproach, and + wound the cause I was embark'd in; for the heavens seem'd like + brass, and the earth as iron; such coldness and hardness, I thought, + could scarcely have ever been experienc'd before by any creature, so + great was the depth of my baptism at this time; nevertheless, as I + endeavor'd to quiet my mind, in this conflicting dispensation, and + be resign'd to my allotment, however distressing, towards the latter + part of the meeting a ray of light broke through the surrounding + darkness, in which the Shepherd of Israel was pleas'd to arise, and + by the light of his glorious countenance, to scatter those clouds of + opposition. Then ability was receiv'd, and utterance given, to speak + of his marvellous works in the redemption of souls, and to op + the way of life and salvation, and the mysteries of his glorious + kingdom, which are hid from the wise and prudent of this world, and + reveal'd only unto those who are reduc'd into the state of little + children and babes in Christ. +</pre> + <p> + And concluding another jaunt in 1794: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I was from home in this journey about five months, and travell + by land and water about two thousand two hundred and eighty-three + miles; having visited all the meetings of Friends in the New England + states, and many meetings amongst those of other professions; and + also visited many meetings, among Friends and others, in the upper + part of our own yearly meeting; and found real peace in my labors. +</pre> + <p> + Another 'tramp' in 1798: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I was absent from home in this journey about five months and two + weeks, and rode about sixteen hundred miles, and attended about one + hundred and forty-three meetings. +</pre> + <p> + Here are some memoranda of 1813, near home: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + First day. Our meeting this day pass'd in silent labor. The cloud + rested on the tabernacle; and, although it was a day of much rain + outwardly, yet very little of the dew of Hermon appear'd to distil + among us. Nevertheless, a comfortable calm was witness'd towards the + close, which we must render to the account of unmerited mercy and + love. + + Second day. Most of this day was occupied in a visit to a sick + friend, who appeared comforted therewith. Spent part of the evening + in reading part of Paul's Epistle to the Romans. + + Third day. I was busied most of this day in my common vocations. + Spent the evening principally in reading Paul. Found considerable + satisfaction in his first epistle to the Corinthians; in which he + shows the danger of some in setting too high a value on those who + were instrumental in bringing them to the knowledge of the truth, + without looking through and beyond the instrument, to the great + first cause and Author of every blessing, to whom all the praise and + honor are due. + + Fifth day, 1st of 4th month. At our meeting to-day found it, as + usual, a very close steady exercise to keep the mind center' + where it ought to be. What a multitude of intruding thoughts + imperceptibly, as it were, steal into the mind, and turn it from its + proper object, whenever it relaxes its vigilance in watching against + them. Felt a little strength, just at the close, to remind Friends + of the necessity of a steady perseverance, by a recapitulation of + the parable of the unjust judge, showing how men ought always to + pray, and not to faint. + + Sixth day. Nothing material occurr'd, but a fear lest the cares of + the world should engross too much of my time. + + Seventh day. Had an agreeable visit from two ancient friends, which + I have long lov'd. The rest of the day I employ'd in manual labor, + mostly in gardening. +</pre> + <p> + But we find if we attend to records and details, we shall lay out an + endless task. We can briefly say, summarily, that his whole life was a + long religious missionary life of method, practicality, sincerity, + earnestness, and pure piety—as near to his time here, as one in + Judea, far back—or in any life, any age. The reader who feels + interested must get—with all its dryness and mere dates, absence of + emotionality or literary quality, and whatever abstract attraction (with + even a suspicion of cant, sniffling,) the "Journal of the Life and + Religious Labours of Elias Hicks, written by himself," at some Quaker + book-store. (It is from this headquarters I have extracted the preceding + quotations.) During E. H.'s matured life, continued from fifty to sixty + years—while working steadily, earning his living and paying his way + without intermission—he makes, as previously memorandized, several + hundred preaching visits, not only through Long Island, but some of them + away into the Middle or Southern States, or north into Canada, or the then + far West—extending to thousands of miles, or filling several weeks + and sometimes months. These religious journeys—scrupulously + accepting in payment only his transportation from place to place, with his + own food and shelter, and never receiving a dollar of money for "salary" + or preaching—Elias, through good bodily health and strength, + continues till quite the age of eighty. It was thus at one of his latest + jaunts in Brooklyn city I saw and heard him. This sight and hearing shall + now be described. + </p> + <p> + Elias Hicks was at this period in the latter part (November or December) + of 1829. It was the last tour of the many missions of the old man's life. + He was in the 81st year of his age, and a few months before he had lost by + death a beloved wife with whom he had lived in unalloyed affection and + esteem for 58 years. (But a few months after this meeting Elias was + paralyzed and died.) Though it is sixty years ago since—and I a + little boy at the time in Brooklyn, New York—I can remember my + father coming home toward sunset from his day's work as carpenter, and + saying briefly, as he throws down his armful of kindling-blocks with a + bounce on the kitchen floor, "Come, mother, Elias preaches to-night." Then + my mother, hastening the supper and the table-cleaning afterward, gets a + neighboring young woman, a friend of the family, to step in and keep house + for an hour or so—puts the two little ones to bed—and as I had + been behaving well that day, as a special reward I was allow'd to go also. + </p> + <p> + We start for the meeting. Though, as I said, the stretch of more than half + a century has pass'd over me since then, with its war and peace, and all + its joys and sins and deaths (and what a half century! how it comes up + sometimes for an instant, like the lightning flash in a storm at night!) I + can recall that meeting yet. It is a strange place for religious + devotions. Elias preaches anywhere—no respect to buildings—private + or public houses, school-rooms, barns, even theatres—anything that + will accommodate. This time it is in a handsome ball-room, on Brooklyn + Heights, overlooking New York, and in full sight of that great city, and + its North and East rivers fill'd with ships—is (to specify more + particularly) the second story of "Morrison's Hotel," used for the most + genteel concerts, balls, and assemblies—a large, cheerful, + gay-color'd room, with glass chandeliers bearing myriads of sparkling + pendants, plenty of settees and chairs, and a sort of velvet divan running + all round the side-walls. Before long the divan and all the settees and + chairs are fill'd; many fashionables out of curiosity; all the principal + dignitaries of the town, Gen. Jeremiah Johnson, Judge Furman, George Hall, + Mr. Willoughby, Mr. Pierrepont, N.B. Morse, Cyrus P. Smith, and F.C. + Tucker. Many young folks too; some richly dress'd women; I remember I + noticed with one party of ladies a group of uniform'd officers, either + from the U.S. Navy Yard, or some ship in the stream, or some adjacent + fort. On a slightly elevated platform at the head of the room, facing the + audience, sit a dozen or more Friends, most of them elderly, grim, and + with their broad-brimm'd hats on their heads. Three or four women, too, in + their characteristic Quaker costumes and bonnets. All still as the grave. + </p> + <p> + At length after a pause and stillness becoming almost painful, Elias rises + and stands for a moment or two without a word. A tall, straight figure, + neither stout nor very thin, dress'd in drab cloth, clean-shaved face, + forehead of great expanse, and large and clear black eyes,{42} long or + middling-long white hair; he was at this time between 80 and 81 years of + age, his head still wearing the broad-brim. A moment looking around the + audience with those piercing eyes, amid the perfect stillness. (I can + almost see him and the whole scene now.) Then the words come from his + lips, very emphatically and slowly pronounc'd, in a resonant, grave, + melodious voice, <i>What is the chief end of man? I was told in my early + youth, it was to glorify God, and seek and enjoy him forever.</i> + </p> + <p> + I cannot follow the discourse. It presently becomes very fervid, and in + the midst of its fervor he takes the broad-brim hat from his head, and + almost dashing it down with violence on the seat behind, continues with + uninterrupted earnestness. But, I say, I cannot repeat, hardly suggest his + sermon. Though the differences and disputes of the formal division of the + Society of Friends were even then under way, he did not allude to them at + all. A pleading, tender, nearly agonizing conviction, and magnetic stream + of natural eloquence, before which all minds and natures, all emotions, + high or low, gentle or simple, yielded entirely without exception, was its + cause, method, and effect. Many, very many were in tears. Years afterward + in Boston, I heard Father Taylor, the sailor's preacher, and found in his + passionate unstudied oratory the resemblance to Elias Hicks's—not + argumentative or intellectual, but so penetrating—so different from + anything in the books—(different as the fresh air of a May morning + or sea-shore breeze from the atmosphere of a perfumer's shop.) + </p> + <p> + While he goes on he falls into the nasality and sing-song tone sometimes + heard in such meetings; but in a moment or two more as if recollecting + himself, he breaks off, stops, and resumes in a natural tone. This occurs + three or four times during the talk of the evening, till all concludes. + </p> + <p> + Now and then, at the many scores and hundreds—even thousands—of + his discourses—as at this one—he was very mystical and + radical,{43} and had much to say of "the light within." Very likely this + same inner light, (so dwelt upon by newer men, as by Fox and Barclay at + the beginning, and all Friends and deep thinkers since and now,) is + perhaps only another name for the religious conscience. In my opinion they + have all diagnos'd, like superior doctors, the real in-most disease of our + times, probably any times. Amid the huge inflammation call'd society, and + that other inflammation call'd politics, what is there to-day of moral + power and ethic sanity as antiseptic to them and all? Though I think the + essential elements of the moral nature exist latent in the good average + people of the United States of to-day, and sometimes break out strongly, + it is certain that any mark'd or dominating National Morality (if I may + use the phrase) has not only not yet been develop'd, but that—at any + rate when the point of view is turn'd on business, politics, competition, + practical life, and in character and manners in our New World—there + seems to be a hideous depletion, almost absence, of such moral nature. + Elias taught throughout, as George Fox began it, or rather reiterated and + verified it, the Platonic doctrine that the ideals of character, of + justice, of religious action, whenever the highest is at stake, are to be + conform'd to no outside doctrine of creeds, Bibles, legislative + enactments, conventionalities, or even decorums, but are to follow the + inward Deity-planted law of the emotional soul. In this only the true + Quaker, or Friend, has faith; and it is from rigidly, perhaps strainingly + carrying it out, that both the Old and New England records of Quakerdom + show some unseemly and insane acts. + </p> + <p> + In one of the lives of Ralph Waldo Emerson is a list of lessons or + instructions, ("seal'd orders" the biographer calls them,) prepar'd by the + sage himself for his own guidance. Here is one: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Go forth with thy message among thy fellow-creatures; teach them that + they must trust themselves as guided by that inner light which dwells + with the pure in heart, to whom it was promis'd of old that they shall + see God. +</pre> + <p> + How thoroughly it fits the life and theory of Elias Hicks. Then in Omar + Khayyam: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I sent my soul through the Invisible, + Some letter of that after-life to spell, + And by-and-by my soul return'd to me, + And answer'd, "I myself am Heaven and Hell." +</pre> + <p> + Indeed, of this important element of the theory and practice of Quakerism, + the difficult-to-describe "Light within" or "Inward Law, by which all must + be either justified or condemn'd," I will not undertake where so many have + fail'd—the task of making the statement of it for the average + comprehension. We will give, partly for the matter and partly as specimen + of his speaking and writing style, what Elias Hicks himself says in + allusion to it—one or two of very many passages. Most of his + discourses, like those of Epictetus and the ancient peripatetics, have + left no record remaining—they were extempore, and those were not the + times of reporters. Of one, however, deliver'd in Chester, Pa., toward the + latter part of his career, there is a careful transcript; and from it + (even if presenting you a sheaf of hidden wheat that may need to be pick'd + and thrash'd out several times before you get the grain,) we give the + following extract: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I don't want to express a great many words; but I want you to be + call'd home to the substance. For the Scriptures, and all the + books in the world, can do no more; Jesus could do no more than to + recommend to this Comforter, which was the light in him. "God is + light, and in him is no darkness at all; and if we walk in the + light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another." + Because the light is one in all, and therefore it binds us together + in the bonds of love; for it is not only light, but love—that love + which casts out all fear. So that they who dwell in God dwell in + love, and they are constrain'd to walk in it; and if they "walk in + it, they have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus + Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin." + + But what blood, my friends? Did Jesus Christ, the Saviour, ever have + any material blood? Not a drop of it, my friends—not a drop of it. + That blood which cleanseth from the life of all sin, was the life of + the soul of Jesus. The soul of man has no material blood; but as the + outward material blood, created from the dust of the earth, is the + life of these bodies of flesh, so with respect to the soul, the + immortal and invisible spirit, its blood is that life which God + breath'd into it. + + As we read, in the beginning, that "God form'd man of the dust of + the ground, and breath'd into him the breath of life, and man became + a living soul." He breath'd into that soul, and it became alive to + God. +</pre> + <p> + Then, from one of his many letters, for he seems to have delighted in + correspondence: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Some may query, What is the cross of Christ? To these I answer, It + is the perfect law of God, written on the tablet of the hear + and in the heart of every rational creature, in such indelible + characters that all the power of mortals cannot erase nor obliterate + it. Neither is there any power or means given or dispens'd to the + children of men, but this inward law and light, by which the true + and saving knowledge of God can be obtain' d. And by this inward law + and light, all will be either justified or condemn'd, and all made + to know God for themselves, and be left without excuse, agreeably to + the prophecy of Jeremiah, and the corroborating testimony of Jesus + in his last counsel and command to his disciples, not to depart from + Jerusalem till they should receive power from on high; assuring them + that they should receive power, when they had receiv'd the pouring + forth of the spirit upon them, which would qualify them to bear + witness of him in Judea, Jerusalem, Samaria, and to the uttermost + parts of the earth; which was verified in a marvellous manner on the + day of Pentecost, when thousands were converted to the Christian + faith in one day. + + By which it is evident that nothing but this inward light and law, + as it is heeded and obey'd, ever did, or ever can, make a true + and real Christian and child of God. And until the professors + of Christianity agree to lay aside all their non-essentials in + religion, and rally to this unchangeable foundation and standard of + truth, wars and fightings, confusion and error, will prevail, and + the angelic song cannot be heard in our land—that of "glory to God + in the highest, and on earth peace and good will to men." + + But when all nations are made willing to make this inward law and + light the rule and standard of all their faith and works, then we + shall be brought to know and believe alike, that there is but one + Lord, one faith, and but one baptism; one God and Father, that is + above all, through all, and in all. + + And then will all those glorious and consoling prophecies recorded + in the scriptures of truth be fulfill'd—"He," the Lord, "shall + judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people; and they + shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into + pruning-hooks; nation shall not lift up the sword against nation, + neither shall they learn war any more. The wolf also shall dwell + with the lamb; and the cow and the bear shall feed; and the lion + shall eat straw like the ox; and the sucking child shall play + the hole of the asp, and the wean'd child put his hand on the + cockatrice's den. They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy + mountain; for the earth," that is our earthly tabernacle, "shall be + full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea." +</pre> + <p> + The exposition in the last sentence, that the terms of the texts are not + to be taken in their literal meaning, but in their spiritual one, and + allude to a certain wondrous exaltation of the body, through religious + influences, is significant, and is but one of a great number of instances + of much that is obscure, to "the world's people," in the preachings of + this remarkable man. + </p> + <p> + Then a word about his physical oratory, connected with the preceding. If + there is, as doubtless there is, an unnameable something behind oratory, a + fund within or atmosphere without, deeper than art, deeper even than + proof, that unnameable constitutional something Elias Hicks emanated from + his very heart to the hearts of his audience, or carried with him, or + probed into, and shook and arous'd in them—a sympathetic germ, + probably rapport, lurking in every human eligibility, which no book, no + rule, no statement has given or can give inherent knowledge, intuition—not + even the best speech, or best put forth, but launch'd out only by powerful + human magnetism: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Unheard by sharpest ear—unformed in clearest eye, or cunningest + mind, + Nor lore, nor fame, nor happiness, nor wealth, + And yet the pulse of every heart and life throughout the world, + incessantly, + Which you and I, and all, pursuing ever, ever miss; + Open, but still a secret—the real of the real—an illusion; + Costless, vouchsafed to each, yet never man the owner; + Which poets vainly seek to put in rhyme——historians in prose; + Which sculptor never chisel'd yet, nor painter painted; + Which vocalist never sung, nor orator nor actor ever utter' d. +</pre> + <p> + That remorse, too, for a mere worldly life—that aspiration towards + the ideal, which, however overlaid, lies folded latent, hidden, in perhaps + every character. More definitely, as near as I remember (aided by my dear + mother long afterward,) Elias Hicks's discourse there in the Brooklyn + ball-room, was one of his old never-remitted appeals to that moral + mystical portion of human nature, the inner light. But it is mainly for + the scene itself, and Elias's personnel, that I recall the incident. + </p> + <p> + Soon afterward the old man died: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On first day morning, the 14th of 2d month (February, 1830,) he was + engaged in his room, writing to a friend, until a little after ten + o'clock, when he return'd to that occupied by the family, apparently + just attack'd by a paralytic affection, which nearly deprived h + of the use of his right side, and of the power of speech. Being + assisted to a chair near the fire, he manifested by signs, that the + letter which he had just finish'd, and which had been dropp'd + the way, should be taken care of; and on its being brought to him, + appear'd satisfied, and manifested a desire that all should sit down + and be still, seemingly sensible that his labours were brought to a + close, and only desirous of quietly waiting the final change. The + solemn composure at this time manifest in his countenance, w + very impressive, indicating that he was sensible the time of his + departure was at hand, and that the prospect of death brought no + terrors with it. During his last illness, his mental faculti + were occasionally obscured, yet he was at times enabled to give + satisfactory evidence to those around him, that all was well, and + that he felt nothing in his way. + + His funeral took place on fourth day, the 3rd of 3rd month. It was + attended by a large concourse of Friends and others, and a solid + meeting was held on the occasion; after which, his remains were + interr'd in Friends' burial-ground at this place (Jericho, Queens + county, New York.) +</pre> + <p> + I have thought (even presented so incompletely, with such fearful + hiatuses, and in my own feebleness and waning life) one might well + memorize this life of Elias Hicks. Though not eminent in literature or + politics or inventions or business, it is a token of not a few, and is + significant. Such men do not cope with statesmen or soldiers—but I + have thought they deserve to be recorded and kept up as a sample—that + this one specially does. I have already compared it to a little flowing + liquid rill of Nature's life, maintaining freshness. As if, indeed, under + the smoke of battles, the blare of trumpets, and the madness of contending + hosts—the screams of passion, the groans of the suffering, the + parching of struggles of money and politics, and all hell's heat and noise + and competition above and around—should come melting down from the + mountains from sources of unpolluted snows, far up there in God's hidden, + untrodden recesses, and so rippling along among us low in the ground, at + men's very feet, a curious little brook of clear and cool, and + ever-healthy, ever-living water. + </p> + <p> + <i>Note.—The Separation</i>.—The division vulgarly call'd + between Orthodox and Hicksites in the Society of Friends took place in + 1827, '8 and '9. Probably it had been preparing some time. One who was + present has since described to me the climax, at a meeting of Friends in + Philadelphia crowded by a great attendance of both sexes, with Elias as + principal speaker. In the course of his utterance or argument he made use + of these words: "The blood of Christ—the blood of Christ—why, + my friends, the actual blood of Christ in itself was no more effectual + than the blood of bulls and goats—not a bit more—not a bit." + At these words, after a momentary hush, commenced a great tumult. Hundreds + rose to their feet.... Canes were thump'd upon the floor. From all parts + of the house angry mutterings. Some left the place, but more remain'd, + with exclamations, flush'd faces and eyes. This was the definite + utterance, the overt act, which led to the separation. Families diverg'd—even + husbands and wives, parents and children, were separated. + </p> + <p> + Of course what Elias promulg'd spread a great commotion among the Friends. + Sometimes when he presented himself to speak in the meeting, there would + be opposition—this led to angry words, gestures, unseemly noises, + recriminations. Elias, at such times, was deeply affected—the tears + roll'd in streams down his cheeks—he silently waited the close of + the dispute. "Let the Friend speak; let the Friend speak!" he would say + when his supporters in the meeting tried to bluff off some violent + orthodox person objecting to the new doctrinaire. But he never recanted. + </p> + <p> + A reviewer of the old dispute and separation made the following comments + on them in a paper ten years ago: "It was in America, where there had been + no persecution worth mentioning since Mary Dyer was hang'd on Boston + Common, that about fifty years ago differences arose, singularly enough + upon doctrinal points of the divinity of Christ and the nature of the + atonement. Whoever would know how bitter was the controversy, and how much + of human infirmity was found to be still lurking under broad-brim hats and + drab coats, must seek for the information in the Lives of Elias Hicks and + of Thomas Shillitoe, the latter an English Friend, who visited us at this + unfortunate time, and who exercised his gifts as a peace-maker with but + little success. The meetings, according to his testimony, were sometimes + turn'd into mobs. The disruption was wide, and seems to have been final. + Six of the ten yearly meetings were divided; and since that time various + sub-divisions have come, four or five in number. There has never, however, + been anything like a repetition of the excitement of the Hicksite + controversy; and Friends of all kinds at present appear to have settled + down into a solid, steady, comfortable state, and to be working in their + own way without troubling other Friends whose ways are different." + </p> + <p> + <i>Note</i>.—Old persons, who heard this man in his day, and who + glean'd impressions from what they saw of him, (judg'd from their own + points of views,) have, in their conversation with me, dwelt on another + point. They think Elias Hicks had a large element of personal ambition, + the pride of leadership, of establishing perhaps a sect that should + reflect his own name, and to which he should give especial form and + character. Very likely. Such indeed seems the means, all through progress + and civilization, by which strong men and strong convictions achieve + anything definite. But the basic foundation of Elias was undoubtedly + genuine religious fervor. He was like an old Hebrew prophet. He had the + spirit of one, and in his later years look'd like one. What Carlyle says + of John Knox will apply to him: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He is an instance to us how a man, by sincerity itself, becomes + heroic; it is the grand gift he has. We find in him a good, honest, + intellectual talent, no transcendent one;—a narrow, inconsiderable + man, as compared with Luther; but in heartfelt instinctive adherence + to truth, in <i>sincerity</i> as we say, he has no superior; nay, one + might ask, What equal he has? The heart of him is of the true + Prophet cast. "He lies there," said the Earl of Morton at Knox's + grave, "who never fear'd the face of man." He resembles, more than + any of the moderns, an old Hebrew Prophet. The same inflexibility, + intolerance, rigid, narrow-looking adherence to God's truth. +</pre> + <p> + <i>A Note yet. The United States to-day</i>.—While under all + previous conditions (even convictions) of society, Oriental, Feudal, + Ecclesiastical, and in all past (or present) Despotisms, through the + entire past, there existed, and exists yet, in ally and fusion with them, + and frequently forming the main part of them, certain churches, + institutes, priesthoods, fervid beliefs, &c., practically promoting + religious and moral action to the fullest degrees of which humanity there + under circumstances was capable, and often conserving all there was of + justice, art, literature, and good manners—it is clear I say, that, + under the Democratic Institutes of the United States, now and henceforth, + there are no equally genuine fountains of fervid beliefs, adapted to + produce similar moral and religious results, according to our + circumstances. I consider that the churches, sects, pulpits, of the + present day, in the United States, exist not by any solid convictions, but + by a sort of tacit, supercilious, scornful suffrance. Few speak openly—none + officially—against them. But the ostent continuously imposing, who + is not aware that any such living fountains of belief in them are now + utterly ceas'd and departed from the minds of men? + </p> + <p> + <i>A Lingering Note</i>.—In the making of a full man, all the other + consciences, (the emotional, courageous, intellectual, esthetic, &c.,) + are to be crown'd and effused by the religious conscience. In the higher + structure of a human self, or of community, the Moral, the Religious, the + Spiritual, is strictly analogous to the subtle vitalization and antiseptic + play call'd Health in the physiologic structure. To person or State, the + main verteber (or rather <i>the</i> verteber) is Morality. + </p> + <p> + That is indeed the only real vitalization of character, and of all the + supersensual, even heroic and artistic portions of man or nationality. It + is to run through and knit the superior parts, and keep man or State vital + and upright, as health keeps the body straight and blooming. Of course a + really grand and strong and beautiful character is probably to be slowly + grown, and adjusted strictly with reference to itself, its own personal + and social sphere—with (paradox though it may be) the clear + understanding that the conventional theories of life, worldly ambition, + wealth, office, fame, &c., are essentially but glittering mayas, + delusions. + </p> + <p> + Doubtless the greatest scientists and theologians will sometimes find + themselves saying, It isn't only those who know most, who contribute most + to God's glory. Doubtless these very scientists at times stand with bared + heads before the humblest lives and personalities. For there is something + greater (is there not?) than all the science and poems of the world—above + all else, like the stars shining eternal—above Shakspere's plays, or + Concord philosophy, or art of Angelo or Raphael—something that + shines elusive, like beams of Hesperus at evening—high above all the + vaunted wealth and pride—prov'd by its practical outcropping in + life, each case after its own concomitants—the intuitive blending of + divine love and faith in a human emotional character—blending for + all, for the unlearn'd, the common, and the poor. + </p> + <p> + I don't know in what book I once read, (possibly the remark has been made + in books, all ages,) that no life ever lived, even the most uneventful, + but, probed to its centre, would be found in itself as subtle a drama as + any that poets have ever sung, or playwrights fabled. Often, too, in size + and weight, that life suppos'd obscure. For it isn't only the palpable + stars; astronomers say there are dark, or almost dark, unnotic'd orbs and + suns, (like the dusky companions of Sirius, seven times as large as our + own sun,) rolling through space, real and potent as any—perhaps the + most real and potent. Yet none recks of them. In the bright lexicon we + give the spreading heavens, they have not even names. Amid ceaseless + sophistications all times, the soul would seem to glance yearningly around + for such contrasts—such cool, still offsets. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {42}In Walter Scott's reminiscences he speaks of Burns as having the most + eloquent, glowing, flashing, illuminated dark-orbed eyes he ever beheld in + a human face; and I think Elias Hicks's must have been like them. + </p> + <p> + {43} The true Christian religion, (such was the teaching of Elias Hicks,) + consists neither in rites or Bibles or sermons or Sundays—but in + noiseless secret ecstasy and unremitted aspiration, in purity, in a good + practical life, in charity to the poor and toleration to all. He said, "A + man may keep the Sabbath, may belong to a church and attend all the + observances, have regular family prayer, keep a well-bound copy of the + Hebrew Scriptures in a conspicuous place in his house, and yet not be a + truly religious person at all." E. believ'd little in a church as + organiz'd-even his own—with houses, ministers, or with salaries, + creeds, Sundays, saints, Bibles, holy festivals, &c. But he believ' d + always in the universal church, in the soul of man, invisibly rapt, + ever-waiting, ever-responding to universal truths.—He was fond of + pithy proverbs. He said, "It matters not where you live, but how you + live." He said once to my father, "They talk of the devil—I tell + thee, Walter, there is no worse devil than man." + </p> + <h3> + GEORGE FOX (AND SHAKSPERE) + </h3> + <p> + While we are about it, we must almost Inevitably go back to the origin of + the Society of which Elias Hicks has so far prov'd to be the most mark'd + individual result. We must revert to the latter part of the 16th, and all, + or nearly all of that 17th century, crowded with so many important + historical events, changes, and personages. Throughout Europe, and + especially in what we call our Mother Country, men were unusually arous'd—(some + would say demented.) It was a special age of the insanity of witch-trials + and witch-hangings. In one year 60 were hung for witchcraft in one English + county alone. It was peculiarly an age of military-religious conflict. + Protestantism and Catholicism were wrestling like giants for the mastery, + straining every nerve. Only to think of it—that age! its events, + persons—Shakspere just dead, (his folios publish'd, complete)—Charles + 1st, the shadowy spirit and the solid block! To sum up all, it was the age + of Cromwell! + </p> + <p> + As indispensable foreground, indeed, for Elias Hicks, and perhaps sine qua + non to an estimate of the kind of man, we must briefly transport ourselves + back to the England of that period. As I say, it is the time of tremendous + moral and political agitation; ideas of conflicting forms, governments, + theologies, seethe and dash like ocean storms, and ebb and flow like + mighty tides. It was, or had been, the time of the long feud between the + Parliament and the Crown. In the midst of the sprouts, began George Fox—born + eight years after the death of Shakspere. He was the son of a weaver, + himself a shoemaker, and was "converted" before the age of 20. But O the + sufferings, mental and physical, through which those years of the strange + youth pass'd! He claim'd to be sent by God to fulfill a mission. "I come," + he said, "to direct people to the spirit that gave forth the Scriptures." + The range of his thought, even then, cover'd almost every important + subject of after times, anti-slavery, women's rights, &c. Though in a + low sphere, and among the masses, he forms a mark'd feature in the age. + </p> + <p> + And how, indeed, beyond all any, that stormy and perturb'd age! The + foundations of the old, the superstitious, the conventionally poetic, the + credulous, all breaking—the light of the new, and of science and + democracy, definitely beginning—a mad, fierce, almost crazy age! The + political struggles of the reigns of the Charleses, and of the + Protectorate of Cromwell, heated to frenzy by theological struggles. Those + were the years following the advent and practical working of the + Reformation—but Catholicism is yet strong, and yet seeks supremacy. + We think our age full of the flush of men and doings, and culminations of + war and peace; and so it is. But there could hardly be a grander and more + picturesque and varied age than that. + </p> + <p> + Born out of and in this age, when Milton, Bunyan, Dryden and John Locke + were still living—amid the memories of Queen Elizabeth and James + First, and the events of their reigns—when the radiance of that + galaxy of poets, warriors, statesmen, captains, lords, explorers, wits and + gentlemen, that crowded the courts and times of those sovereigns still + fill'd the atmosphere—when America commencing to be explor'd and + settled commenc'd also to be suspected as destin'd to overthrow the old + standards and calculations—when Feudalism, like a sunset, seem'd to + gather all its glories, reminiscences, personalisms, in one last gorgeous + effort, before the advance of a new day, a new incipient genius—amid + the social and domestic circles of that period—indifferent to + reverberations that seem'd enough to wake the dead, and in a sphere far + from the pageants of the court, the awe of any personal rank or charm of + intellect, or literature, or the varying excitement of Parliamentarian or + Royalist fortunes—this curious young rustic goes wandering up and + down England. + </p> + <p> + George Fox, born 1624, was of decent stock, in ordinary lower life—as + he grew along toward manhood, work'd at shoemaking, also at farm labors—loved + to be much by himself, half-hidden in the woods, reading the Bible—went + about from town to town, dress'd in leather clothes—walk'd much at + night, solitary, deeply troubled ("the inward divine teaching of the + Lord")—sometimes goes among the ecclesiastical gatherings of the + great professors, and though a mere youth bears bold testimony—goes + to and fro disputing—(must have had great personality)—heard + the voice of the Lord speaking articulately to him, as he walk'd in the + fields—feels resistless commands not to be explain'd, but follow'd, + to abstain from taking off his hat, to say <i>Thee</i> and <i>Thou</i>, + and not bid others Good morning or Good evening-was illiterate, could just + read and write-testifies against shows, games, and frivolous pleasures—enters + the courts and warns the judges that they see to doing justice—goes + into public houses and market-places, with denunciations of drunkenness + and money-making—rises in the midst of the church-services, and + gives his own explanations of the ministers' explanations, and of Bible + passages and texts—sometimes for such things put in prison, + sometimes struck fiercely on the mouth on the spot, or knock'd down, and + lying there beaten and bloody—was of keen wit, ready to any question + with the most apropos of answers—was sometimes press'd for a + soldier, (<i>him</i> for a soldier!)—was indeed terribly buffeted; + but goes, goes, goes—often sleeping out-doors, under hedges, or hay + stacks—forever taken before justices—improving such, and all + occasions, to <i>bear testimony</i>, and give good advice—still + enters the "steeple-houses," (as he calls churches,) and though often + dragg'd out and whipt till he faints away, and lies like one dead, when he + comes-to—stands up again, and offering himself all bruis'd and + bloody, cries out to his tormenters, "Strike—strike again, here + where you have not yet touch'd! my arms, my head, my cheeks,"—Is at + length arrested and sent up to London, confers with the Protector, + Cromwell,—is set at liberty, and holds great meetings in London. + </p> + <p> + Thus going on, there is something in him that fascinates one or two here, + and three or four there, until gradually there were others who went about + in the same spirit, and by degrees the Society of Friends took shape, and + stood among the thousand religious sects of the world. Women also catch + the contagion, and go round, often shamefully misused. By such contagion + these ministerings, by scores, almost hundreds of poor travelling men and + women, keep on year after year, through ridicule, whipping, imprisonment, + &c.—some of the Friend-ministers emigrate to New England—where + their treatment makes the blackest part of the early annals of the New + World. Some were executed, others maim'd, par-burnt, and scourg'd—two + hundred die in prison—some on the gallows, or at the stake. + </p> + <p> + George Fox himself visited America, and found a refuge and hearers, and + preach'd many times on Long Island, New York State. In the village of + Oysterbay they will show you the rock on which he stood, (1672,) + addressing the multitude, in the open air—thus rigidly following the + fashion of apostolic times.—(I have heard myself many reminiscences + of him.) Flushing also contains (or contain'd—I have seen them) + memorials of Fox, and his son, in two aged white-oak trees, that shaded + him while he bore his testimony to people gather'd in the highway.—Yes, + the American Quakers were much persecuted—almost as much, by a sort + of consent of all the other sects, as the Jews were in Europe in the + middle ages. In New England, the cruelest laws were pass'd, and put in + execution against them. As said, some were whipt—women the same as + men. Some had their ears cut off—others their tongues pierc'd with + hot irons—others their faces branded. Worse still, a woman and three + men had been hang'd, (1660.)—Public opinion, and the statutes, + join'd together, in an odious union, Quakers, Baptists, Roman Catholics + and Witches.—Such a fragmentary sketch of George Fox and his time—and + the advent of "the Society of Friends" in America. + </p> + <p> + Strange as it may sound, Shakspere and George Fox, (think of them! compare + them!) were born and bred of similar stock, in much the same surroundings + and station in life—from the same England—and at a similar + period. One to radiate all of art's, all literature's splendor—a + splendor so dazzling that he himself is almost lost in it, and his + contemporaries the same—his fictitious Othello, Romeo, Hamlet, Lear, + as real as any lords of England or Europe then and there—more real + to us, the mind sometimes thinks, than the man Shakspere himself. Then the + other—may we indeed name him the same day? What is poor plain George + Fox compared to William Shakspere—to fancy's lord, imagination's + heir? Yet George Fox stands for something too—a thought—the + thought that wakes in silent hours—perhaps the deepest, most eternal + thought latent in the human soul. This is the thought of God, merged in + the thoughts of moral right and the immortality of identity. Great, great + is this thought—aye, greater than all else. When the gorgeous + pageant of Art, refulgent in the sunshine, color'd with roses and gold—with + all the richest mere poetry, old or new, (even Shakespere's) with all that + statue, play, painting, music, architecture, oratory, can effect, ceases + to satisfy and please—When the eager chase after wealth flags, and + beauty itself becomes a loathing—and when all worldly or carnal or + esthetic, or even scientific values, having done their office to the human + character, and minister'd their part to its development—then, if not + before, comes forward this over-arching thought, and brings its + eligibilities, germinations. Most neglected in life of all humanity's + attributes, easily cover'd with crust, deluded and abused, rejected, yet + the only certain source of what all are seeking, but few or none finding + it I for myself clearly see the first, the last, the deepest depths and + highest heights of art, of literature, and of the purposes of life. I say + whoever labors here, makes contributions here, or best of all sets an + incarnated example here, of life or death, is dearest to humanity—remains + after the rest are gone. And here, for these purposes, and up to the light + that was in him, the man Elias Hicks—as the man George Fox had done + years before him—lived long, and died, faithful in life, and + faithful in death. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GOOD-BYE MY FANCY + </h2> + <h3> + AN OLD MAN'S REJOINDER + </h3> + <p> + In the domain of Literature loftily consider'd (an accomplish'd and + veteran critic in his just out work{44} now says,) 'the kingdom of the + Father has pass'd; the kingdom of the Son is passing; the kingdom of the + Spirit begins.' Leaving the reader to chew on and extract the juice and + meaning of this, I will proceed to say in melanged form what I have had + brought out by the English author's essay (he discusses the poetic art + mostly) on my own, real, or by him supposed, views and purports. If I give + any answers to him, or explanations of what my books intend, they will be + not direct but indirect and derivative. Of course this brief jotting is + personal. Something very like querulous egotism and growling may break + through the narrative (for I have been and am rejected by all the great + magazines, carry now my 72d annual burden, and have been a paralytic for + 18 years.) + </p> + <p> + No great poem or other literary or artistic work of any scope, old or new, + can be essentially consider'd without weighing first the age, politics (or + want of politics) and aim, visible forms, unseen soul, and current times, + out of the midst of which it rises and is formulated: as the Biblic + canticles and their days and spirit—as the Homeric, or Dante's + utterance, or Shakspere's, or the old Scotch or Irish ballads, or Ossian, + or Omar Khayyam. So I have conceiv'd and launch'd, and work'd for years + at, my 'Leaves of Grass'—personal emanations only at best, but with + specialty of emergence and background—the ripening of the nineteenth + century, the thought and fact and radiation of individuality, of America, + the secession war, and showing the democratic conditions supplanting + everything that insults them or impedes their aggregate way. Doubtless my + poems illustrate (one of novel thousands to come for a long period) those + conditions; but "democratic art" will have to wait long before it is + satisfactorily formulated and defined—if it ever is. + </p> + <p> + I will now for one indicative moment lock horns with what many Think the + greatest thing, the question of <i>art</i>, so-call'd. I have not seen + without learning something therefrom, how, with hardly an exception, the + poets of this age devote themselves, always mainly, sometimes altogether, + to fine rhyme, spicy verbalism, the fabric and cut of the garment, + jewelry, <i>concetti</i>, style, art. To-day these adjuncts are certainly + the effort, beyond all else, yet the lesson of Nature undoubtedly is, to + proceed with single purpose toward the result necessitated, and for which + the time has arrived, utterly regardless of the outputs of shape, + appearance or criticism, which are always left to settle themselves. I + have not only not bother'd much about style, form, art, etc., but confess + to more or less apathy (I believe I have sometimes caught myself in + decided aversion) toward them throughout, asking nothing of them but + negative advantages—that they should never impede me, and never + under any circumstances, or for their own purposes only, assume any + mastery over me. + </p> + <p> + From the beginning I have watch'd the sharp and sometimes heavy and + deep-penetrating objections and reviews against my work, and I hope + entertain'd and audited them; (for I have probably had an advantage in + constructing from a central and unitary principle since the first, but at + long intervals and stages—sometimes lapses of five or six years, or + peace or war.) Ruskin, the Englishman, charges as a fearful and serious + lack that my poems have no humor. A profound German critic complains that, + compared with the luxuriant and well-accepted songs of the world, there is + about my verse a certain coldness, severity, absence of spice, polish, or + of consecutive meaning and plot. (The book is autobiographic at bottom, + and may-be I do not exhibit and make ado about the stock passions: I am + partly of Quaker stock.) Then E.C. Stedman finds (or found) mark'd fault + with me because while celebrating the common people <i>en masse</i>, I do + not allow enough heroism and moral merit and good intentions to the + choicer classes, the college-bred, the <i>état-major</i>. It is quite + probable that S. is right in the matter. In the main I myself look, and + have from the first look'd, to the bulky democratic <i>torso</i> of the + United States even for esthetic and moral attributes of serious account—and + refused to aim at or accept anything less. If America is only for the rule + and fashion and small typicality of other lands (the rule of the <i>état-major</i>) + it is not the land I take it for, and should to-day feel that my literary + aim and theory had been blanks and misdirections. Strictly judged, most + modern poems are but larger or smaller lumps of sugar, or slices of + toothsome sweet cake—even the banqueters dwelling on those glucose + flavors as a main part of the dish. Which perhaps leads to something: to + have great heroic poetry we need great readers—a heroic appetite and + audience. Have we at present any such? + </p> + <p> + Then the thought at the centre, never too often repeated. Boundless + material wealth, free political organization, immense geographic area, and + unprecedented "business" and products—even the most active intellect + and "culture"—will not place this Commonwealth of ours on the + topmost range of history and humanity—or any eminence of "democratic + art"—to say nothing of its pinnacle. Only the production (and on the + most copious scale) of loftiest moral, spiritual and heroic personal + illustrations—a great native Literature headed with a Poetry + stronger and sweeter than any yet. If there can be any such thing as a + kosmic modern and original song, America needs it, and is worthy of it. + </p> + <p> + In my opinion to-day (bitter as it is to say so) the outputs through + civilized nations everywhere from the great words Literature, Art, + Religion, &c., with their conventional administerers, stand squarely + in the way of what the vitalities of those great words signify, more than + they really prepare the soil for them—or plant the seeds, or + cultivate or garner the crop. My own opinion has long been, that for New + World service our ideas of beauty (inherited from the Greeks, and so on to + Shakspere—<i>query</i>—perverted from them?) need to be + radically changed, and made anew for to-day's purposes and finer + standards. But if so, it will all come in due time—the real change + will be an autochthonic, interior, constitutional, even local one, from + which our notions of beauty (lines and colors are wondrous lovely, but + character is lovelier) will branch or offshoot. + </p> + <p> + So much have I now rattled off (old age's garrulity,) that there is not + space for explaining the most important and pregnant principle of all, + viz., that Art is one, is not partial, but includes all times and forms + and sorts—is not exclusively aristocratic or democratic, or oriental + or occidental. My favorite symbol would be a good font of type, where the + impeccable long-primer rejects nothing. Or the old Dutch flour-miller who + said, "I never bother myself what road the folks come—I only want + good wheat and rye." + </p> + <p> + The font is about the same forever. Democratic art results of democratic + development, from tinge, true nationality, belief, in the one setting up + from it. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {44} Two new volumes, "Essays Speculative and Suggestive," by John + Addington Symonds. One of the Essays is on "Democratic Art," in which I + and my books are largely alluded to and cited and dissected. It is this + part of the vols. that has caused the off-hand lines above—(first + thanking Mr. S. for his invariable courtesy of personal treatment). + </p> + <h3> + OLD POETS + </h3> + <p> + Poetry (I am clear) is eligible of something far more ripen'd and ample, + our lands and pending days, than it has yet produced from any utterance + old or new. Modern or new poetry, too, (viewing or challenging it with + severe criticism,) is largely a-void—while the very cognizance, or + even suspicion of that void, and the need of filling it, proves a + certainty of the hidden and waiting supply. Leaving other lands and + languages to speak for themselves, we can abruptly but deeply suggest it + best from our own—going first to oversea illustrations, and standing + on them. Think of Byron, Burns, Shelley, Keats, (even first-raters, "the + brothers of the radiant summit," as William O'Connor calls them,) as + having done only their precursory and 'prentice work, and all their best + and real poems being left yet unwrought, untouch'd. Is it difficult to + imagine ahead of us and them, evolv'd from them, poesy completer far than + any they themselves fulfill'd? One has in his eye and mind some very + large, very old, entirely sound and vital tree or vine, like certain + hardy, ever-fruitful specimens in California and Canada, or down in + Mexico, (and indeed in all lands) beyond the chronological records—illustrations + of growth, continuity, power, amplitude and <i>exploitation</i>, almost + beyond statement, but proving fact and possibility, outside of argument. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps, indeed, the rarest and most blessed quality of transcendent noble + poetry—as of law, and of the profoundest wisdom and estheticism—is, + (I would suggest,) from sane, completed, vital, capable old age. + </p> + <p> + The final proof of song or personality is a sort of matured, accreted, + superb, evoluted, almost divine, impalpable diffuseness and atmosphere or + invisible magnetism, dissolving and embracing all—and not any + special achievement of passion, pride, metrical form, epigram, plot, + thought, or what is call'd beauty. The bud of the rose or the half-blown + flower is beautiful, of course, but only the perfected bloom or apple or + finish'd wheat-head is beyond the rest. Completed fruitage like this comes + (in my opinion) to a grand age, in man or woman, through an essentially + sound continuated physiology and psychology (both important) and is the + culminating glorious aureole of all and several preceding. Like the tree + or vine just mention'd, it stands at last in a beauty, power and + productiveness of its own, above all others, and of a sort and style + uniting all criticisms, proofs and adherences. + </p> + <p> + Let us diversify the matter a little by portraying some of the American + poets from our own point of view. + </p> + <p> + Longfellow, reminiscent, polish'd, elegant, with the air of finest + conventional library, picture-gallery or parlor, with ladies and gentlemen + in them, and plush and rosewood, and ground-glass lamps, and mahogany and + ebony furniture, and a silver inkstand and scented satin paper to write + on. + </p> + <p> + Whittier stands for morality (not in any all-accepting philosophic or + Hegelian sense, but) filter'd through a Puritanical or Quaker filter—is + incalculably valuable as a genuine utterance, (and the finest,)—with + many local and Yankee and <i>genre</i> bits—all hued with + anti-slavery coloring—(the <i>genre</i> and anti-slavery + contributions all precious—all help.) Whittier's is rather a grand + figure, but pretty lean and ascetic—no Greek-not universal and + composite enough (don't try—don't wish to be) for ideal Americanism. + Ideal Americanism would take the Greek spirit and law, and democratize and + scientize and (thence) truly Christianize them for the whole, the globe, + all history, all ranks and lands, all facts, all good and bad. (Ah this <i>bad</i>—this + nineteen-twentieths of us all! What a stumbling-block it remains for poets + and metaphysicians—what a chance (the strange, clear-as-ever + inscription on the old dug-up tablet) it offers yet for being translated—what + can be its purpose in the God-scheme of this universe, and all?) + </p> + <p> + Then William Cullen Bryant—meditative, serious, from first to last + tending to threnodies—his genius mainly lyrical—when reading + his pieces who could expect or ask for more magnificent ones than such as + "The Battle-Field," and "A Forest Hymn"? Bryant, unrolling, prairie-like, + notwithstanding his mountains and lakes—moral enough (yet worldly + and conventional)—a naturalist, pedestrian, gardener and fruiter—well + aware of books, but mixing to the last in cities and society. I am not + sure but his name ought to lead the list of American bards. Years ago I + thought Emerson pre eminent (and as to the last polish and intellectual + cuteness may-be I think so still)—but, for reasons, I have been + gradually tending to give the file-leading place for American native poesy + to W. C. B. + </p> + <p> + Of Emerson I have to confirm my already avow'd opinion regarding his + highest bardic and personal attitude. Of the galaxy of the past—of + Poe, Halleck, Mrs. Sigourney, Allston, Willis, Dana, + </p> + <p> + John Pierpont, W. G. Simms, Robert Sands, Drake, Hillhouse, Theodore Fay, + Margaret Fuller, Epes Sargent, Boker, Paul Hayne, Lanier, and others, I + fitly in essaying such a theme as this, and reverence for their memories, + may at least give a heart-benison on the list of their names. + </p> + <p> + Time and New World humanity having the venerable resemblances more than + anything else, and being "the same subject continued," just here in 1890, + one gets a curious nourishment and lift (I do) from all those grand old + veterans, Bancroft, Kossuth, von Moltke—and such typical + specimen-reminiscences as Sophocles and Goethe, genius, health, beauty of + person, riches, rank, renown and length of days, all combining and + centering in one case. + </p> + <p> + Above everything, what could humanity and literature do without the + mellow, last-justifying, averaging, bringing-up of many, many years—a + great old age amplified? Every really first-class production has likely to + pass through the crucial tests of a generation, perhaps several + generations. Lord Bacon says the first sight of any work really new and + first-rate in beauty and originality always arouses something disagreeable + and repulsive. Voltaire term'd the Shaksperean works "a huge dunghill"; + Hamlet he described (to the Academy, whose members listen'd with + approbation) as "the dream of a drunken savage, with a few flashes of + beautiful thoughts." And not the Ferney sage alone; the orthodox judges + and law-givers of France, such as La Harpe, J. L. Geoffrey, and + Chateaubriand, either join'd in Voltaire's verdict, or went further. + Indeed the classicists and regulars there still hold to it. The lesson is + very significant in all departments. People resent anything new as a + personal insult. When umbrellas were first used in England, those who + carried them were hooted and pelted so furiously that their lives were + endanger'd. The same rage encounter'd the attempt in theatricals to + perform women's parts by real women, which was publicly consider'd + disgusting and outrageous. Byron thought Pope's verse incomparably ahead + of Homer and Shakspere. One of the prevalent objections, in the days of + Columbus was, the learn'd men boldly asserted that if a ship should reach + India she would never get back again, because the rotundity of the globe + would present a kind of mountain, up which it would be impossible to sail + even with the most favorable wind. + </p> + <p> + "Modern poets," says a leading Boston journal, "enjoy longevity. Browning + lived to be seventy-seven. Wordsworth, Bryant, Emerson, and Longfellow + were old men. Whittier, Tennyson, and Walt Whitman still live." + </p> + <p> + Started out by that item on Old Poets and Poetry for chyle to inner + American sustenance—I have thus gossipp'd about it all, and treated + it from my own point of view, taking the privilege of rambling wherever + the talk carried me. Browning is lately dead; Bryant, Emerson and + Longfellow have not long pass'd away; and yes, Whittier and Tennyson + remain, over eighty years old—the latter having sent out not long + since a fresh volume, which the English-speaking Old and New Worlds are + yet reading. I have already put on record my notions of T. and his + effusions: they are very attractive and flowery to me—but flowers, + too, are at least as profound as anything; and by common consent T. is + settled as the poetic cream-skimmer of our age's melody, <i>ennui</i> and + polish—a verdict in which I agree, and should say that nobody (not + even Shakspere) goes deeper in those exquisitely touch'd and half-hidden + hints and indirections left like faint perfumes in the crevices of his + lines. Of Browning I don't know enough to say much; he must be studied + deeply out, too, and quite certainly repays the trouble—but I am old + and indolent, and cannot study (and never did.) + </p> + <p> + Grand as to-day's accumulative fund of poetry is, there is certainly + something unborn, not yet come forth, different from anything now + formulated in any verse, or contributed by the past in any land—something + waited for, craved, hitherto non-express'd. What it will be, and how, no + one knows. It will probably have to prove itself by itself and its + readers. One thing, it must run through entire humanity (this new word and + meaning Solidarity has arisen to us moderns) twining all lands like a + divine thread, stringing all beads, pebbles or gold, from God and the + soul, and like God's dynamics and sunshine illustrating all and having + reference to all. From anything like a cosmical point of view, the + entirety of imaginative literature's themes and results as we get them + to-day seems painfully narrow. All that has been put in statement, + tremendous as it is, what is it compared with the vast fields and values + and varieties left unreap'd? Of our own country, the splendid races North + or South, and especially of the Western and Pacific regions, it sometimes + seems to me their myriad noblest Homeric and Biblic elements are all + untouch'd, left as if ashamed of, and only certain very minor occasional + <i>delirium tremens</i> glints studiously sought and put in print, in + short tales, "poetry" or books. + </p> + <p> + I give these speculations, or notions, in all their audacity, for the + comfort of thousands—perhaps a majority of ardent minds, women's and + young men's—who stand in awe and despair before the immensity of + suns and stars already in the firmament. Even in the Iliad and Shakspere + there is (is there not?) a certain humiliation produced to us by the + absorption of them, unless we sound in equality, or above them, the songs + due our own democratic era and surroundings, and the full assertion of + ourselves. And in vain (such is my opinion) will America seek successfully + to tune any superb national song unless the heart-strings of the people + start it from their own breasts—to be return'd and echoed there + again. + </p> + <h3> + SHIP AHOY + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In dreams I was a ship, and sail'd the boundless seas, + Sailing and ever sailing—all seas and into every port, or out + upon the offing, + Saluting, cheerily hailing each mate, met or pass'd, little or big, + "Ship ahoy!" thro' trumpet or by voice—if nothing more, some + friendly merry word at least, + For companionship and good will for ever to all and each. +</pre> + <h3> + FOR QUEEN VICTORIA'S BIRTHDAY + </h3> + <p> + <i>An American arbutus bunch to be put in a little vase on the royal + breakfast table May 24th, 1890</i>. + </p> + <p> + Lady, accept a birth-day thought—haply an idle gift and token, Right + from the scented soil's May-utterance here, (Smelling of countless + blessings, prayers, and old-time thanks,){45} A bunch of white and pink + arbutus, silent, spicy, shy, From Hudson's, Delaware's, or Potomac's woody + banks. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {45} NOTE.—Very little, as we Americans stand this day, with our + sixty-five or seventy millions of population, an immense surplus in the + treasury, and all that actual power or reserve power (land and sea) so + dear to nations—very little I say do we realize that curious + crawling national shudder when the "Trent affair" promis'd to bring upon + us a war with Great Britain—follow'd unquestionably, as that war + would have, by recognition of the Southern Confederacy from all the + leading European nations. It is now certain that all this then inevitable + train of calamity hung on arrogant and peremptory phrases in the prepared + and written missive of the British Minister, to America, which the Queen + (and Prince Albert latent) positively and promptly cancell'd; and which + her firm attitude did alone actually erase and leave out, against all the + other official prestige and Court of St. James's. On such minor and + personal incidents (so to call them,) often depend the great growths and + turns of civilization. This moment of a woman and a queen surely swung the + grandest oscillation of modern history's pendulum. Many sayings and doings + of that period, from foreign potentates and powers, might well be dropt in + oblivion by America—but never <i>this</i>, if I could have my way. + W. W. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AMERICAN NATIONAL LITERATURE + </h2> + <h3> + <i>Is there any such thing—or can there ever be?</i> + </h3> + <p> + So you want an essay about American National Literature, (tremendous and + fearful subject!) do you?{46} Well, if you will let me put down some + melanged cogitations regarding the matter, hap-hazard, and from my own + points of view, I will try. Horace Greeley wrote a book named "Hints + toward Reforms," and the title-line was consider'd the best part of all. + In the present case I will give a few thoughts and suggestions, of good + and ambitious intent enough anyhow—first reiterating the question + right out plainly: American National Literature—is there + distinctively any such thing, or can there ever be? First to me comes an + almost indescribably august form, the People, with varied typical shapes + and attitudes-then the divine mirror, Literature. + </p> + <p> + As things are, probably no more puzzling question ever offer'd itself than + (going back to old Nile for a trope,) What bread-seeds of printed + mentality shall we cast upon America's waters, to grow and return after + many days? Is there for the future authorship of the United States any + better way than submission to the teeming facts, events, activities, and + importations already vital through and beneath them all? I have often + ponder'd it, and felt myself disposed to let it go at that. Indeed, are + not those facts and activities and importations potent and certain to + fulfil themselves all through our Commonwealth, irrespective of any + attempt from individual guidance? But allowing all, and even at that, a + good part of the matter being honest discussion, examination, and earnest + personal presentation, we may even for sanitary exercise and contact + plunge boldly into the spread of the many waves and cross-tides, as + follows. Or, to change the figure, I will present my varied little + collation (what is our Country itself but an infinitely vast and varied + collation?) in the hope that the show itself indicates a duty getting more + and more incumbent every day. + </p> + <p> + In general, civilization's totality or real representative National + Literature formates itself (like language, or "the weather") not from two + or three influences, however important, nor from any learned syllabus, or + criticism, or what ought to be, nor from any minds or advice of + toploftical quarters—and indeed not at all from the influences and + ways ostensibly supposed (though they too are adopted, after a sort)—but + slowly, slowly, curiously, from many more and more, deeper mixings and + siftings (especially in America) and generations and years and races, and + what largely appears to be chance—but is not chance at all. First of + all, for future National Literature in America, New England (the + technically moral and schoolmaster region, as a cynical fellow I know + calls it) and the three or four great Atlantic-coast cities, highly as + they to-day suppose they dominate the whole, will have to haul in their + horns. <i>Ensemble</i> is the tap-root of National Literature. America is + become already a huge world of peoples, rounded and orbic climates, + idiocrasies, and geographies—forty-four Nations curiously and + irresistibly blent and aggregated in ONE NATION, with one imperial + language, and one unitary set of social and legal standards over all—and + (I predict) a yet to be National Literature. (In my mind this last, if it + ever comes, is to prove grander and more important for the Commonwealth + than its politics and material wealth and trade, vast and indispensable as + those are.) + </p> + <p> + Think a moment what must, beyond peradventure, be the real permanent + sub-bases, or lack of them. Books profoundly considered show a great + nation more than anything else—more than laws or manners. (This is, + of course, probably the deep-down meaning of that well-buried but + ever-vital platitude, Let me sing the people's songs, and I don't care who + makes their laws.) Books too reflect humanity <i>en masse</i>, and surely + show them splendidly, or the reverse, and prove or celebrate their + prevalent traits (these last the main things.) Homer grew out of and has + held the ages, and holds to-day, by the universal admiration for personal + prowess, courage, rankness, <i>amour propre</i>, leadership, inherent in + the whole human race. Shakspere concentrates the brilliancy of the + centuries of feudalism on the proud personalities they produced, and + paints the amorous passion. The books of the Bible stand for the final + superiority of devout emotions over the rest, and of religious adoration, + and ultimate absolute justice, more powerful than haughtiest kings or + millionaires or majorities. + </p> + <p> + What the United States are working out and establishing needs imperatively + the connivance of something subtler than ballots and legislators. The + Goethean theory and lesson (if I may briefly state it so) of the exclusive + sufficiency of artistic, scientific, literary equipment to the character, + irrespective of any strong claims of the political ties of nation, state, + or city, could have answer'd under the conventionality and pettiness of + Weimar, or the Germany, or even Europe, of those times; but it will not do + for America to-day at all. We have not only to exploit our own theory + above any that has preceded us, but we have entirely different, and + deeper-rooted, and infinitely broader themes. + </p> + <p> + When I have had a chance to see and observe a sufficient crowd of American + boys or maturer youths or well-grown men, all the States, as in my + experiences in the secession war among the soldiers, or west, east, north, + or south, or my wanderings and loiterings through cities (especially New + York and in Washington,) I have invariably found coming to the front three + prevailing personal traits, to be named here for brevity's sake under the + heads Good-Nature, Decorum, and Intelligence. (I make Good-Nature first, + as it deserves to be—it is a splendid resultant of all the rest, + like health or fine weather.) Essentially these lead the inherent list of + the high average personal born and bred qualities of the young fellows + everywhere through the United States, as any sharp observer can find out + for himself. Surely these make the vertebral stock of superbest and + noblest nations! May the destinies show it so forthcoming. I mainly + confide the whole future of our Commonwealth to the fact of these three + bases. Need I say I demand the same in the elements and spirit and + fruitage of National Literature? + </p> + <p> + Another, perhaps a born root or branch, comes under the words <i>Noblesse + Oblige</i>, even for a national rule or motto. My opinion is that this + foregoing phrase, and its spirit, should influence and permeate official + America and its representatives in Congress, the Executive Departments, + the Presidency, and the individual States—should be one of their + chiefest mottoes, and be carried out practically. (I got the idea from my + dear friend the democratic Englishwoman, Mrs. Anne Gilchrist, now dead. + "The beautiful words <i>Noblesse Oblige</i>," said she to me once, "are + not best for some develop'd gentleman or lord, but some rich and develop'd + nation—and especially for your America.") + </p> + <p> + Then another and very grave point (for this discussion is deep, deep—not + for trifles, or pretty seemings.) I am not sure but the establish'd and + old (and superb and profound, and, one may say, needed as old) conception + of Deity as mainly of moral constituency (goodness, purity, sinlessness, + &c.) has been undermined by nineteenth-century ideas and science. What + does this immense and almost abnormal development of Philanthropy mean + among the moderns? One doubts if there ever will come a day when the moral + laws and moral standards will be supplanted as over all: while time + proceeds (I find it so myself) they will probably be intrench'd deeper and + expanded wider. Then the expanded scientific and democratic and truly + philosophic and poetic quality of modernism demands a Deific identity and + scope superior to all limitations, and essentially including just as well + the so-call'd evil and crime and criminals—all the malformations, + the defective and abortions of the universe. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes the bulk of the common people (who are far more 'cute than the + critics suppose) relish a well-hidden allusion or hint carelessly dropt, + faintly indicated, and left to be disinterr'd or not. Some of the very old + ballads have delicious morsels of this kind. Greek Aristophanes and Pindar + abounded in them. (I sometimes fancy the old Hellenic audiences must have + been as generally keen and knowing as any of their poets.) Shakspere is + full of them. Tennyson has them. It is always a capital compliment from + author to reader, and worthy the peering brains of America. The mere + smartness of the common folks, however, does not need encouraging, but + qualities more solid and opportune. + </p> + <p> + What are now deepest wanted in the States as roots for their literature + are Patriotism, Nationality, Ensemble, or the ideas of these, and the + uncompromising genesis and saturation of these. Not the mere bawling and + braggadocio of them, but the radical emotion-facts, the fervor and + perennial fructifying spirit at fountain-head. And at the risk of being + misunderstood I should dwell on and repeat that a great imaginative <i>literatus</i> + for America can never be merely good and moral in the conventional method. + Puritanism and what radiates from it must always be mention'd by me with + respect; then I should say, for this vast and varied Commonwealth, + geographically and artistically, the puritanical standards are + constipated, narrow, and non-philosophic. + </p> + <p> + In the main I adhere to my positions in "Democratic Vistas," and + especially to my summing-up of American literature as far as to-day is + concern'd. In Scientism, the Medical Profession, Practical Inventions, and + Journalism, the United States have press'd forward to the glorious front + rank of advanced civilized lands, as also in the popular dissemination of + printed matter (of a superficial nature perhaps, but that is an + indispensable preparatory stage,) and have gone in common education, + so-call'd, far beyond any other land or age. Yet the high-pitch'd taunt of + Margaret Fuller, forty years ago, still sounds in the air: "It does not + follow, because the United States print and read more books, magazines, + and newspapers than all the rest of the world, that they really have + therefore a literature." For perhaps it is not alone the free schools and + newspapers, nor railroads and factories, nor all the iron, cotton, wheat, + pork, and petroleum, nor the gold and silver, nor the surplus of a hundred + or several hundred millions, nor the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments, + nor the last national census, that can put this Commonweal high or highest + on the cosmical scale of history. Something else is indispensable. All + that record is lofty, but there is a loftier. + </p> + <p> + The great current points are perhaps simple, after all: first, that the + highest developments of the New World and Democracy, and probably the best + society of the civilized world all over, are to be only reach'd and + spinally nourish'd (in my notion) by a new evolutionary sense and + treatment; and, secondly, that the evolution-principle, which is the + greatest law through nature, and of course in these States, has now + reach'd us markedly for and in our literature. + </p> + <p> + In other writings I have tried to show how vital to any aspiring + Nationality must ever be its autochthonic song, and how for a really great + people there can be no complete and glorious Name, short of emerging out + of and even rais'd on such born poetic expression, coming from its own + soil and soul, its area, spread, idiosyncrasies, and (like showers of + rain, originally rising impalpably, distill'd from land and sea,) duly + returning there again. Nor do I forget what we all owe to our ancestry; + though perhaps we are apt to forgive and bear too much for that alone. + </p> + <p> + One part of the national American literatus's task is (and it is not an + easy one) to treat the old hereditaments, legends, poems, theologies, and + even customs, with fitting respect and toleration, and at the same time + clearly understand and justify, and be devoted to and exploit our own day, + its diffused light, freedom, responsibilities, with all it necessitates, + and that our New-World circumstances and stages of development demand and + make proper. For American literature we want mighty authors, <i>not</i> + even Carlyle- and Heine-like, born and brought up in (and more or less + essentially partaking and giving out) that vast abnormal ward or + hysterical sick-chamber which in many respects Europe, with all its + glories, would seem to be. The greatest feature in current poetry (perhaps + in literature anyhow) is the almost total lack of first-class power, and + simple, natural health, flourishing and produced at first hand, typifying + our own era. Modern verse generally lacks quite altogether the modern, and + is oftener possess'd in spirit with the past and feudal, dressed may-be in + late fashions. For novels and plays often the plots and surfaces are + contemporary—but the spirit, even the fun, is morbid and effete. + </p> + <p> + There is an essential difference between the Old and New. The poems of + Asia and Europe are rooted in the long past. They celebrate man and his + intellections and relativenesses as they have been. But America, in as + high a strain as ever, is to sing them all as they are and are to be. (I + know, of course, that the past is probably a main factor in what we are + and know and must be.) At present the States are absorb'd in business, + money-making, politics, agriculture, the development of mines, + intercommunications, and other material attents—which all shove + forward and appear at their height—as, consistently with modern + civilization, they must be and should be. Then even these are but the + inevitable precedents and providers for home-born, transcendent, + democratic literature—to be shown in superior, more heroic, more + spiritual, more emotional, personalities and songs. A national literature + is, of course, in one sense, a great mirror or reflector. There must + however be something before—something to reflect. I should say now, + since the secession war, there has been, and to-day unquestionably exists, + that something. + </p> + <p> + Certainly, anyhow, the United States do not so far utter poetry, + first-rate literature, or any of the so-call'd arts, to any lofty + admiration or advantage—are not dominated or penetrated from actual + inherence or plain bent to the said poetry and arts. Other work, other + needs, current inventions, productions, have occupied and to-day mainly + occupy them. They are very 'cute and imitative and proud—can't bear + being left too glaringly away far behind the other high-class nations—and + so we set up some home "poets," "artists," painters, musicians, <i>literati</i>, + and so forth, all our own (thus claim'd.) The whole matter has gone on, + and exists to-day, probably as it should have been, and should be; as, for + the present, it must be. To all which we conclude, and repeat the terrible + query: American National Literature—is there distinctively any such + thing, or can there ever be? + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {46} The essay was for the <i>North American Review</i>, in answer to the + formal request of the editor. It appear'd in March, 1891. + </p> + <h3> + GATHERING THE CORN + </h3> + <p> + <i>Last of October</i>.—Now mellow, crisp, Autumn days, bright + moonlight nights, and gathering the corn—"cutting up," as the + farmers call it. Now, or of late, all over the country, a certain green + and brown-drab eloquence seeming to call out, "You that pretend to give + the news, and all that's going, why not give us a notice?" Truly, O + fields, as for the notice, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Take, we give it willingly." +</pre> + <p> + Only we must do it our own way. Leaving the domestic, dietary, and + commercial parts of the question (which are enormous, in fact, hardly + second to those of any other of our great soil-products), we will just + saunter down a lane we know, on an average West Jersey farm, and let the + fancy of the hour itemize America's most typical agricultural show and + specialty. + </p> + <p> + Gathering the Corn—the British call it Maize, the old Yankee farmer + Indian Corn. The great plumes, the ears well-envelop'd in their husks, the + long and pointed leaves, in summer, like green or purple ribands, with a + yellow stem line in the middle, all now turn'd dingy; the sturdy stalks, + and the rustling in the breeze—the breeze itself well tempering the + sunny noon—The varied reminiscences recall'd—the ploughing and + planting in spring—(the whole family in the field, even the little + girls and boys dropping seed in the hill)—the gorgeous sight through + July and August—the walk and observation early in the day—the + cheery call of the robin, and the low whirr of insects in the grass—the + Western husking party, when ripe—the November moonlight gathering, + and the calls, songs, laughter of the young fellows. + </p> + <p> + Not to forget, hereabouts, in the Middle States, the old worm fences, with + the gray rails and their scabs of moss and lichen—those old rails, + weather beaten, but strong yet. Why not come down from literary dignity, + and confess we are sitting on one now, under the shade of a great walnut + tree? Why not confide that these lines are pencill'd on the edge of a + woody bank, with a glistening pond and creek seen through the trees south, + and the corn we are writing about close at hand on the north? Why not put + in the delicious scent of the "life everlasting" that yet lingers so + profusely in every direction—the chromatic song of the one + persevering locust (the insect is scarcer this fall and the past summer + than for many years) beginning slowly, rising and swelling to much + emphasis, and then abruptly falling—so appropriate to the scene, so + quaint, so racy and suggestive in the warm sunbeams, we could sit here and + look and listen for an hour? Why not even the tiny, turtle-shaped, + yellow-back'd, black-spotted lady-bug that has lit on the shirt-sleeve of + the arm inditing this? Ending our list with the fall-drying grass, the + Autumn days themselves, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sweet days; so cool, so calm, so bright, +</pre> + <p> + (yet not so cool either, about noon)—the horse-mint, the wild + carrot, the mullein, and the bumble-bee. + </p> + <p> + How the half-mad vision of William Blake—how the far freer, far + firmer fantasy that wrote "Midsummer Night's Dream"—would have + revell'd night or day, and beyond stint, in one of our American corn + fields! Truly, in color, outline, material and spiritual suggestiveness, + where any more inclosing theme for idealist, poet, literary artist? + </p> + <p> + What we have written has been at noon day—but perhaps better still + (for this collation,) to steal off by yourself these fine nights, and go + slowly, musingly down the lane, when the dry and green-gray frost-touch'd + leaves seem whisper-gossipping all over the field in low tones, as if + every hill had something to say—and you sit or lean recluse near by, + and inhale that rare, rich, ripe and peculiar odor of the gather'd plant + which comes out best only to the night air. The complex impressions of the + far-spread fields and woods in the night, are blended mystically, + soothingly, indefinitely, and yet palpably to you (appealing curiously, + perhaps mostly, to the sense of smell.) All is comparative silence and + clear-shadow below, and the stars are up there with Jupiter lording it + over westward; sulky Saturn in the east, and over head the moon. A rare + well-shadow'd hour! By no means the least of the eligibilities of the + gather'd corn! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A DEATH-BOUQUET + </h2> + <h3> + <i>Pick'd Noontime, early January, 1890</i> + </h3> + <p> + Death—too great a subject to be treated so—indeed the greatest + subject—and yet I am giving you but a few random lines about it—as + one writes hurriedly the last part of a letter to catch the closing mail. + Only I trust the lines, especially the poetic bits quoted, may leave a + lingering odor of spiritual heroism afterward. For I am probably fond of + viewing all really great themes indirectly, and by side-ways and + suggestions. Certain music from wondrous voices or skilful players—then + poetic glints still more—put the soul in rapport with death, or + toward it. Hear a strain from Tennyson's late "Crossing the Bar": + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Twilight and evening bell, + And after that the dark! + And may there be no sadness of farewell, + When I embark; + + For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place + The floods may bear me far, + I hope to see my Pilot face to face + When I have crost the bar. +</pre> + <p> + Am I starting the sail-craft of poets in line? Here then a quatrain of + Phrynichus long ago to one of old Athens' favorites: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thrice-happy Sophocles! in good old age, + Bless'd as a man, and as a craftsman bless'd, + He died; his many tragedies were fair, + And fair his end, nor knew he any sorrow. +</pre> + <p> + Certain music, indeed, especially voluntaries by a good player, at + twilight—or idle rambles alone by the shore, or over prairie or on + mountain road, for that matter—favor the right mood. Words are + difficult—even impossible. No doubt any one will recall ballads or + songs or hymns (may-be instrumental performances) that have arous'd so + curiously, yet definitely, the thought of death, the mystic, the + after-realm, as no statement or sermon could—and brought it hovering + near. A happy (to call it so) and easy death is at least as much a + physiological result as a pyschological one. The foundation of it really + begins before birth, and is thence directly or indirectly shaped and + affected, even constituted, (the base stomachic) by every thing from that + minute till the time of its occurrence. And yet here is something + (Whittier's "Burning Driftwood") of an opposite coloring: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I know the solemn monotone + Of waters calling unto me; + I know from whence the airs have blown, + That whisper of the Eternal Sea; + As low my fires of driftwood burn, + I hear that sea's deep sounds increase, + And, fair in sunset light, discern + Its mirage-lifted Isles of Peace. +</pre> + <p> + Like an invisible breeze after a long and sultry day, death sometimes sets + in at last, soothingly and refreshingly, almost vitally. In not a few + cases the termination even appears to be a sort of ecstasy. Of course + there are painful deaths, but I do not believe such is at all the general + rule. Of the many hundreds I myself saw die in the fields and hospitals + during the secession war the cases of mark' d suffering or agony <i>in + extremis</i> were very rare. (It is a curious suggestion of immortality + that the mental and emotional powers remain to their clearest through all, + while the senses of pain and flesh volition are blunted or even gone.) + </p> + <p> + Then to give the following, and cease before the thought gets threadbare: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Now, land and life, finale, and farewell! + Now Voyager depart! (much, much for thee is yet in store;) + Often enough hast thou adventur'd o'er the seas, + Cautiously cruising, studying the charts, + Duly again to port and hawser's tie returning. + —But now obey thy cherish'd, secret wish, + Embrace thy friends—leave all in order; + To port and hawser's tie no more returning, + Depart upon thy endless cruise, old Sailor! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SOME LAGGARDS YET + </h2> + <h3> + THE PERFECT HUMAN VOICE + </h3> + <p> + Stating it briefly and pointedly I should suggest that the human voice is + a cultivation or form'd growth on a fair native foundation. This + foundation probably exists in nine cases out of ten. Sometimes nature + affords the vocal organ in perfection, or rather I would say near enough + to whet one's appreciation and appetite for a voice that might be truly + call'd perfection. To me the grand voice is mainly physiological—(by + which I by no means ignore the mental help, but wish to keep the emphasis + where it belongs.) Emerson says <i>manners</i> form the representative + apex and final charm and captivation of humanity: but he might as well + have changed the typicality to voice. + </p> + <p> + Of course there is much taught and written about elocution, the best + reading, speaking, &c., but it finally settles down to <i>best</i> + human vocalization. Beyond all other power and beauty, there is something + in the quality and power of the right voice (<i>timbre</i> the schools + call it) that touches the soul, the abysms. It was not for nothing that + the Greeks depended, at their highest, on poetry's and wisdom's vocal + utterance by <i>tete-a-tete</i> lectures—(indeed all the ancients + did.) + </p> + <p> + Of celebrated people possessing this wonderful vocal power, patent to me, + in former days, I should specify the contralto Alboni, Elias Hicks, Father + Taylor, the tenor Bettini, Fanny Kemble, and the old actor Booth, and in + private life many cases, often women. I sometimes wonder whether the best + philosophy and poetry, or something like the best, after all these + centuries, perhaps waits to be rous'd out yet, or suggested, by the + perfect physiological human voice. + </p> + <h3> + SHAKSPERE FOR AMERICA + </h3> + <p> + Let me send you a supplementary word to that "view" of Shakspere + attributed to me, publish'd in your July number,{47} and so courteously + worded by the reviewer (thanks! dear friend.) But you have left out what, + perhaps, is the main point, as follows: + </p> + <p> + "Even the one who at present reigns unquestion'd—of Shakspere—for + all he stands for so much in modern literature, he stands entirely for the + mighty esthetic sceptres of the past, not for the spiritual and + democratic, the sceptres of the future." (See pp. 55-58 in "November + Boughs," and also some of my further notions on Shakspere.) + </p> + <p> + The Old World (Europe and Asia) is the region of the poetry of concrete + and real things,—the past, the esthetic, palaces, etiquette, the + literature of war and love, the mythological gods, and the myths anyhow. + But the New World (America) is the region of the future, and its poetry + must be spiritual and democratic. Evolution is not the rule in Nature, in + Politics, and Inventions only, but in Verse. I know our age is greatly + materialistic, but it is greatly spiritual, too, and the future will be, + too. Even what we moderns have come to mean by <i>spirituality</i> (while + including what the Hebraic utterers, and mainly perhaps all the Greek and + other old typical poets, and also the later ones, meant) has so expanded + and color'd and vivified the comprehension of the term, that it is quite a + different one from the past. Then science, the final critic of all, has + the casting vote for future poetry. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {47} This bit was in "Poet-lore" monthly for September, 1890. + </p> + <h3> + "UNASSAIL'D RENOWN" + </h3> + <p> + The N. Y. <i>Critic</i>, Nov. 24, 1889, propounded a circular to several + persons, and giving the responses, says, "Walt Whitman's views {as follow} + are, naturally, more radical than those of any other contributor to the + discussion": + </p> + <p> + Briefly to answer impromptu your request of Oct. 19—the question + whether I think any American poet not now living deserves a place among + the thirteen "English inheritors of unassail'd renown" (Chaucer, Spenser, + Shakspere, Milton, Dryden, Pope, Gray, Burns, Wordsworth, Coleridge, + Byron, Shelley and Keats,)—and which American poets would be truly + worthy, &c. Though to me the <i>deep</i> of the matter goes down, down + beneath. I remember the London <i>Times</i> at the time, in opportune, + profound and friendly articles on Bryant's and Longfellow's deaths, spoke + of the embarrassment, warping effect, and confusion on America (her poets + and poetic students) "coming in possession of a great estate they had + never lifted a hand to form or earn"; and the further contingency of "the + English language ever having annex'd to it a lot of first-class Poetry + that would be American, not European"—proving then something + precious over all, and beyond valuation. But perhaps that is venturing + outside the question. Of the thirteen British immortals mention'd—after + placing Shakspere on a sort of pre-eminence of fame not to be invaded yet—the + names of Bryant, Emerson, Whittier and Longfellow (with even added names, + sometimes Southerners, sometimes Western or other writers of only one or + two pieces,) deserve in my opinion an equally high niche of renown as + belongs to any on the dozen of that glorious list. + </p> + <h3> + INSCRIPTION FOR A LITTLE BOOK ON GIORDANO BRUNO + </h3> + <p> + As America's mental courage (the thought comes to me to-day) is so + indebted, above all current lands and peoples, to the noble army of + Old-World martyrs past, how incumbent on us that we clear those martyrs' + lives and names, and hold them up for reverent admiration, as well as + beacons. And typical of this, and standing for it and all perhaps, + Giordano Bruno may well be put, to-day and to come, in our New World's + thankfulest heart and memory. + </p> + <p> + W.W. CAMDEN, NEW JERSEY, <i>February 24th, 1890</i>. + </p> + <h3> + SPLINTERS + </h3> + <p> + While I stand in reverence before the fact of Humanity, the People, I will + confess, in writing my L. of G., the least consideration out of all that + has had to do with it has been the consideration of "the public"—at + any rate as it now exists. Strange as it may sound for a democrat to say + so, I am clear that no free and original and lofty-soaring poem, or one + ambitious of those achievements, can possibly be fulfill'd by any writer + who has largely in his thought <i>the public</i>—or the question, + What will establish'd literature—What will the current authorities + say about it? + </p> + <p> + As far as I have sought any, not the best laid out garden or parterre has + been my model—but Nature has been. I know that in a sense the garden + is nature too, but I had to choose—I could not give both. Besides + the gardens are well represented in poetry; while Nature (in letter and in + spirit, in the divine essence,) little if at all. + </p> + <p> + Certainly, (while I have not hit it by a long shot,) I have aim'd at the + most ambitious, the best—and sometimes feel to advance that aim + (even with all its arrogance) as the most redeeming part of my books. I + have never so much cared to feed the esthetic or intellectual palates—but + if I could arouse from its slumbers that eligibility in every soul for its + own true exercise! if I could only wield that lever! + </p> + <p> + Out from the well-tended concrete and the physical—and in them and + from them only—radiate the spiritual and heroic. + </p> + <p> + Undoubtedly many points belonging to this essay—perhaps of the + greatest necessity, fitness and importance to it—have been left out + or forgotten. But the amount of the whole matter—poems, preface and + everything—is merely to make one of those little punctures or + eyelets the actors possess in the theatre-curtains to look out upon "the + house"—one brief, honest, living glance. + </p> + <h3> + HEALTH, (OLD STYLE) + </h3> + <p> + In that condition the whole body is elevated to a state by others unknown—inwardly + and outwardly illuminated, purified, made solid, strong, yet buoyant. A + singular charm, more than beauty, flickers out of, and over, the face—a + curious transparency beams in the eyes, both in the iris and the white—the + temper partakes also. Nothing that happens—no event, rencontre, + weather, &c—but it is confronted—nothing but is subdued + into sustenance—such is the marvellous transformation from the old + timorousness and the old process of causes and effects. Sorrows and + disappointments cease—there is no more borrowing trouble in advance. + A man realizes the venerable myth—he is a god walking the earth, he + sees new eligibilities, powers and beauties everywhere; he himself has a + new eyesight and hearing. The play of the body in motion takes a + previously unknown grace. Merely <i>to move</i> is then a happiness, a + pleasure—to breathe, to see, is also. All the beforehand + gratifications, drink, spirits, coffee, grease, stimulants, mixtures, late + hours, luxuries, deeds of the night, seem as vexatious dreams, and now the + awakening;—many fall into their natural places, whole-some, + conveying diviner joys. + </p> + <p> + What I append—Health, old style—I have long treasur'd—found + originally in some scrap-book fifty years ago—a favorite of mine + (but quite a glaring contrast to my present bodily state:) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On a high rock above the vast abyss, + Whose solid base tumultuous waters lave; + Whose airy high-top balmy breezes kiss, + Fresh from the white foam of the circling wave— + + There ruddy HEALTH, in rude majestic state, + His clust'ring forelock combatting the winds— + Bares to each season's change his breast elate, + And still fresh vigor from th' encounter finds; + + With mighty mind to every fortune braced, + To every climate each corporeal power, + And high-proof heart, impenetrably cased, + He mocks the quick transitions of the hour. + + Now could he hug bleak Zembla's bolted snow, + Now to Arabia's heated deserts turn, + Yet bids the biting blast more fiercely blow, + The scorching sun without abatement burn. + + There this bold Outlaw, rising with the morn, + His sinewy functions fitted for the toil, + Pursues, with tireless steps, the rapturous horn, + And bears in triumph back the shaggy spoil. + + Or, on his rugged range of towering hills, + Turns the stiff glebe behind his hardy team; + His wide-spread heaths to blithest measures tills, + And boasts the joys of life are not a dream! + + Then to his airy hut, at eve, retires, + Clasps to his open breast his buxom spouse, + Basks in his faggot's blaze, his passions fires, + And strait supine to rest unbroken bows. + + On his smooth forehead, Time's old annual score, + Tho' left to furrow, yet disdains to lie; + He bids weak sorrow tantalize no more, + And puts the cup of care contemptuous by. + + If, from some inland height, that, skirting, bears + Its rude encroachments far into the vale, + He views where poor dishonor'd nature wears + On her soft cheek alone the lily pale; + + How will he scorn alliance with the race, + Those aspen shoots that shiver at a breath; + Children of sloth, that danger dare not face, + And find in life but an extended death: + + Then from the silken reptiles will he fly, + To the bold cliff in bounding transports run, + And stretch'd o'er many a wave his ardent eye, + Embrace the enduring Sea-Boy as his son! + + Yes! thine alone—from pain, from sorrow free, + The lengthen'd life with peerless joys replete; + Then let me, Lord of Mountains, share with thee + The hard, the early toil—the relaxation sweet. +</pre> + <h3> + GAY-HEARTEDNESS + </h3> + <p> + Walking on the old Navy Yard bridge, Washington, D. C., once with a + companion, Mr. Marshall, from England, a great traveler and observer, as a + squad of laughing young black girls pass'd us—then two + copper-color'd boys, one good-looking lad 15 or 16, barefoot, running + after—"What <i>gay creatures</i> they all appear to be," said Mr. M. + Then we fell to talking about the general lack of buoyant animal spirits. + "I think," said Mr. M., "that in all my travels, and all my intercourse + with people of every and any class, especially the cultivated ones, (the + literary and fashionable folks,) I have never yet come across what I + should call a really GAY-HEARTED MAN." + </p> + <p> + It was a terrible criticism—cut into me like a surgeon's lance. Made + me silent the whole walk home. + </p> + <h3> + AS IN A SWOON. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As in a swoon, one instant, + Another sun, ineffable, full-dazzles me, + And all the orbs I knew—and brighter, unknown orbs; + One instant of the future land, Heaven's land. +</pre> + <h3> + L. OF G. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thoughts, suggestions, aspirations, pictures, + Cities and farms—by day and night—book of peace and war, + Of platitudes and of the commonplace. + + For out-door health, the land and sea—for good will, + For America—for all the earth, all nations, the common people, + (Not of one nation only—not America only.) + + In it each claim, ideal, line, by all lines, claims, ideals, + temper'd; + Each right and wish by other wishes, rights. +</pre> + <h3> + AFTER THE ARGUMENT. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A group of little children with their ways and chatter flow in, + Like welcome rippling water o'er my heated nerves and flesh. +</pre> + <h3> + FOR US TWO, READER DEAR. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Simple, spontaneous, curious, two souls interchanging, + With the original testimony for us continued to the last. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MEMORANDA + </h2> + <p> + {Let me indeed turn upon myself a little of the light I have been so fond + of casting on others. + </p> + <p> + Of course these few exceptional later mems are far, far short of one's + concluding history or thoughts or life-giving—only a hap-hazard + pinch of all. But the old Greek proverb put it, "Anybody who really has a + good quality" (or bad one either, I guess) "has <i>all</i>." There's + something in the proverb; but you mustn't carry it too far. + </p> + <p> + I will not reject any theme or subject because the treatment is too + personal. + </p> + <p> + As my stuff settles into shape, I am told (and sometimes myself discover, + uneasily, but feel all right about it in calmer moments) it is mainly + autobiographic, and even egotistic after all—which I finally accept, + and am contented so. + </p> + <p> + If this little volume betrays, as it doubtless does, a weakening hand, and + decrepitude, remember it is knit together out of accumulated sickness, + inertia, physical disablement, acute pain, and listlessness. My fear will + be that at last my pieces show indooredness, and being chain'd to a chair—as + never before. Only the resolve to keep up, and on, and to add a remnant, + and even perhaps obstinately see what failing powers and decay may + contribute too, have produced it. + </p> + <p> + And now as from some fisherman's net hauling all sorts, and disbursing the + same.} + </p> + <h3> + A WORLD'S SHOW + </h3> + <p> + <i>New York, Great Exposition open'd in 1853.</i>—I went a long time + (nearly a year)—days and nights—especially the latter—as + it was finely lighted, and had a very large and copious exhibition gallery + of paintings (shown at best at night, I tho't)—hundreds of pictures + from Europe, many masterpieces—all an exhaustless study—and, + scatter'd thro' the building, sculptures, single figures or groups—among + the rest, Thorwaldsen's "Apostles," colossal in size—and very many + fine bronzes, pieces of plate from English silversmiths, and curios from + everywhere abroad—with woods from all lands of the earth—all + sorts of fabrics and products and handiwork from the workers of all + nations. + </p> + <h3> + NEW YORK—THE BAY—THE OLD NAME + </h3> + <p> + <i>Commencement of a gossipy travelling letter in a New York city paper, + May 10, 1879</i>.—My month's visit is about up; but before I get + back to Camden let me print some jottings of the last four weeks. Have you + not, reader dear, among your intimate friends, some one, temporarily + absent, whose letters to you, avoiding all the big topics and + disquisitions, give only minor, gossipy sights and scenes—just as + they come—subjects disdain'd by solid writers, but interesting to + you because they were such as happen to everybody, and were the moving + entourage to your friend—to his or her steps, eyes, mentality? Well, + with an idea something of that kind, I suppose, I set out on the following + hurrygraphs of a breezy early-summer visit to New York city and up the + North river—especially at present of some hours along Broadway. + </p> + <p> + <i>What I came to New York for</i>.—To try the experiment of a + lecture—to see whether I could stand it, and whether an audience + could—was my specific object. Some friends had invited me—it + was by no means clear how it would end—I stipulated that they should + get only a third-rate hall, and not sound the advertising trumpets a bit—and + so I started. I much wanted something to do for occupation, consistent + with my limping and paralyzed state. And now, since it came off, and since + neither my hearers nor I myself really collaps'd at the aforesaid lecture, + I intend to go up and down the land (in moderation,) seeking whom I may + devour, with lectures, and reading of my own poems—short pulls, + however—never exceeding an hour. + </p> + <p> + <i>Crossing from Jersey city, 5 to 6 P.M.</i>—The city part of the + North river with its life, breadth, peculiarities—the amplitude of + sea and wharf, cargo and commerce—one don't realize them till one + has been away a long time and, as now returning, (crossing from Jersey + city to Desbrosses-st.,) gazes on the unrivall'd panorama, and far down + the thin-vapor'd vistas of the bay, toward the Narrows—or northward + up the Hudson—or on the ample spread and infinite variety, free and + floating, of the more immediate views—a countless river series—everything + moving, yet so easy, and such plenty of room! Little, I say, do folks here + appreciate the most ample, eligible, picturesque bay and estuary + surroundings in the world! This is the third time such a conviction has + come to me after absence, returning to New York, dwelling on its + magnificent entrances—approaching the city by them from any point. + </p> + <p> + More and more, too, the <i>old name</i> absorbs into me—MANNAHATTA, + "the place encircled by many swift tides and sparkling waters." How fit a + name for America's great democratic island city! The word itself, how + beautiful! how aboriginal! how it seems to rise with tall spires, + glistening in sunshine, with such New World atmosphere, vista and action! + </p> + <h3> + A SICK SPELL + </h3> + <p> + <i>Christmas Day, 25th Dec., 1888</i>.—Am somewhat easier and freer + to-day and the last three days—sit up most of the time—read + and write, and receive my visitors. Have now been in-doors sick for seven + months—half of the time bad, bad, vertigo, indigestion, bladder, + gastric, head trouble, inertia—Dr. Bucke, Dr. Osler, Drs. Wharton + and Walsh—now Edward Wilkins my help and nurse. A fine, splendid, + sunny day. My "November Boughs" is printed and out; and my "Complete + Works, Poems and Prose," a big volume, 900 pages, also. It is ab't noon, + and I sit here pretty comfortable. + </p> + <h3> + TO BE PRESENT ONLY + </h3> + <p> + <i>At the Complimentary Dinner, Camden, New Jersey, May 31, 1889</i>.—Walt + Whitman said: My friends, though announced to give an address, there is no + such intention. Following the impulse of the spirit, (for I am at least + half of Quaker stock) I have obey'd the command to come and look at you, + for a minute, and show myself, face to face; which is probably the best I + can do. But I have felt no command to make a speech; and shall not + therefore attempt any. All I have felt the imperative conviction to say I + have already printed in my books of poems or prose; to which I refer any + who may be curious. And so, hail and farewell. Deeply acknowledging this + deep compliment, with my best respects and love to you personally—to + Camden—to New-Jersey, and to all represented here—you must + excuse me from any word further. + </p> + <h3> + "INTESTINAL AGITATION" + </h3> + <p> + <i>From Pall-Mall Gazette, London, England, Feb 8, 1890</i> Mr. Ernest + Rhys has just receiv'd an interesting letter from Walt Whitman, dated + "Camden, January 22, 1890." The following is an extract from it: + </p> + <p> + I am still here—no very mark'd or significant change or happening—fairly + buoyant spirits, &c.—but surely, slowly ebbing. At this moment + sitting here, in my den, Mickle street, by the oakwood fire, in the same + big strong old chair with wolf-skin spread over back—bright sun, + cold, dry winter day. America continues—is generally busy enough all + over her vast demesnes (intestinal agitation I call it,) talking, + plodding, making money, every one trying to get on—perhaps to get + towards the top—but no special individual signalism—(just as + well, I guess.) + </p> + <h3> + "WALT WHITMAN'S LAST 'PUBLIC'" + </h3> + <p> + The gay and crowded audience at the Art Rooms, Philadelphia, Tuesday + night, April 15, 1890, says a correspondent of the Boston <i>Transcript</i>, + April 19, might not have thought that W. W. crawl'd out of a sick bed a + few hours before, crying, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dangers retreat when boldly they're confronted, +</pre> + <p> + and went over, hoarse and half blind, to deliver his memoranda and essay + on the death of Abraham Lincoln, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of that + tragedy. He led off with the following new paragraph: + </p> + <p> + "Of Abraham Lincoln, bearing testimony twenty-five years after his death—and + of that death—I am now my friends before you. Few realize the days, + the great historic and esthetic personalities, with him in the centre, we + pass'd through. Abraham Lincoln, familiar, our own, an Illinoisian, + modern, yet tallying ancient Moses, Joshua, Ulysses, or later Cromwell, + and grander in some respects than any of them; Abraham Lincoln, that makes + the like of Homer, Plutarch, Shakspere, eligible our day or any day. My + subject this evening for forty or fifty minutes' talk is the death of this + man, and how that death will really filter into America. I am not going to + tell you anything new; and it is doubtless nearly altogether because I + ardently wish to commemorate the hour and martyrdom and name I am here. + Oft as the rolling years bring back this hour, let it again, however + briefly, be dwelt upon. For my own part I hope and intend till my own + dying day, whenever the 14th and 15th of April comes, to annually gather a + few friends and hold its tragic reminiscence. No narrow or sectional + reminiscence. It belongs to these States in their entirety—not the + North only, but the South—perhaps belongs most tenderly and devoutly + to the South, of all; for there really this man's birthstock; there and + then his antecedent stamp. Why should I not say that thence his manliest + traits, his universality, his canny, easy ways and words upon the surface—his + inflexible determination at heart? Have you ever realized it, my friends, + that Lincoln, though grafted on the West, is essentially in personnel and + character a Southern contribution?" + </p> + <p> + The most of the poet's address was devoted to the actual occurrences and + details of the murder. We believe the delivery on Tuesday was Whitman's + thirteenth of it. The old poet is now physically wreck'd. But his voice + and magnetism are the same. For the last month he has been under a severe + attack of the lately prevailing influenza, the grip, in accumulation upon + his previous ailments, and, above all, that terrible paralysis, the + bequest of secession war times. He was dress'd last Tuesday night in an + entire suit of French Canadian grey wool cloth, with broad shirt collar, + with no necktie; long white hair, red face, full beard and moustache, and + look'd as though he might weigh two hundred pounds. He had to be help'd + and led every step. In five weeks more he will begin his seventy-second + year. He is still writing a little. + </p> + <h3> + INGERSOLL'S SPEECH + </h3> + <p> + <i>From the Camden Post, N.J., June 2, 1890</i> <i>He attends and makes a + speech at the celebration of Walt Whitman's birthday</i>.—Walt + Whitman is now in his seventy-second year. His younger friends, literary + and personal, men and women, gave him a complimentary supper last Saturday + night, to note the close of his seventy-first year, and the late curious + and unquestionable "boom" of the old man's wide-spreading popularity, and + that of his "Leaves of Grass." There were thirty-five in the room, mostly + young, but some old, or beginning to be. The great feature was Ingersoll's + utterance. It was probably, in its way, the most admirable specimen of + modern oratory hitherto delivered in the English language, immense as such + praise may sound. It was 40 to 50 minutes long, altogether without notes, + in a good voice, low enough and not too low, style easy, rather colloquial + (over and over again saying "you" to Whitman who sat opposite,) sometimes + markedly impassion'd, once or twice humorous—amid his whole speech, + from interior fires and volition, pulsating and swaying like a first-class + Andalusian dancer. + </p> + <p> + And such a critical dissection, and flattering summary! The Whitmanites + for the first time in their lives were fully satisfied; and that is saying + a good deal, for they have not put their claims low, by a long shot. + Indeed it was a tremendous talk! Physically and mentally Ingersoll (he had + been working all day in New York, talking in court and in his office,) is + now at his best, like mellow'd wine, or a just ripe apple; to the + artist-sense, too, looks at his best—not merely like a bequeath'd + Roman bust or fine smooth marble Cicero-head, or even Greek Plato; for he + is modern and vital and vein'd and American, and (far more than the age + knows,) justifies us all. + </p> + <p> + We cannot give a full report of this most remarkable talk and supper + (which was curiously conversational and Greek-like) but must add the + following significant bit of it. + </p> + <p> + After the speaking, and just before the close, Mr. Whitman reverted to + Colonel Ingersoll's tribute to his poems, pronouncing it the capsheaf of + all commendation that he had ever receiv'd. Then, his mind still dwelling + upon the Colonel's religious doubts, he went on to say that what he + himself had in his mind when he wrote "Leaves of Grass" was not only to + depict American life, as it existed, and to show the triumphs of science, + and the poetry in common things, and the full of an individual democratic + humanity, for the aggregate, but also to show that there was behind all + something which rounded and completed it. "For what," he ask'd, "would + this life be without immortality? It would be as a locomotive, the + greatest triumph of modern science, with no train to draw after it. If the + spiritual is not behind the material, to what purpose is the material? + What is this world without a further Divine purpose in it all?" + </p> + <p> + Colonel Ingersoll repeated his former argument in reply. + </p> + <h3> + FEELING FAIRLY + </h3> + <p> + <i>Friday, July 27, 1890</i>.—Feeling fairly these days, and even + jovial—sleep and appetite good enough to be thankful for—had a + dish of Maryland blackberries, some good rye bread and a cup of tea, for + my breakfast—relish' d all—fine weather—bright sun + to-day—pleasant northwest breeze blowing in the open window as I sit + here in my big rattan chair—two great fine roses (white and red, + blooming, fragrant, sent by mail by W. S. K. and wife, Mass.) are in a + glass of water on the table before me. + </p> + <p> + Am now in my 72d year. + </p> + <h3> + OLD BROOKLYN DAYS + </h3> + <p> + It must have been in 1822 or '3 that I first came to live in Brooklyn. + Lived first in Front street, not far from what was then call'd "the New + Ferry," wending the river from the foot of Catharine (or Main) street to + New York city. + </p> + <p> + I was a little child (was born in 1819,) but tramp'd freely about the + neighborhood and town, even then; was often on the aforesaid New Ferry; + remember how I was petted and deadheaded by the gatekeepers and deckhands + (all such fellows are kind to little children,) and remember the horses + that seem'd to me so queer as they trudg'd around in the central houses of + the boats, making the water-power. (For it was just on the eve of the + steam-engine, which was soon after introduced on the ferries.) Edward + Copeland (afterward Mayor) had a grocery store then at the corner of Front + and Catharine streets. + </p> + <p> + Presently we Whitmans all moved up to Tillary street, near Adams, where my + father, who was a carpenter, built a house for himself and us all. It was + from here I "assisted" the personal coming of Lafayette in 1824-'5 to + Brooklyn. He came over the Old Ferry, as the now Fulton Ferry (partly + navigated quite up to that day by "horse boats," though the first steamer + had begun to be used hereabouts) was then call'd, and was receiv'd at the + foot of Fulton street. It was on that occasion that the corner-stone of + the Apprentices' Library, at the corner of Cranberry and Henry streets—since + pull'd down—was laid by Lafayette's own hands. Numerous children + arrived on the grounds, of whom I was one, and were assisted by several + gentlemen to safe spots to view the ceremony. Among others, Lafayette, + also helping the children, took me up—I was five years old, press'd + me a moment to his breast—gave me a kiss and set me down in a safe + spot. Lafayette was at that time between sixty-five and seventy years of + age, with a manly figure and a kind face. + </p> + <h3> + TWO QUESTIONS + </h3> + <p> + An editor of (or in) a leading monthly magazine ("Harper's Monthly," July, + 1890,) asks: "A hundred years from now will W.W. be popularly rated a + great poet—or will he be forgotten?" ... A mighty ticklish question—which + can only be left for a hundred years hence—perhaps more than that. + But whether W.W. has been mainly rejected by his own times is an easier + question to answer. + </p> + <p> + All along from 1860 to '91, many of the pieces in L. of G., and its + annexes, were first sent to publishers or magazine editors before being + printed in the L., and were peremptorily rejected by them, and sent back + to their author. The "Eidólons" was sent back by Dr. H., of "Scribner's + Monthly" with a lengthy, very insulting and contemptuous letter. "To the + Sun-Set Breeze," was rejected by the editor of "Harper's Monthly" as being + "an improvisation" only. "On, on ye jocund twain" was rejected by the + "Century" editor as being personal merely. Several of the pieces went the + rounds of all the monthlies, to be thus summarily rejected. + </p> + <p> + <i>June, '90</i>.—The——rejects and sends back my little + poem, so I am now set out in the cold by every big magazine and publisher, + and may as well understand and admit it—which is just as well, for I + find I am palpably losing my sight and ratiocination. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF7" id="link2H_PREF7"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + <i>To a volume of essays and tales by Wm. D. O'Connor, pub'd posthumously + in 1891</i> + </p> + <p> + A hasty memorandum, not particularly for Preface to the following tales, + but to put on record my respect and affection for as sane, beautiful, + cute, tolerant, loving, candid and free and fair-intention'd a nature as + ever vivified our race. + </p> + <p> + In Boston, 1860, I first met William Douglas O'Connor.{48} As I saw and + knew him then, in his 29th year, and for twenty-five further years along, + he was a gallant, handsome, gay-hearted, fine-voiced, glowing-eyed man; + lithe-moving on his feet, of healthy and magnetic atmosphere and presence, + and the most welcome company in the world. He was a thorough-going + anti-slavery believer, speaker and writer, (doctrinaire,) and though I + took a fancy to him from the first. I remember I fear'd his ardent + abolitionism—was afraid it would probably keep us apart. (I was a + decided and out-spoken anti-slavery believer myself, then and always; but + shy'd from the extremists, the red-hot fellows of those times.) O'C. was + then correcting the proofs of <i>Harrington</i>, an eloquent and fiery + novel he had written, and which was printed just before the commencement + of the secession war. He was already married, the father of two fine + little children, and was personally and intellectually the most attractive + man I had ever met. + </p> + <p> + Last of '62 I found myself led towards the war-field—went to + Washington city—(to become absorb'd in the armies, and in the big + hospitals, and to get work in one of the Departments,)—and there I + met and resumed friendship, and found warm hospitality from O'C. and his + noble New England wife. They had just lost by death their little + child-boy, Phillip; and O'C. was yet feeling serious about it. The + youngster had been vaccinated against the threatening of small-pox which + alarm'd the city; but somehow it led to worse results than it was intended + to ward off—or at any rate O'C. thought that proved the cause of the + boy's death. He had one child left, a fine bright little daughter, and a + great comfort to her parents. (Dear Jeannie! She grew up a most + accomplish'd and superior young woman—declined in health, and died + about 1881.) + </p> + <p> + On through for months and years to '73 I saw and talk'd with O'C. almost + daily. I had soon got employment, first for a short time in the Indian + Bureau (in the Interior Department,) and then for a long while in the + Attorney General's Office. The secession war, with its tide of varying + fortunes, excitements—President Lincoln and the daily sight of him—the + doings in Congress and at the State Capitols—the news from the + fields and campaigns, and from foreign governments—my visits to the + Army Hospitals, daily and nightly, soon absorbing everything else,—with + a hundred matters, occurrences, personalties,—(Greeley, Wendell + Phillips, the parties, the Abolitionists, &c.)—were the subjects + of our talk and discussion. I am not sure from what I heard then, but O'C. + was cut out for a first-class public speaker or forensic advocate. No + audience or jury could have stood out against him. He had a strange charm + of physiologic voice. He had a power and sharp-cut faculty of statement + and persuasiveness beyond any man's else. I know it well, for I have felt + it many a time. If not as orator, his forte was as critic, newer, deeper + than any: also, as literary author. One of his traits was that while he + knew all, and welcom'd all sorts of great <i>genre</i> literature, all + lands and times, from all writers and artists, and not only tolerated + each, and defended every attack'd literary person with a skill or + heart-catholicism that I never saw equal'd—invariably advocated and + excused them—he kept an idiosyncrasy and identity of his own very + mark'd, and without special tinge or undue color from any source. He + always applauded the freedom of the masters, whence and whoever. I + remember his special defences of Byron, Burns, Poe, Rabelais, Victor Hugo, + George Sand, and others. There was always a little touch of pensive + cadence in his superb voice; and I think there was something of the same + sadness in his temperament and nature. Perhaps, too, in his literary + structure. But he was a very buoyant, jovial, good-natured companion. + </p> + <p> + So much for a hasty melanged reminiscence and note of William O'Connor, my + dear, dear friend, and staunch, (probably my staunchest) literary believer + and champion from the first, and throughout without halt or demur, for + twenty-five years. No better friend—none more reliable through this + life of one's ups and downs. On the occurrence of the latter he would be + sure to make his appearance on the scene, eager, hopeful, full of fight + like a perfect knight of chivalry. For he was a born sample here in the + 19th century of the flower and symbol of olden time first-class + knighthood. Thrice blessed be his memory! W. W. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: {48} Born Jan. 2d, 1832. When grown, lived several years in + Boston, and edited journals and magazines there—went about 1861 to + Washington, D. C., and became a U.S. clerk, first in the Light-House + Bureau, and then in the U.S. Life-Saving Service, in which branch he was + Assistant Superintendent for many years—sicken'd in 1887—died + there at Washington, May 9th, 1889. + </p> + <h3> + AN ENGINEER'S OBITUARY + </h3> + <p> + <i>From the Engineering Record, New York, Dec. 13, 1890</i> + </p> + <p> + Thomas Jefferson Whitman was born July 18, 1833, in Brooklyn, N. Y., from + a father of English Stock, and mother (Louisa Van Velsor) descended from + Dutch (Holland) immigration. His early years were spent on Long Island, + either in the country or Brooklyn. As a lad he show'd a tendency for + surveying and civil engineering, and about at 19 went with Chief Kirkwood, + who was then prospecting and outlining for the great city water-works. He + remain'd at that construction throughout, was a favorite and confidant of + the Chief, and was successively promoted. He continued also under Chief + Moses Lane. He married in 1859, and not long after was invited by the + Board of Public Works of St. Louis, Missouri, to come there and plan and + build a new and fitting water-works for that great city. Whitman accepted + the call, and moved and settled there, and had been a resident of St. + Louis ever since. He plann'd and built the works, which were very + successful, and remain'd as super-intendent and chief for nearly 20 years. + </p> + <p> + Of the last six years he has been largely occupied as consulting engineer + (divested of his cares and position in St. Louis,) and has engaged in + public constructions, bridges, sewers, &c., West and Southwest, and + especially the Memphis, Tenn., city water-works. + </p> + <p> + Thomas J. Whitman was a theoretical and practical mechanic of superior + order, founded in the soundest personal and professional integrity. He was + a great favorite among the young engineers and students; not a few of them + yet remaining in Kings and Queens counties, and New York city, will + remember "Jeff," with old-time good-will and affection. He was mostly + self-taught, and was a hard student. + </p> + <p> + He had been troubled of late years from a bad throat and from gastric + affection, tending on typhoid, and had been rather seriously ill with the + last malady, but was getting over the worst of it, when he succumb'd under + a sudden and severe attack of the heart. He died at St. Louis, November + 25, 1890, in his 58th year. Of his family, the wife died in 1873, and a + daughter, Mannahatta, died two years ago. Another daughter, Jessie Louisa, + the only child left, is now living in St. Louis. + </p> + <p> + {When Jeff was born I was in my 15th year, and had much care of him for + many years afterward, and he did not separate from me. He was a very + handsome, healthy, affectionate, smart child, and would sit on my lap or + hang on my neck half an hour at a time. As he grew a big boy he liked + outdoor and water sports, especially boating. We would often go down + summers to Peconic Bay, east end of Long Island, and over to Shelter + Island. I loved long rambles, and he carried his fowling-piece. O, what + happy times, weeks! Then in Brooklyn and New York city he learn'd + printing, and work'd awhile at it; but eventually (with my approval) he + went to employment at land surveying, and merged in the studies and work + of topographical engineer; this satisfied him, and he continued at it. He + was of noble nature from the first; very good-natured, very plain, very + friendly. O, how we loved each other—how many jovial good times we + had! Once we made a long trip from New York city down over the Allegheny + mountains (the National Road) and via the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, + from Cairo to New Orleans.} + </p> + <p> + God's blessing on your name and memory, dear brother Jeff! + </p> + <h3> + W. W. + </h3> + <h3> + OLD ACTORS, SINGERS, SHOWS, &C., IN NEW YORK + </h3> + <p> + <i>Flitting mention—(with much left out)</i> + </p> + <p> + Seems to me I ought acknowledge my debt to actors, singers, public + speakers, conventions, and the Stage in New York, my youthful days, from + 1835 onward—say to '60 or '61—and to plays and operas + generally. (Which nudges a pretty big disquisition: of course it should be + all elaborated and penetrated more deeply—but I will here give only + some flitting mentionings of my youth.) Seems to me now when I look back, + the Italian contralto Marietta Alboni (she is living yet, in Paris, 1891, + in good condition, good voice yet, considering) with the then prominent + histrions Booth, Edwin Forrest, and Fanny Kemble and the Italian singer + Bettini, have had the deepest and most lasting effect upon me. I should + like well if Madame Alboni and the old composer Verdi, (and Bettini the + tenor, if he is living) could know how much noble pleasure and happiness + they gave me, and how deeply I always remember them and thank them to this + day. For theatricals in literature and doubtless upon me personally, + including opera, have been of course serious factors. (The experts and + musicians of my present friends claim that the new Wagner and his pieces + belong far more truly to me, and I to them, likely. But I was fed and bred + under the Italian dispensation, and absorb'd it, and doubtless show it.) + </p> + <p> + As a young fellow, when possible I always studied a play or libretto quite + carefully over, by myself, (sometimes twice through) before seeing it on + the stage; read it the day or two days before. Tried both ways—not + reading some beforehand; but I found I gain'd most by getting that sort of + mastery first, if the piece had depth. (Surface effects and glitter were + much less thought of, I am sure, those times.) There were many fine old + plays, neither tragedies nor comedies—the names of them quite + unknown to to-day's current audiences. "All is not Gold that Glitters," in + which Charlotte Cushman had a superbly enacted part, was of that kind. C. + C., who revel'd in them, was great in such pieces; I think better than in + the heavy popular rôles. + </p> + <p> + We had some fine music those days. We had the English opera of + "Cinderella" (with Henry Placide as the pompous old father, an + unsurpassable bit of comedy and music.) We had Bombastes Furioso. Must + have been in 1844 (or '5) I saw Charles Kean and Mrs. Kean (Ellen Tree)—saw + them in the Park in Shakspere's "King John." He, of course, was the chief + character. She play'd <i>Queen Constance.</i> Tom Hamblin was <i>Faulconbridge,</i> + and probably the best ever on the stage. It was an immense show-piece, + too; lots of grand set scenes and fine armor-suits and all kinds of + appointments imported from London (where it had been first render'd.) The + large brass bands—the three or four hundred "supes"—the + interviews between the French and English armies—the talk with <i>Hubert</i> + (and the hot irons) the delicious acting of <i>Prince Arthur</i> (Mrs. + Richardson, I think)—and all the fine blare and court pomp—I + remember to this hour. The death-scene of the King in the orchard of + Swinstead Abbey, was very effective. Kean rush'd in, gray-pale and yellow, + and threw himself on a lounge in the open. His pangs were horribly + realistic. (He must have taken lessons in some hospital.) + </p> + <p> + Fanny Kemble play'd to wonderful effect in such pieces as "Fazio, or the + Italian wife." The turning-point was jealousy. It was a rapid-running, yet + heavy-timber'd, tremendous wrenching, passionate play. Such old pieces + always seem'd to me built like an ancient ship of the line, solid and + lock'd from keel up—oak and metal and knots. One of the finest + characters was a great court lady, <i>Aldabella</i>, enacted by Mrs. + Sharpe. O how it all entranced us, and knock'd us about, as the scenes + swept on like a cyclone! + </p> + <p> + Saw Hackett at the old Park many times, and remember him well. His + renderings were first-rate in everything. He inaugurated the true "Rip Van + Winkle," and look'd and acted and dialogued it to perfection (he was of + Dutch breed, and brought up among old Holland descendants in Kings and + Queens counties, Long Island.) The play and the acting of it have been + adjusted to please popular audiences since; but there was in that original + performance certainly something of a far higher order, more art, more + reality, more resemblance, a bit of fine pathos, a lofty <i>brogue</i>, + beyond anything afterward. + </p> + <p> + One of my big treats was the rendering at the old Park of Shakspere's + "Tempest" in musical version. There was a very fine instrumental band, not + numerous, but with a capital leader. Mrs. Austin was the <i>Ariel</i>, and + Peter Richings the <i>Caliban</i>; both excellent. The drunken song of the + latter has probably been never equal'd. The perfect actor Clarke (old + Clarke) was <i>Prospero</i>. + </p> + <p> + Yes; there were in New York and Brooklyn some fine non-technical singing + performances, concerts, such as the Hutchinson band, three brothers, and + the sister, the red-cheek'd New England carnation, sweet Abby; sometimes + plaintive and balladic—sometimes anti-slavery, anti-calomel, and + comic. There were concerts by Templeton, Russell, Dempster, the old + Alleghanian band, and many others. Then we had lots of "negro minstrels," + with capital character songs and voices. I often saw Rice the original + "Jim Crow" at the old Park Theatre filling up the gap in some short bill—and + the wild chants and dances were admirable—probably ahead of anything + since. Every theatre had some superior voice, and it was common to give a + favorite song between the acts. "The Sea" at the bijou Olympic, (Broadway + near Grand,) was always welcome from a little Englishman named Edwin, a + good balladist. At the Bowery the loves of "Sweet William," + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "When on the Downs the fleet was moor'd," +</pre> + <p> + always bro't an encore, and sometimes a treble. + </p> + <p> + I remember Jenny Lind and heard her (1850 I think) several times. She had + the most brilliant, captivating, popular musical style and expression of + any one known; (the canary, and several other sweet birds are wondrous + fine—but there is something in song that goes deeper—isn't + there?) + </p> + <p> + The great "Egyptian Collection" was well up in Broadway, and I got quite + acquainted with Dr. Abbott, the proprietor—paid many visits there, + and had long talks with him, in connection with my readings of many books + and reports on Egypt—its antiquities, history, and how things and + the scenes really look, and what the old relics stand for, as near as we + can now get. (Dr. A. was an Englishman of say 54—had been settled in + Cairo as physician for 25 years, and all that time was collecting these + relics, and sparing no time or money seeking and getting them. By advice + and for a change of base for himself, he brought the collection to + America. But the whole enterprise was a fearful disappointment, in the pay + and commercial part.) As said, I went to the Egyptian Museum many many + times; sometimes had it all to myself—delved at the formidable + catalogue—and on several occasions had the invaluable personal talk, + correction, illustration and guidance of Dr. A. himself. He was very kind + and helpful to me in those studies and examinations; once, by appointment, + he appear'd in full and exact Turkish (Cairo) costume, which long usage + there had made habitual to him. + </p> + <p> + One of the choice places of New York to me then was the "Phrenological + Cabinet" of Fowler & Wells, Nassau street near Beekman. Here were all + the busts, examples, curios and books of that study obtainable. I went + there often, and once for myself had a very elaborate and leisurely + examination and "chart of bumps" written out (I have it yet,) by Nelson + Fowler (or was it Sizer?) there. + </p> + <p> + And who remembers the renown'd New York "Tabernacle" of those days "before + the war"? It was on the east side of Broadway, near Pearl street—was + a great turtle-shaped hall, and you had to walk back from the street + entrance thro' a long wide corridor to get to it—was very strong—had + an immense gallery—altogether held three or four thousand people. + Here the huge annual conventions of the windy and cyclonic "reformatory + societies" of those times were held—especially the tumultuous + Anti-Slavery ones. I remember hearing Wendell Phillips, Emerson, Cassius + Clay, John P. Hale, Beecher, Fred Douglas, the Burleighs, Garrison, and + others. Sometimes the Hutchinsons would sing—very fine. Sometimes + there were angry rows. A chap named Isaiah Rhynders, a fierce politician + of those days, with a band of robust supporters, would attempt to + contradict the speakers and break up the meetings. But the Anti-Slavery, + and Quaker, and Temperance, and Missionary and other conventicles and + speakers were tough, tough, and always maintained their ground, and + carried out their programs fully. I went frequently to these meetings, May + after May—learn'd much from them—was sure to be on hand when + J. P. Hale or Cash Clay made speeches. + </p> + <p> + There were also the smaller and handsome halls of the Historical and + Athensum Societies up on Broadway. I very well remember W.C. Bryant + lecturing on Homoeopathy in one of them, and attending two or three + addresses by R.W. Emerson in the other. + </p> + <p> + There was a series of plays and dramatic <i>genre</i> characters by a + gentleman bill'd as Ranger—very fine, better than merely technical, + full of exquisite shades, like the light touches of the violin in the + hands of a master. There was the actor Anderson, who brought us Gerald + Griffin's "Gysippus," and play'd it to admiration. Among the actors of + those times I recall: Cooper, Wallack, Tom Hamblin, Adams (several), Old + Gates, Scott, Wm. Sefton, John Sefton, Geo. Jones, Mitchell, Seguin, Old + Clarke, Richings, Fisher, H. Placide, T. Placide, Thorne, Ingersoll, Gale + (Mazeppa) Edwin, Horncastle. Some of the women hastily remember'd were: + Mrs. Vernon, Mrs. Pritchard, Mrs. McClure, Mary Taylor, Clara Fisher, Mrs. + Richardson, Mrs. Flynn. Then the singers, English, Italian and other: Mrs. + Wood, Mrs. Seguin, Mrs. Austin, Grisi, La Grange, Steffanone, Bosio, + Truffi, Parodi, Vestvali, Bertucca, Jenny Lind, Gazzaniga, Laborde. And + the opera men: Bettini, Badiali, Marini, Mario, Brignoli, Amodio, + Beneventano, and many, many others whose names I do not at this moment + recall. + </p> + <p> + In another paper I have described the elder Booth, and the Bowery Theatre + of those times. Afterward there was the Chatham. The elder Thorne, Mrs. + Thorne, William and John Sefton, Kirby, Brougham, and sometimes Edwin + Forrest himself play'd there. I remember them all, and many more, and + especially the fine theatre on Broadway near Pearl, in 1855 and '6. + </p> + <p> + There were very good circus performances, or horsemanship, in New York and + Brooklyn. Every winter in the first-named city, a regular place in the + Bowery, nearly opposite the old theatre; fine animals and fine riding, + which I often witness'd. (Remember seeing near here, a young, fierce, + splendid lion, presented by an African Barbary Sultan to President Andrew + Jackson. The gift comprised also a lot of jewels, a fine steel sword, and + an Arab stallion; and the lion was made over to a show-man.) + </p> + <p> + If it is worth while I might add that there was a small but well-appointed + amateur-theatre up Broadway, with the usual stage, orchestra, pit, boxes, + &c., and that I was myself a member for some time, and acted parts in + it several times—"second parts" as they were call'd. Perhaps it too + was a lesson, or help'd that way; at any rate it was full of fun and + enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + And so let us turn off the gas. Out in the brilliancy of the foot-lights—filling + the attention of perhaps a crowded audience, and making many a breath and + pulse swell and rise—O so much passion and imparted life!—over + and over again, the season through—walking, gesticulating, singing, + reciting his or her part—But then sooner or later inevitably wending + to the flies or exit door—vanishing to sight and ear—and never + materializing on this earth's stage again! + </p> + <h3> + SOME PERSONAL AND OLD-AGE JOTTINGS + </h3> + <p> + Anything like unmitigated acceptance of my "Leaves of Grass" book, and + heart-felt response to it, in a popular however faint degree, bubbled + forth as a fresh spring from the ground in England in 1876. The time was a + critical and turning point in my personal and literary life. Let me revert + to my memorandum book, Camden, New Jersey, that year, fill'd with + addresses, receipts, purchases, &c., of the two volumes pub'd then by + myself—the "Leaves," and the "Two Rivulets"—some home + customers, for them, but mostly from the British Islands. I was seriously + paralyzed from the Secession war, poor, in debt, was expecting death, (the + doctors put four chances out of five against me,)—and I had the + books printed during the lingering interim to occupy the tediousness of + glum days and nights. Curiously, the sale abroad proved prompt, and what + one might call copious: the names came in lists and the money with them, + by foreign mail. The price was $10 a set. Both the cash and the emotional + cheer were deep medicines; many paid double or treble price, (Tennyson and + Ruskin did,) and many sent kind and eulogistic letters; ladies, clergymen, + social leaders, persons of rank, and high officials. Those blessed gales + from the British Islands probably (certainly) saved me. Here are some of + the names, for I w'd like to preserve them: Wm. M. and D.G. Rossetti, Lord + Houghton, Edwd. Dowden, Mrs. Anne Gilchrist, Keningale Cook, Edwd. + Carpenter, Therese Simpson, Rob't Buchanan, Alfred Tennyson, John Ruskin, + C.G. Gates, E.T. Wilkinson, T.L. Warren, C.W. Reynell, W.B. Scott, A.G. + Dew Smith, E.W. Gosse, T.W. Rolleston, Geo. Wallis, Rafe Leicester, Thos. + Dixon, N. MacColl, Mrs. Matthews, R. Hannah, Geo. Saintsbury, R.S. Watson, + Godfrey and Vernon Lushington, G.H. Lewes, G.H. Boughton, Geo. Fraser, + W.T. Arnold, A. Ireland, Mrs. M. Taylor, M.D. Conway, Benj. Eyre, E. + Dannreather, Rev. T.E. Brown, C.W. Sheppard, E.J.A. Balfour, P.B. Marston, + A.C. De Burgh, J.H. McCarthy, J.H. Ingram, Rev. R.P. Graves, Lady + Mount-temple, F.S. Ellis, W. Brockie, Rev. A.B. Grosart, Lady Hardy, + Hubert Herkomer, Francis Hueffer, H.G. Dakyns, R.L. Nettleship, W.J. + Stillman, Miss Blind, Madox Brown, H.R. Ricardo, Messrs. O'Grady and + Tyrrel; and many, many more. + </p> + <p> + Severely scann'd, it was perhaps no very great or vehement success; but + the tide had palpably shifted at any rate, and the sluices were turn'd + into my own veins and pockets. That emotional, audacious, open-handed, + friendly-mouth'd just-opportune English action, I say, pluck'd me like a + brand from the burning, and gave me life again, to finish my book, since + ab't completed. I do not forget it, and shall not; and if I ever have a + biographer I charge him to put it in the narrative. I have had the noblest + friends and backers in America; Wm. O'Connor, Dr. R.M. Bucke, John + Burroughs, Geo.W. Childs, good ones in Boston, and Carnegie and R.G. + Ingersoll in New York; and yet perhaps the tenderest and gratefulest + breath of my heart has gone, and ever goes, over the sea-gales across the + big pond. + </p> + <p> + About myself at present. I will soon enter upon my 73d year, if I live—have + pass'd an active life, as country school-teacher, gardener, printer, + carpenter, author and journalist, domicil'd in nearly all the United + States and principal cities, North and South—went to the front + (moving about and occupied as army nurse and missionary) during the + secession war, 1861 to '65, and in the Virginia hospitals and after the + battles of that time, tending the Northern and Southern wounded alike—work'd + down South and in Washington city arduously three years—contracted + the paralysis which I have suffer'd ever since—and now live in a + little cottage of my own, near the Delaware in New Jersey. My chief book, + unrhym'd and unmetrical (it has taken thirty years, peace and war, "a + borning") has its aim, as once said, "to utter the same old human <i>critter</i>—but + now in Democratic American modern and scientific conditions." Then I have + publish'd two prose works, "Specimen Days," and a late one, "November + Boughs." (A little volume, "Good-Bye my Fancy," is soon to be out, wh' + will finish the matter.) I do not propose here to enter the much-fought + field of the literary criticism of any of those works. + </p> + <p> + But for a few portraiture or descriptive bits. To-day in the upper story + of a little wooden house of two stories near the Delaware river, east + shore, sixty miles up from the sea, is a rather large 20-by-20 low + ceiling'd room something like a big old ship's cabin. The floor, three + quarters of it with an ingrain carpet, is half cover'd by a deep litter of + books, papers, magazines, thrown-down letters and circulars, rejected + manuscripts, memoranda, bits of light or strong twine, a bundle to be + "express'd," and two or three venerable scrap books. In the room stand two + large tables (one of ancient St. Domingo mahogany with immense leaves) + cover'd by a jumble of more papers, a varied and copious array of writing + materials, several glass and china vessels or jars, some with + cologne-water, others with real honey, granulated sugar, a large bunch of + beautiful fresh yellow chrysanthemums, some letters and envelopt papers + ready for the post office, many photographs, and a hundred indescribable + things besides. There are all around many books, some quite handsome + editions, some half cover'd by dust, some within reach, evidently used, + (good-sized print, no type less than long primer,) some maps, the Bible, + (the strong cheap edition of the English crown,) Homer, Shakspere, Walter + Scott, Emerson, Ticknor's "Spanish Literature," John Carlyle's Dante, + Felton's "Greece," George Sand's "Consuelo," avery choice little + Epictetus, some novels, the latest foreign and American monthlies, + quarterlies, and so on. There being quite a strew of printer's proofs and + slips, and the daily papers, the place with its quaint old fashion'd + calmness has also a smack of something alert and of current work. There + are several trunks and depositaries back' d up at the walls; (one + well-bound and big box came by express lately from Washington city, after + storage there for nearly twenty years.) Indeed the whole room is a sort of + result and storage collection of my own past life. I have here various + editions of my own writings, and sell them upon request; one is a big + volume of complete poems and prose, 1000 pages, autograph, essays, + speeches, portraits from life, &c. Another is a little "Leaves of + Grass," latest date, six portraits, morocco bound, in pocket-book form. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately the apartment is quite roomy. There are three windows in + front. At one side is the stove, with a cheerful fire of oak wood, near by + a good supply of fresh sticks, whose faint aroma is plain. On another side + is the bed with white coverlid and woollen blankets. Toward the windows is + a huge arm-chair, (a Christmas present from Thomas Donaldson's young + daughter and son, Philadelphia) timber'd as by some stout ship's spars, + yellow polish'd, ample, with rattan-woven seat and back, and over the + latter a great wide wolf-skin of hairy black and silver, spread to guard + against cold and draught. A time-worn look and scent of old oak attach + both to the chair and the person occupying it. + </p> + <p> + But probably (even at the charge of parrot talk) I can give no more + authentic brief sketch than "from an old remembrance copy," where I have + lately put myself on record as follows: Was born May 31, 1819, in my + father's farm-house, at West Hills, L.I., New York State. My parents' + folks mostly farmers and sailors—on my father's side, of English—on + my mother's (Van Velsor's), from Hollandic immigration. There was, first + and last, a large family of children; (I was the second.) We moved to + Brooklyn while I was still a little one in frocks—and there in B. I + grew up out of frocks—then as child and boy went to the public + schools—then to work in a printing office. When only sixteen or + seventeen years old, and for three years afterward, I went to teaching + country schools down in Queens and Suffolk counties, Long Island, and + "boarded round." Then, returning to New York, work'd as printer and + writer, (with an occasional shy at "poetry.") + </p> + <p> + 1848-'9.—About this time—after ten or twelve years of + experiences and work and lots of fun in New York and Brooklyn—went + off on a leisurely journey and working expedition (my brother Jeff with + me) through all the Middle States, and down the Ohio and Mississippi + rivers. Lived a while in New Orleans, and work'd there. (Have lived quite + a good deal in the Southern States.) After a time, plodded back northward, + up the Mississippi, the Missouri, &c., and around to, and by way of, + the great lakes, Michigan, Huron and Erie, to Niagara Falls and Lower + Canada—finally returning through Central New York, and down the + Hudson. 1852-'54—Occupied in house-building in Brooklyn. (For a + little while of the first part of that time in printing a daily and weekly + paper.) + </p> + <p> + 1855.—Lost my dear father this year by death.... Commenced putting + "Leaves of Grass" to press, for good—after many MSS. doings and + undoings—(I had great trouble in leaving out the stock "poetical" + touches—but succeeded at last.) The book has since had some eight + hitches or stages of growth, with one annex, (and another to come out in + 1891, which will complete it.) + </p> + <p> + 1862.—In December of this year went down to the field of war in + Virginia. My brother George reported badly wounded in the Fredericksburg + fight. (For 1863 and '64, see "Specimen Days.") 1865 to '71—Had a + place as clerk (till well on in '73) in the Attorney. + </p> + <p> + General's Office, Washington. (New York and Brooklyn seem more like <i>home</i>, + as I was born near, and brought up in them, and lived, man and boy, for 30 + years. But I lived some years in Washington, and have visited, and + partially lived, in most of the Western and Eastern cities.) + </p> + <p> + 1873.—This year lost, by death, my dear dear mother—and, just + before, my sister Martha—the two best and sweetest women I have ever + seen or known, or ever expect to see. Same year, February, a sudden climax + and prostration from paralysis. Had been simmering inside for several + years; broke out during those times temporarily, and then went over. But + now a serious attack, beyond cure. Dr. Drinkard, my Washington physician, + (and a first-rate one,) said it was the result of too extreme bodily and + emotional strain continued at Washington and "down in front," in 1863, '4 + and '5. I doubt if a heartier, stronger, healthier physique, more balanced + upon itself, or more unconscious, more sound, ever lived, from 1835 to + '72. My greatest call (Quaker) to go around and do what I could there in + those war-scenes where I had fallen, among the sick and wounded, was, that + I seem'd to be <i>so strong and well</i>. (I consider'd myself + invulnerable.) But this last attack shatter'd me completely. Quit work at + Washington, and moved to Camden, New Jersey—where I have lived + since, receiving many buffets and some precious caresses—and now + write these lines. Since then, (1874-'91) a long stretch of illness, or + half-illness, with occasional lulls. During these latter, have revised and + printed over all my books—bro't out "November Boughs"—and at + intervals leisurely and exploringly travel'd to the Prairie States, the + Rocky Mountains, Canada, to New York, to my birthplace in Long Island, and + to Boston. But physical disability and the war-paralysis above alluded to + to have settled upon me more and more the last year or so. Am now (1891) + domicil'd, and have been for some years, in this little old cottage and + lot in Mickle street, Camden, with a house-keeper and man nurse. Bodily I + am completely disabled, but still write for publication. I keep generally + buoyant spirits, write often as there comes any lull in physical + sufferings, get in the sun and down to the river whenever I can, retain + fair appetite, assimilation and digestion, sensibilities acute as ever, + the strength and volition of my right arm good, eyesight dimming, but + brain normal, and retain my heart's and soul's unmitigated faith not only + in their own original literary plans, but in the essential bulk of + American humanity east and west, north and south, city and country, + through thick and thin, to the last. Nor must I forget, in conclusion, a + special, prayerful, thankful God's blessing to my dear firm friends and + personal helpers, men and women, home and foreign, old and young. + </p> + <h3> + OUT IN THE OPEN AGAIN + </h3> + <p> + <i>From the Camden Post, April 16, '91</i>. + </p> + <p> + Walt Whitman got out in the mid-April sun and warmth of yesterday, + propelled in his wheel chair, the first time after four months of + imprisonment in his sick room. He has had the worst winter yet, mainly + from grippe and gastric troubles, and threaten'd blindness; but keeps good + spirits, and has a new little forthcoming book in the printer's hands. + </p> + <h3> + AMERICA'S BULK AVERAGE + </h3> + <p> + If I were ask'd <i>persona</i> to specify the one point of America's + people on which I mainly rely, I should say the final average or bulk + quality of the whole. + </p> + <p> + Happy indeed w'd I consider myself to give a fair reflection and + representation of even a portion of shows, questions, humanity, events, + unfoldings, thoughts, &c. &c., my age in these States. + </p> + <p> + The great social, political, historic function of my time has been of + course the attempted secession war. + </p> + <p> + And was there not something grand, and an inside proof of perennial + grandeur, in that war! We talk of our age's and the States' materialism—and + it is too true. But how amid the whole sordidness—the entire + devotion of America, at any price, to pecuniary success, merchandise—disregarding + all but business and profit—this war for a bare idea and abstraction—a + mere, at bottom, heroic dream and reminiscence—burst forth in its + great devouring flame and conflagration quickly and fiercely spreading and + raging, and enveloping all, defining in two conflicting ideas—first + the Union cause—second <i>the other</i>, a strange deadly + interrogation point, hard to define—Can we not now safely confess + it?—with magnificent rays, streaks of noblest heroism, fortitude, + perseverance, and even conscientiousness, through its pervadingly + malignant darkness. What an area and rounded field, upon the whole—the + spirit, arrogance, grim tenacity of the South—the long stretches of + murky gloom—the general National Will below and behind and + comprehending all—not once really wavering, not a day, not an hour—What + could be, or even can be, grander? + </p> + <p> + As in that war, its four years—as through the whole history and + development of the New World—these States through all trials, + processes, eruptions, deepest dilemmas, (often straining, tugging at + society's heart-strings, as if some divine curiosity would find out how + much this democracy could stand,) have so far finally and for more than a + century best justified themselves by the average impalpable quality and + personality of the bulk, the People <i>en masse</i>.... I am not sure but + my main and chief however indefinite claim for any page of mine w'd be its + derivation, or seeking to derive itself, f'm that average quality of the + American bulk, the people, and getting back to it again. + </p> + <h3> + LAST SAVED ITEMS + </h3> + <p> + <i>I'm a vast batch left to oblivion</i>. + </p> + <p> + In its highest aspect, and striking its grandest average, essential Poetry + expresses and goes along with essential Religion—has been and is + more the adjunct, and more serviceable to that true religion (for of + course there is a false one and plenty of it) than all the priests and + creeds and churches that now exist or have ever existed—even while + the temporary prevalent theory and practice of poetry is merely one-side + and ornamental and dainty—a love-sigh, a bit of jewelry, a feudal + conceit, an ingenious tale or intellectual <i>finesse</i>, adjusted to the + low taste and calibre that will always sufficiently generally prevail—(ranges + of stairs necessary to ascend the higher.) + </p> + <p> + The sectarian, church and doctrinal, follies, crimes, fanaticisms, + aggregate and individual, so rife all thro' history, are proofs of the + radicalness and universality of the indestructible element of humanity's + Religion, just as much as any, and are the other side of it. Just as + disease proves health, and is the other side of it.... The philosophy of + Greece taught normality and the beauty of life. Christianity teaches how + to endure illness and death. I have wonder'd whether a third philosophy + fusing both, and doing full justice to both, might not be outlined. + </p> + <p> + It will not be enough to say that no Nation ever achiev'd materialistic, + political and money-making successes, with general physical comfort, as + fully as the United States of America are to-day achieving them. I know + very well that those are the indispensable foundations—the <i>sine + qua non</i> of moral and heroic (poetic) fruitions to come. For if those + pre-successes were all—if they ended at that—if nothing more + were yielded than so far appears—a gross materialistic prosperity + only—America, tried by subtlest tests, were a failure—has not + advanced the standard of humanity a bit further than other nations. Or, in + plain terms, has but inherited and enjoy'd the results of ordinary claims + and preceding ages. + </p> + <p> + Nature seem'd to use me a long while—myself all well, able, strong + and happy—to portray power, freedom, health. But after a while she + seems to fancy, may-be I can see and understand it all better by being + deprived of most of those. + </p> + <p> + How difficult it is to add anything more to literature—and how + unsatisfactory for any earnest spirit to serve merely the amusement of the + multitude! (It even seems to me, said H. Heine, more invigorating to + accomplish something bad than something empty.) + </p> + <p> + The Highest said: Don't let us begin so low—isn't our range too + coarse—too gross?... The Soul answer'd: No, not when we consider + what it is all for—the end involved in Time and Space. + </p> + <p> + Essentially my own printed records, all my volumes, are doubtless but + off-hand utterances f'm Personality spontaneous, following implicitly the + inscrutable command, dominated by that Personality, vaguely even if + decidedly, and with little or nothing of plan, art, erudition, &c. If + I have chosen to hold the reins, the mastery, it has mainly been to give + the way, the power, the road, to the invisible steeds. (I wanted to see + how a Person of America, the last half of the 19th century, w'd appear, + but quite freely and fairly in honest type.) + </p> + <p> + Haven't I given specimen clues, if no more? At any rate I have written + enough to weary myself—and I will dispatch it to the printers, and + cease. But how much—how many topics, of the greatest pointand + cogency, I am leaving untouch'd! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WALT WHITMAN'S LAST {49} + </h2> + <p> + <i>Good-Bye my Fancy</i>.—concluding Annex to <i>Leaves of Grass</i>. + </p> + <p> + "The Highest said: Don't let us begin so low—isn't our range too + coarse—too gross?... The Soul answer'd: No, not when we consider + what it is all for—the end involved in Time and Space."—<i>An + item from last page of "Good-Bye."</i> + </p> + <p> + H. Heine's first principle of criticising a book was, What motive is the + author trying to carry out, or express or accomplish? and the second, Has + he achiev'd it? + </p> + <p> + The theory of my <i>Leaves of Grass</i> as a composition of verses has + been from first to last, (if I am to give impromptu a hint of the spinal + marrow of the business, and sign it with my name,) to thoroughly possess + the mind, memory, cognizance of the author himself, with everything + beforehand—a full armory of concrete actualities, observations, + humanity, past poems, ballads, facts, technique, war and peace, politics, + North and South, East and West, nothing too large or too small, the + sciences as far as possible—and above all America and the present—after + and out of which the subject of the poem, long or short, has been + invariably turned over to his Emotionality, even Personality, to be shaped + thence; and emerges strictly therefrom, with all its merits and demerits + on its head. Every page of my poetic or attempt at poetic utterance + therefore smacks of the living physical identity, date, environment, + individuality, probably beyond anything known, and in style often + offensive to the conventions. + </p> + <p> + This new last cluster, <i>Good-By my Fancy</i> follows suit, and yet with + a difference. The clef is here changed to its lowest, and the little book + is a lot of tremolos about old age, death, and faith. The physical just + lingers, but almost vanishes. The book is garrulous, irascible (like old + Lear) and has various breaks and even tricks to avoid monotony. It will + have to be ciphered and ciphered out long—and is probably in some + respects the most curious part of its author's baffling works. + </p> + <p> + <i>Walt Whitman</i>. + </p> + <p> + Endnotes: + </p> + <p> + {49} Published in <i>Lippincott's Magazine</i>, August, 1891, with the + following note added by the editor of the magazine: "With <i>Good-Bye my + Fancy</i>, Walt Whitman has rounded out his life-work. This book is his + last message, and of course a great deal will be said about it by critics + all over the world, both in praise and dispraise; but probably nothing + that the critics will say will be as interesting as this characteristic + utterance upon the book by the poet himself. It is the subjective view as + opposed to the objective views of the critics. Briefly, Whitman gives, as + he puts it, 'a hint of the spinal marrow of the business,' not only of <i>Good-Bye + my Fancy</i>, but also of the <i>Leaves of Grass</i>. + </p> + <p> + "It was only after considerable persuasion on the editor's part that Mr. + Whitman consented to write the above. As a concise explanation of the + poet's life-work it must have great value to his readers and admirers. + After the critics 'have ciphered and ciphered out long,' they will + probably have nothing better to say." + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Complete Prose Works, by Walt Whitman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COMPLETE PROSE WORKS *** + +***** This file should be named 8813-h.htm or 8813-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/8/1/8813/ + + +Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, Marc D'Hooghe and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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