so wide a chasm for the imagination. Oglethorpe's 2 offers a parallel, the aide-de-camp of Prince Eugene calling on John Adams, American Ambassador to England. Most long lives resemble those threads of gossamer, the nearest approach to nothing unmeaningly prolonged, scarce visible pathway of some worm from his cradle to his grave; but Quincy's was strung with seventy active years, each one a rounded bead of usefulness and service. From "A Great Public Character" in My Study Windows. TH WALT WHITMAN (1819-1892) HE most original American poet of the nineteenth century was the prophet of twentieth century America. Whitman was the poet of democracy, for his poetry dealt with every side of the complex and cosmopolitan life about him. As a printer, carpenter, school-teacher, editor, war nurse in the hospitals of Washington, and government clerk he had come into contact with all classes and types. In I Hear America Singing he glories in his companionship with the laboring man. Throughout his life he remained the poet of the masses, who unfortunately found his poetry too difficult to read. His intense realism and his unconventionality both in form and substance aroused the hostility of his contemporaries. In 1888 he wrote, "from a worldly and business point of view, Leaves of Grass has been worse than a failure-that public criticism on the book and myself as author of it yet shows marked anger and contempt more than anything else." It was not until after the dawn of the present century that the genius of Whitman was recognized, for he was the forerunner of modern poetry. In fact, when compared with some of the volumes of free verse, Whitman's poetry seems almost old fashioned. Perhaps Whitman adopted his peculiar method because he was a self-advertiser. He knew that the novelty of his efforts would attract attention, which is the first function of advertising. He also wrote anonymous reviews of his own poetry to bring it to the notice of his countrymen. He shouted his message at the top of his voice; he was determined to be heard. At last he has gained a hearing because the American people have come to understand that Whitman celebrated the greatness of American industry and life. I HEAR AMERICA SINGING I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck, The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else, The day what belongs to the day-at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs. MANNAHATTA I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name. Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient, I see that the word of my city is that word from of old, Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, Rich, hemm'd thick all around with sailships and steamships, an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded, Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies, Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown, The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, the villas, The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model'd, The down-town streets, the jobbers' houses of business, the houses of business of the ship-merchants and money-brokers, the river-streets, Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week, The carts hauling goods, the manly race of drivers of horses, the brown-faced sailors, The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft, The winter snows, the sleigh-bells, the broken ice in the river, passing along up or down with the flood-tide or ebb-tide, The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form'd, beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes, Trottoirs throng'd, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the shops and shows, A million people-manners free and superb-open voiceshospitality-the most courageous and friendly young men, City of hurried and sparkling waters! city of spires and masts! City nested in bays! my city! From Leaves of Grass. HUMAN AND HEROIC NEW YORK 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 dayin 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 sidestreaks 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 out-cropping 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 |