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LIBERTY IN LITERATURE 
 
 : feZQ-29^ 
 
 
 ^ TO 
 
 TESTIMONIAL 
 
 Walt Whitman 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT G. INGERSOLL 
 
 AN ADDRESS DELIVERED IN PHILADELPHIA, OCT. 21, 1890 
 
 WITH PORTRAIT OF WHITMAN 
 
 " Let lis put wreaths on the brows of the living'''' 
 
 AUTHORIZED EDITION 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 TRUTH SEEKER COMPANY 
 28 Lafayette Place 
 
Copyrighted, 1890, 
 
 BY 
 
 The Truth Seeker Company. 
 
TESTIMONIAL 
 
 TO 
 
 WALT WHITMAN, 
 
 Of all the placid hours in his peaceful life, 
 those that Walt Whitman spent on the stage of 
 Horticultural Hall last night must have been 
 among the most gratifying, says the Philadel- 
 phia Press of October 22, 1890. To a testi- 
 monial, intended to cheer his declining years, 
 not only in a complimentary sense, came some 
 eighteen hundred or more people to listen to 
 a tribute to the aged poet by Col. Robert G. 
 Ingersoll, such as seldom falls to the lot of 
 living man to hear about himself. 
 
 On the stage sat many admirers of the vener- 
 able torch-bearer of modern poetic thought, as 
 
 yt . - 
 
 603196 
 
4 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 Colonel Ingersoll described him, young and old, 
 men and women. There were white beards, 
 but none were so white as that of the author of 
 " Leaves of Grass." He sat calm and sedate in 
 his easy wheeled chair, with his usual garb of 
 gray, with his cloudy white hair falling over 
 his white, turned-down collar that must have 
 been three inches wide. No burst of eloquence 
 from the orator's lips disturbed that equanim- 
 ity ; no tribute of applause moved him from his 
 habitual calm. 
 
 And when the lecturer, having concluded, 
 said, "We have met to-night to honor our- 
 selves by honoring the author of 'Leaves of 
 Grass,' " and the audience started to leave the 
 hall, the man they had honored reached for- 
 ward with his cane and attracted Colonel Inger- 
 soll's attention. 
 
 " Do not leave yet," said Colonel Ingersoll, 
 "Mr. Whitman has a word to say." 
 
 This is what he said, and no more character- 
 istic thing ever fell from the poet's lips or 
 flowed from his pen : 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO "WALT WHITMAN. £ 
 
 "After all, my friends, the main factors 
 being the curious testimony called personal 
 presence and face to face meeting, I have 
 come here to be among you and show myself, 
 and thank you with my living voice for coming, 
 and Robert Ingersoll for speaking. And so 
 with such brief testimony of showing myself, 
 and such good will and gratitude, I bid you 
 hail and farewell." 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 
 
 THE ADDRESS. 
 
 Let us Put Wreaths on the Brows of the Living. 
 
 I. 
 
 In the year 1855 the American people knew 
 but little of books. Their ideals, their models, 
 were English. Young and Pollok, Addison and 
 Watts were regarded as great poets. Some of 
 the more reckless read Thomson's "Seasons" 
 and the poems and novels of Sir "Walter Scott. 
 A few, not quite orthodox, delighted in the 
 mechanical monotony of Pope, and the really 
 wicked — those lost to all religious shame — were 
 worshipers of Shakespeare. The really ortho- 
 dox Protestant, untroubled by doubts, consid- 
 ered Milton the greatest poet of them all. 
 Byron and Shelley were hardly respectable — not 
 to be read by young persons. It was admitted 
 
g LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 on all hands that Burns was a child of nature 
 of whom his mother was ashamed and proud. 
 
 In the blessed year aforesaid, candor, free 
 and sincere speech, were under the ban. 
 Creeds at that time were entrenched behind 
 statutes, prejudice, custom, ignorance, stupid- 
 ity, Puritanism and slavery ; that is to say, 
 slavery of mind and body. 
 
 Of course it always has been, and forever will 
 be, impossible for slavery, or any kind or form 
 of injustice, to produce a great poet. There are 
 hundreds of verse makers and writers on the 
 side of wrong — enemies of progress — but they 
 are not poets, they are not men of genius. 
 
 At this time a young man — he to whom this 
 testimonial is given— he upon whose head have 
 fallen the snows of more than seventy winters 
 — this man, born within the sound of the sea, 
 gave to the world a book, "Leaves of Grass." 
 This book was, and is, the true transcript of a 
 soul. The man is unmasked. No drapery of 
 hypocrisy, no pretense, no fear. The book was 
 as original in form as in thought. All customs 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 9 
 
 were forgotten or disregarded, all rules broken 
 — nothing mechanical — no imitation — sponta- 
 neous, running and winding like a river, multi- 
 tudinous in its thoughts as the waves of the 
 sea — nothing mathematical or measured. In 
 everything a touch of chaos — lacking what is 
 called form as clouds lack form, but not lack- 
 ing the splendor of sunrise or the glory of sun- 
 set. It was a marvelous collection and aggre- 
 gation of fragments, hints, suggestions, memo- 
 ries, and prophecies, weeds and flowers, clouds 
 and clods, sights and sounds, emotions and 
 passions, waves, shadows and constellations. 
 
 His book was received by many with disdain, 
 with horror, with indignation and protest — by 
 the few as a marvelous, almost miraculous, 
 message to the world— full of thought, philos- 
 ophy, poetry and music. 
 
 In the republic of mediocrity genius is 
 dangerous. A great soul appears and fills the 
 world with new and marvelous harmonies. In 
 his words is the old Promethean flame. The 
 heart of nature beats and throbs in his line. 
 
1Q LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 The respectable prudes and pedagogues sound 
 the alarm, and cry, or rather screech : " Is this 
 a book for a young person?" 
 
 A poem true to life as a Greek statue — candid 
 as nature — fills these barren souls with fear. 
 
 They forget that drapery about the perfect 
 was suggested by immodesty. 
 
 The provincial prudes, and others of like 
 mold, pretend that love is a duty rather than a 
 passion — a kind of self-denial — not an over- 
 mastering joy. They preach the gospel of pre- 
 tense and pantalettes. In the presence of sin- 
 cerity, of truth, they cast down their eyes and 
 endeavor to feel immodest. To them, the most 
 beautiful thing is hypocrisy adorned with a 
 blush. 
 
 They have no idea of an honest, pure passion, 
 glorying in its strength — intense, intoxicated 
 with the beautiful, giving even to inanimate 
 things pulse and motion, and that transfigures, 
 ennobles, and idealizes the object of its adora- 
 tion. 
 
 They do not walk the streets of the city of 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. H 
 
 life — the} 7 explore the sewers ; they stand in 
 the gutters and cry " Unclean !" They pretend 
 that beauty is a snare ; that love is a Delilah ; 
 that the highway of joy is the broad road, lined 
 with flowers and filled with perfume, leading to 
 the city of eternal sorrow. 
 
 Since the year 1855 the American people 
 have developed ; they are somewhat acquainted 
 with the literature of the world. They have 
 witnessed the most tremendous of revolutions, 
 not only upon the fields of battle, but in the 
 world of thought. The American citizen has 
 concluded that it is hardly worth while being a 
 sovereign unless he has the right to think for 
 himself. 
 
 And now, from this liight, with the vantage- 
 ground of to-day, I propose to examine this 
 book and to state, in a general way, what Walt 
 Whitman has done, what he has accomplished, 
 and the place he has won in the world of 
 thought. 
 
12 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE RELIGION OF THE BODY. 
 
 "Walt Whitman stood, when he published his 
 book, where all stand to-night — on the perpet- 
 ually moving line where history ends and 
 prophecy begins. He was full of life to the 
 very tips of his fingers — brave, eager, candid, 
 joyous with health. He was acquainted with 
 the past. He knew something of song and 
 story, of philosophy and art — much of the 
 heroic dead, of brave suffering, of the thoughts 
 of men, the habits of the people — rich as well 
 as poor — familiar with labor, a friend of wind 
 and wave, touched by love and friendship — 
 liking the open road, enjoying the fields and 
 paths, the crags — friend of the forest — feeling 
 that he was free — neither master nor slave — 
 willing that all should know his thoughts — 
 open as the sky, candid as nature — and he gave 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 13 
 
 his thoughts, his dreams, his conclusions, his 
 hopes, and his mental portrait to his fellow- 
 men. 
 
 Walt Whitman announced the gospel of the 
 body. He confronted the people. He denied 
 the depravity of man. He insisted that love is 
 not a crime ; that men and women should be 
 proudly natural ; that they need not grovel on 
 the earth and cover their faces for shame. He 
 taught the dignity and glory of the father and 
 mother ; the sacredness of maternity. 
 
 Maternity, tender and pure as the tear of 
 pity, holy as suffering — the crown, the flower, 
 the ecstasy of love. 
 
 People had been taught from bibles and from 
 creeds that maternity was a kind of crime ; that 
 the woman should be purified by some cere- 
 mony in some temple built in honor of some 
 god. This barbarism was attacked in " Leaves 
 of Grass." 
 
 The glory of simple life was sung ; a declara- 
 tion of independence was made for each 
 and all. 
 
14 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 And yet this appeal to manhood and to 
 womanhood was misunderstood. It was de- 
 nounced simply because it was in harmony 
 with the great trend of nature. To me, the 
 most obscene word in our language is celibacy. 
 
 It was not the fashion for people to speak or 
 write their thoughts. We were flooded with 
 the literature of hypocrisy. The writers did 
 not faithfully describe the worlds in which 
 they lived. They endeavored to make a fash- 
 ionable world. They pretended that the cot- 
 tage or the hut in which they dwelt was a 
 palace, and they called the little area in which 
 they threw their slops their domain, their 
 realm, their empire. They were ashamed of 
 the real, of what their world actually was. 
 They imitated ; that is to say, they told lies, 
 and these lies filled the literature of most 
 lands. 
 
 Walt Whitman defended the sacredness of 
 love, the purity of passion — the passion that 
 builds every home and fills the world with art 
 and songi 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 15 
 
 They cried out : " He is a defender of pas- 
 sion — lie is a libertine ! He lives in the mire. 
 He lacks spirituality !" 
 
 Whoever differs with the multitude, especially 
 with a led multitude — that is to say, with a 
 multitude of taggers — will find out from their 
 leaders that he has committed an unpardonable 
 sin. It is a crime to travel a road of your own, 
 especially if you put up guide-boards for the 
 information of others. 
 
 Many, many centuries ago Epicurus, the 
 greatest man of his century, and of many centu- 
 ries before and after, said : " Happiness is the 
 only good ; happiness is the supreme end." 
 This man was temperate, frugal, generous, 
 noble — and yet through all these years he has 
 been denounced by the hypocrites of the world 
 as a mere eater and drinker. 
 
 It was said that Whitman had exaggerated 
 the importance of love — that he had made too 
 much of this passion. Let me say that no poet 
 — not excepting Shakespeare — has had imagi- 
 nation enough to exaggerate the importance of 
 
16 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 human love — a passion that contains all nights 
 and all depths — ample as space, with a sky in 
 which glitter all constellations, and that has 
 within it all storms, all lightnings, all wrecks 
 and ruins, all griefs, all sorrows, all shadows, 
 and all the joy and sunshine of which the heart 
 and brain are capable. 
 
 No writer must be measured by a word or 
 paragraph. He is to be measured by his work 
 — by the tendency, not of one line, but by the 
 tendency of all. 
 
 Which way does the great stream tend ? Is 
 it for good or evil ? Are the motives high and 
 noble, or low and infamous ? 
 
 We cannot measure Shakespeare by a few 
 lines, neither can we measure the Bible by a 
 few chapters, nor " Leaves of Grass " by a few 
 paragraphs. In each there are many things 
 that I neither approve nor believe — but in all 
 books you will find a mingling of wisdom and 
 foolishness, of prophecies and mistakes — in 
 other words, among the excellencies there will 
 be defects. The mine is not all gold, or all 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 17 
 
 silver, or all diamonds — there are baser metals. 
 The trees of the forest are not all of one size. 
 On some of the highest there are dead and 
 useless limbs, and there may be growing be- 
 neath the bushes, weeds, and now and then a 
 poisonous vine. 
 
 If I were to edit the great books of the, 
 world, I might leave out some lines and I might 
 leave out the best. I have no right to make 
 of my brain a sieve and say that only that 
 which passes through belongs to the rest of 
 the human race. I claim the right to choose. 
 I give that right to all. 
 
 Walt Whitman had the courage to express 
 his thought — the candor to tell the truth. 
 And here let me say it gives me joy — a kind 
 of perfect satisfaction — to look above the big- 
 oted bats, the satisfied owls and wrens and 
 chickadees, and see the great eagle poised, cir- 
 cling higher and higher, unconscious of their 
 existence. And it gives me joy, a kind of per- 
 fect satisfaction, to look above the petty pas- 
 sions and jealousies of small and respectable 
 
18 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 people — above the considerations of place and 
 power and reputation, and see a brave, intrepid 
 man. 
 
 It must be remembered that the American 
 people had separated from the Old World — 
 that we had declared not only the independ- 
 ence of colonies, but the independence of the 
 individual. "We had done more — we had de- 
 clared that the state could no longer be ruled 
 by the Church, and that the Church could not 
 be ruled by the state, and that the individual 
 could not be ruled by the Church. These dec- 
 larations were in danger of being forgotten. 
 We needed a new voice, sonorous, loud and 
 clear, a new poet for America for the new epoch, 
 somebody to chant the morning song of the 
 new day. 
 
 The great man who gives a true transcript of 
 his mind, fascinates and instructs. Most writers 
 suppress individuality. They wish to please 
 the public. They flatter the stupid and pander 
 to the prejudice of their readers. They write 
 for the market — making books as other me- 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 19 
 
 chanics make shoes. They have no message — 
 they bear no torch — they are simply the slaves 
 of customers. The books they manufacture are 
 handled by "the trade;" they are regarded as 
 harmless. The pulpit does not object ; the 
 young person can read the monotonous pages 
 without a blush — or a thought. On the title 
 pages of these books you will find the imprint 
 of the great publishers — on the rest of the 
 pages, nothing. These books might be pre- 
 scribed for insomnia. 
 
20 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 III. 
 
 Men of talent, men of business, touch life 
 upon few sides. They travel but the beaten 
 path. The creative spirit is not in them. They 
 regard with suspicion a poet who touches life 
 on every side. They have little confidence in 
 that divine thing called sympathy, and they do 
 not and cannot understand the man who enters 
 into the hopes, the aims, and the feelings of all 
 others. 
 
 In all genius there is the touch of chaos — a 
 little of the vagabond ; and the successful 
 tradesman, the man who buys and sells, or 
 manages a bank, does not care to deal with a 
 person who has only poems for collaterals — 
 they have a little fear of such people, and re- 
 gard them as the awkward countryman does a 
 sleight-of-hand performer. 
 
 In every age in which books have been pro- 
 
testimonial to walt whitman. 21 
 
 duced the governing class, the respectable, have 
 been opposed to the works of real genius. If 
 what are known as the best people could have 
 had their way, if the pulpit had been consulted — 
 the provincial moralists — the works of Shake- 
 speare would have been suppressed. Not a line 
 would have reached our time. And the same 
 may be said of every dramatist of his age. 
 
 If the Scotch Kirk could have decided, noth- 
 ing would have been known of Kobert Burns. 
 If the good people, the orthodox, could have 
 had their say, not one line of Voltaire would 
 now be known. All the plates of the French 
 Encyclopedia would have been destroyed with 
 the thousands that were destroyed. Nothing 
 would have been known of D'Alembert, Grimm, 
 Diderot, or any of the Titans who warred 
 against the thrones and altars and laid the 
 foundation of modern literature not only, but 
 what is of far greater moment, universal educa- 
 tion. 
 
 It is not too much to say that every book 
 now held in high esteem would have been de- 
 
22 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 stroyed, if those in authority could have had 
 their will. Every book of modern times, that 
 has a real value, that has enlarged the intel- 
 lectual horizon of mankind, that has developed 
 the brain, that has furnished real food for 
 thought, can be found in the Index Expurgato- 
 rius of the Papacy, and nearly every one has 
 been commended to the free minds of men by 
 the denunciations of Protestants. 
 
 If the guardians of society, the protectors of 
 "young persons," could have had their way, 
 we should have known nothing of Byron or 
 Shelley. The voices that thrill the world 
 would now be silent. If authority could have 
 had its way, the world would have been as 
 ignorant now as it was when our ancestors 
 lived in holes or hung from dead limbs by their 
 prehensile tails. 
 
 But we are not forced to go very far back. 
 If Shakespeare had been published for the first 
 time now, those divine plays — greater than con- 
 tinents 'and seas, greater even than the constel- 
 lations of the midnight sky — would be excluded 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 23 
 
 from the mails by the decision of the present 
 enlightened postmaster-general. 
 
 The poets have always lived in an ideal 
 world, and that ideal world has always been far 
 better than the real world. As a consequence, 
 they have forever roused, not simply the imag- 
 ination, but the energies — the enthusiasm of 
 the human race. 
 
 The great poets have been on the side of the 
 oppressed — of the downtrodden. They have 
 suffered with the imprisoned and the enslaved, 
 and whenever and wherever man has suffered 
 for the right, wherever the hero has been 
 stricken down — whether on field or scaffold — 
 some man of genius has walked by his side, 
 and some poet has given form and expression, 
 not simply to his deeds, but to his aspirations. 
 
 From the Greek and Roman world we still 
 hear the voices of a few. The poets, the phi- 
 losophers, the artists and the orators still 
 speak. Countless millions have been covered 
 by the waves of oblivion, but the few who 
 uttered the elemental truths, who had sym- 
 
24 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 patby for the whole human race, and who were 
 great enough to prophesy a grander day, are as 
 alive to-night as when they roused, by their 
 bodily presence, by their living voices, by their 
 works of art, the enthusiasm of their fellow 
 men. 
 
 Think of the respectable people, of the men 
 of wealth and position, those who dwelt in man- 
 sions, children of success, who went down to 
 the grave voiceless, and whose names we do not 
 know. Think of the vast multitudes, the end- 
 less processions, that entered the caverns of 
 eternal night — leaving no thought — no truth as 
 a legacy to mankind ! 
 
 The great poets have sympathized with the 
 people. They have uttered in all ages the 
 human cry. Unbought by gold, unawed by 
 power, they have lifted high the torch that 
 illuminates the world. 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 25 
 
 IV. 
 
 Walt Whitman is in the highest sense a be- 
 liever in democracy. He knows that there is 
 but one excuse for government — the preserva- 
 tion of liberty; to the end that man may be 
 happy. He knows that there is but one excuse 
 for any institution, secular and religious — the 
 preservation of liberty ; and that there is but 
 one excuse for schools, for universal education, 
 for the ascertainment of facts, namely, the pres- 
 ervation of liberty. He resents the arrogance 
 and cruelty of power. He has sworn never to 
 be tyrant or slave. He has solemnly declared : 
 
 I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy, 
 By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their 
 counterpart of on the same terms. 
 
 This one declaration covers the entire ground. 
 It is a declaration of independence, and it is 
 
26 LIBERTY EST LITERATURE!. 
 
 also a declaration of justice, that is to say, a 
 declaration of the independence of the individ- 
 ual, and a declaration that all shall be free. 
 The man who has this spirit can truthfully say: 
 
 I have taken off my hat to nothing known or unknown. 
 I am for those that have never been master'd. 
 
 There is in Whitman what he calls " The 
 boundless impatience of restraint " — together 
 with that sense of justice which compelled him 
 to say, " Neither a servant nor a master am I." 
 
 He was wise enough to know that giving 
 others the same rights that he claims for him- 
 self could not harm him, and he was great 
 enough to say : " As if it were not indispensa- 
 ble to my own rights that others possess the 
 same." 
 
 He felt as all should feel, that the liberty of 
 no man is safe unless the liberty of each is safe. 
 
 There is in our country a little of the old ser- 
 vile spirit, a little of the bowing and cringing 
 to others. Many Americans do not understand 
 that the officers of the government are simply 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 27 
 
 the servants of the people. Nothing is so de- 
 moralizing as the worship of place. Whitman 
 has reminded the people of this country that 
 they are supreme, and he has said to them : 
 
 The President is there in the White House for you, it is not 
 
 you who are here for him, 
 The Secretaries act in their bureaus for you, not you here for 
 
 them. 
 Doctrines, politics and civilization exurge from you, 
 Sculpture and monuments and any thing inscribed anywhere 
 
 are tallied in you. 
 
 He describes the ideal American citizen — the 
 one who 
 
 Says indifferently and alike "How are you, friend?" to the 
 
 President at his levee, 
 And he says "Good-day, my brother," to Cudge that hoes in 
 
 the sugar-field. 
 
 Long ago, when the politicians were wrong, 
 when the judges were subservient, when the 
 pulpit was a coward, Walt Whitman shouted : 
 
 Man shall not hold property in man. 
 
 The least develop'd person on earth is just as important and 
 sacred to himself or herself as the most develop'd per- 
 son is to himself or herself. 
 
28 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 This is the very soul of true democracy. 
 
 Beauty is not all there is of poetry. It must 
 contain the truth. It is not simply an oak, 
 rude and grand, neither is it simply a vine. It 
 is both. Around the oak of truth runs the vine 
 of beauty. 
 
 Walt Whitman utters the elemental truths 
 and is the poet of democracy. He is also the 
 poet of individuality. 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 29 
 
 V. 
 
 INDIVIDUALITY. 
 
 In order to protect the liberties of a nation, 
 we must protect the individual. A democracy 
 is a nation of free individuals. The individuals 
 are not to be sacrificed to the nation. The na- 
 tion exists only for the purpose of guarding 
 and protecting the individuality of men and 
 women. Walt Whitman has told us that : 
 "The whole theory of the universe is directed 
 unerringly to one single individual — namely to 
 You." 
 
 And he has also told us that the greatest 
 city — the greatest nation — is " where the citizen 
 is always the head and ideal." 
 
 And that 
 
 A great city is that which has the greatest men and women, 
 If it be a few ragged huts it is still the greatest city in 
 the whole world. 
 

 30 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 By this test maybe the greatest city on the 
 continent to-night is Camden. 
 
 This poet has asked of us this question : 
 
 What do you suppose will satisfy the soul, except to walk 
 free and own no superior? 
 
 The man who asks this question has left no 
 impress of his lips in the dust, and has no dirt 
 upon his knees. 
 
 He was great enough to say : 
 
 The soul has that measureless pride which revolts from every 
 lesson but its own. 
 
 He carries the idea of individuality to its 
 utmost hight : 
 
 What do you suppose I would intimate to you in a hun- 
 dred ways, but that man or woman is as good as God? 
 And that there is no God any more divine than Yourself? 
 
 Glorying in individuality, in the freedom of 
 the soul, he cries out : 
 
 to struggle against great odds, to meet enemies undaunted! 
 To be entirely alone with them, to find how much one 
 
 can stand 1 
 To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, face to face! 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 31 
 
 To mount the scaffold, to advance to the muzzles of guns 
 
 with perfect nonchalance 1 
 To be indeed a Godl 
 
 And again : 
 
 O the joy of a manly self-hood ! 
 
 To be servile to none, to defer to none, not to any tyrant 
 
 known or unknown, 
 To walk with erect carriage, a step springy and elastic, 
 To look with calm gaze or with a flashing eye, 
 To speak with full and sonorous voice out of a broad chest, 
 To confront with your personality all the other personalities of 
 
 the earth. 
 
 Walt Whitman is willing to stand alone. He 
 is sufficient unto himself, and he says : 
 
 Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune. 
 
 Strong and content I travel the open road. 
 He is one of 
 
 Those that look carelessly in the faces of Presidents and Gov- 
 ernors, as to say "Who are you?" 
 
 And not only this, but he has the courage 
 to say : " Nothing, not God, is greater to one 
 than one's self." 
 
32 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 Walt Whitman is the poet of Individuality 
 — the defender of the rights of each for the 
 sake of all — and his sympathies are as wide 
 as the world. He is the defender of the 
 whole race. 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 33 
 
 VI. 
 
 HUMANITY. 
 
 The great poet is intensely human — infi- 
 nitely sympathetic — entering into the joys and 
 griefs of others, bearing their burdens, know- 
 ing their sorrows. Brain without heart is not 
 much ; they must act together. When the 
 respectable people of the North, the rich, the 
 successful, were willing to carry out the Fu- 
 gitive Slave law, Walt Whitman said : 
 
 I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs, 
 Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the 
 
 marksmen, 
 I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd with 
 
 the ooze of my skin, 
 I fall on the weeds and stones, 
 The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close, 
 Taunt my dizzy ears, and beat me violently over the head 
 
 with whip-stocks. 
 
34 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 Agonies are one of ray changes of garments, 
 I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself 
 become the wounded person. . . . 
 
 I . . . see myself in prison shaped like another man, 
 And feel the dull unintermitted pain. > 
 
 For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and 
 
 keep watch, 
 It is I let out in the morning and barr'd at night 
 
 Not a mutineer walks handcuff'd to jail but I am handcuffd 
 to him and walk by his side. 
 
 Judge not as the judge judges, but as the sun falling upon a 
 helpless thing. 
 
 Of tlie very worst lie had the infinite tender- 
 ness to say : " Not until the sun excludes you 
 will I exclude you." 
 
 In this age of greed when houses and 
 lands, and stocks and bonds, outrank human 
 life ; when gold is more of value than blood, 
 these words should be read by all : 
 
 "When the psalm sings instead of the singer, 
 When the script preaches instead of the preacher, 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 35 
 
 When the pulpit descends and goes instead of the carver that 
 carved the supporting desk. 
 
 When I can touch the body of books by night or day, and 
 when they touch my body back again, 
 
 When a university course convinces like a slumbering woman 
 and child convince, 
 
 When the minted gold in the vault smiles like the night- 
 watchman's daughter, 
 
 When warrantee deeds loafe in chairs opposite and are my 
 friendly companions, 
 
 I intend to reach them my hand, and make as much of them 
 as I do of men and women like you. 
 
36 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The poet is also a painter, a sculptor — he, 
 too, deals in form and color. The great poet 
 is of necessity a great artist. With a few- 
 words he creates pictures, filling his canvas 
 with living men and women — with those who 
 feel and speak. Have you ever read the ac- 
 count of the stage-driver's funeral? Let me 
 read it : 
 
 Cold dash of waves at the ferry-wharf, posh and ice in the 
 river, half-frozen mud in the streets, 
 
 A gray discouraged sky overhead, the short last daylight of 
 December, 
 
 A hearse and stages, the funeral of an old Broadway stage- 
 driver, the cortege mostly drivers. 
 
 Steady the trot to the cemetery, duly rattles the death-bell, 
 The gate is pass'd, the new-dug grave is halted at, the liv- 
 ing alight, the hearse uncloses, 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 37 
 
 The coffin is pass'd out, lower'd and settled, the whip is laid 
 
 on the coffin, the earth is swiftly shovel'd in, 
 The mound above is flatted with the spades — silence, . 
 A minute — no one moves or speaks — it is done, 
 He is decently put away — is there any thing more? 
 
 He was a good fellow, free-mouth'd, quick-temper'd, not bad- 
 looking, 
 
 Ready with life or death for a friend, fond of women, gambled, 
 ate hearty, drank hearty, 
 
 Had known what it was to be flush, grew low-spirited 
 toward the last, sicken'd, was helped by a contribution, 
 
 Died, aged forty-one years — and that was his funeral. 
 
 Let me read you another description — one 
 of a woman : 
 
 Behold a woman ! 
 
 She looks out from her quaker cap, her face is clearer and 
 more beautiful than the sky. 
 
 She sits in an armchair under the shaded porch of the 
 
 farmhouse, 
 The sun just shines on her old white head. 
 
 Her ample gown is of cream-hued linen, 
 Her grandsons raised the flax, and her grand-daughters 
 spun it with the distaff and the wheel. 
 
38 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 The melodious character of the earth, 
 
 The finish beyond which philosophy cannot go and does 
 
 not wish to go, 
 The justified mother of men. 
 
 Would you hear of an old-time sea fight ? 
 
 "Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and 
 
 stars ? 
 List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told 
 
 it to me. 
 
 Our foe was no skulk in his ship I tell you, (said he,) 
 His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher 
 
 or truer, and never was, and never will be ; 
 Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking us. 
 
 We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon 
 
 touch'd, 
 My captain lash'd fast with his own hands. 
 
 "We had receiv'd some eighteen pound shots under the 
 
 water, 
 On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the 
 
 first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead. 
 
 Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark, 
 
 Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the 
 gain, and five feet of water reported, 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 39 
 
 The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after- 
 hold to give them a chance for themselves. 
 
 The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the 
 
 sentinels, 
 They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to 
 
 trust. 
 
 Our frigate takes fire, 
 
 The other asks if we demand quarter? 
 
 If our colors are struck and the fighting done? ', 
 
 Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little cap- 
 tain, 
 
 "We have not struck,'' he composedly cries, "we have just 
 begun our part of the fighting." 
 
 Only three guns are in use, 
 
 One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's 
 
 mainmast, 
 Two well serv'd with grape and canister silence his musketry 
 
 and clear his decks. 
 
 The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially 
 
 the main-top, 
 They hold out bravely during the whole of the action. 
 
 Not a moment's cease, 
 
 The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eutj toward the 
 powder-magazine. 
 
40 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally 
 
 thought we are sinking. 
 Serene stands the little captain, 
 
 He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, 
 His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns. 
 
 Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they sur- 
 render to us. 
 
 Stretch'd and still lies the midnight, 
 
 Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness, 
 
 Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass 
 
 to the one we have conquer'd, 
 The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders 
 
 through a countenance white as a sheet, 
 Near by the corpse of the child that serv'd in the cabin, 
 The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and care- 
 fully curl'd whiskers, 
 The flames spite of all that can be done flickering aloft and 
 
 below, 
 The husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for 
 
 duty, 
 Formless stacks of bodies and bodies by themselves, dabs of 
 
 flesh upon the masts and spars, 
 Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe 
 
 of waves, 
 Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels, strong 
 
 scent, 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 41 
 
 A few large stars overhead, silent and mournful shining, 
 
 Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and fields 
 by the shore, death-messages given in charge to sur- 
 vivors, 
 
 The hiss of the . surgeon's knife, the gnawing teeth of his 
 saw, 
 
 Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and 
 long, dull, tapering groan. 
 
 Some people say that this is not poetry — 
 that it lacks measure and rhyme. 
 
42 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 WHAT IS POETRY? 
 
 The whole world is engaged in the invisible, 
 commerce of thought. That is to say, in tUe 
 exchange of thoughts by words, symbols, 
 sounds, colors and forms. The motions of 
 the silent, invisible world, where feeling glows 
 and thought flames — that contains all seeds 
 of action — are made known only by sounds 
 and colors, forms, objects, relations, uses and 
 qualities — so that the visible universe is a 
 dictionary, an aggregation of symbols, by 
 which and through which is carried on the 
 invisible commerce of thought. Each object is 
 capable of many meanings, or of being used 
 in many ways to convey ideas or states of 
 feeling or of facts that take place in the world 
 of the brain. 
 
 The greatest poet is the one who selects 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 43 
 
 the best, the most appropriate symbols to 
 convey the best, the highest, the sublimest 
 thoughts. Each man occupies a world of his 
 own. He is the only citizen of his world. He 
 is subject and sovereign, and the best he can 
 do is to give the facts concerning the world 
 in which he lives to the citizens of other 
 worlds. No two of these worlds are alike. 
 They are of all kinds, from the flat, barren, 
 and uninteresting — from the small and shriv- 
 eled and worthless — to those whose rivers and 
 mountains and seas and constellations belittle 
 and cheapen the visible world. The inhabit- 
 ants of these marvelous worlds have been 
 the singers of songs, utterers of great speech 
 — the creators of art. 
 
 And here lies the difference between cre- 
 ators and imitators : the creator tells what 
 passes in his own world — the imitator does 
 not. The imitator abdicates, and by the fact 
 of imitation falls upon his knees. He is like 
 one who, hearing a traveler talk, pretends to 
 others that he has traveled. 
 
44 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 In nearly all lands, the poet lias been 
 privileged — for the sake of beauty, they have 
 allowed him to speak, and for that reason 
 he has told the story of the oppressed, and 
 has excited the indignation of honest men 
 and even the pity of tyrants. He, above all 
 others, has added to the intellectual beauty 
 of the world. He has been the true creator 
 of language, and has left his impress on 
 mankind. 
 
 What I have said is not only true of 
 poetry — it is true of all speech. All are 
 compelled to use the visible world as a 
 dictionary. Words have been invented and 
 are being invented — for the reason that new 
 powers are found in the old symbols, new 
 qualities, relations, uses and meanings. The 
 growth of language is necessary on account 
 of the development of the human mind. The 
 savage needs but few symbols — the civilized 
 many — the poet most of all. 
 
 The old idea was, however, that the poet 
 must be a rhymer. Before printing was 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 45 
 
 known, it was said : the rhyme assists the 
 memory. That excuse no longer exists. 
 
 Is rhyme a necessary part of poetry? In 
 my judgment, rhyme is a hindrance to ex- 
 pression. The rhymer is compelled to wander 
 from his subject — to say more or less than he 
 means — to introduce irrelevant matter that 
 interferes continually with the dramatic ac- 
 tion and is a perpetual obstruction to sincere 
 utterance. 
 
 All poems, of necessity, must be short. 
 The highly and purely poetic is the sudden 
 bursting into blossom of a great and tender 
 thought. The planting of the seed, the 
 growth, the bud and flower must be rapid. 
 The spring must be quick and warm — the 
 soil perfect, the sunshine and rain enough — 
 everything should tend to hasten, nothing to 
 delay. In poetry, as in wit, the crystalliza- 
 tion must be sudden. 
 
 The greatest poems are rhythmical. While 
 rhj^me is a hindrance, rhythm seems to be 
 the comrade of the poetic. Ehythm has a 
 
 ■ ; ; ■ 
 
46 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 natural foundation. Under emotion, the blood 
 rises and falls, the muscles contract and 
 relax, and this action of the blood is as 
 rhythmical as the rise and fall of the sea. 
 In the highest form of expression, the 
 thought should be in harmony with this 
 natural ebb and flow. 
 
 The highest poetic truth is expressed in 
 rhythmical form. I have sometimes thought 
 that an idea selects its own words, chooses 
 its own garments, and that when the thought 
 has possession, absolutely, of the speaker or 
 writer, he unconsciously allows the thought 
 to clothe itself. 
 
 The great poetry of the world keeps 
 time with the winds and the waves. 
 
 I do not mean by rhythm a recurring 
 accent at accurately measured intervals. 
 Perfect time is the death of music. There 
 should always be room for eager -haste and 
 delicious delay, and whatever change there 
 may be in the rhythm or time, the action 
 itself should suggest perfect freedom. 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 47 
 
 A word more about rhythm. I believe 
 that certain feelings and passions — joy, grief, 
 emulation, revenge, produce certain molec- 
 ular movements in the brain — that every 
 thought is accompanied by certain physical 
 phenomena. Now it may be that certain 
 sounds, colors, and forms produce the same 
 molecular action in the brain that accom- 
 panies certain feelings, and that these sounds, 
 colors and forms produce first, the molecular 
 movements and these in their turn reproduce 
 the feelings, emotions and states of mind 
 capable of producing the same or like 
 molecular movements. So that what we 
 call heroic music, produces the same molec- 
 ular action in the brain — the same phys- 
 ical changes — that are produced by the real 
 feeling of heroism ; that the sounds we call 
 plaintive produce the same molecular move- 
 ment in the brain that grief, or the twi- 
 light of grief, actually produces. There may 
 be a rhythmical molecular movement belong- 
 ing to each state of mind, that accompanies 
 
48 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 each thought or passion, and it may be 
 that music, or painting, or sculpture, pro- 
 duces the same state of mind or feeling 
 that produces the music or painting or 
 sculpture, by producing the same molecu- 
 lar movements. 
 
 All arts are born of the same spirit, and 
 express like thoughts in different ways — 
 that is to say, they produce like states of 
 mind and feeling. The sculptor, the painter, 
 the composer, the poet, the orator, work to 
 the same end, with different materials. The 
 painter expresses through form and color 
 and relation ; the sculptor through form and 
 relation. The poet also paints and chisels 
 — his words give form, relation and color. 
 His statues and his paintings do not crum- 
 ble, neither do they fade, nor will they as 
 long as language endures. The composer 
 touches the passions, produces the very states 
 of feeling produced by the painter and 
 sculptor, the poet and orator. In all these 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 49 
 
 there must be rhythm — that is to say, pro- 
 portion — that is to say, harmony, melody. 
 
 So that the greatest poet is the one who 
 idealizes the common, who gives new mean- 
 ings to old symbols, who transfigures the 
 ordinary things of life. He must deal with 
 the hopes and fears, and with the experi- 
 ences of the people. 
 
 The poetic is not the exceptional. A per- 
 fect poem is like a perfect day. It has the 
 undefinable charm of naturalness and ease. 
 It must not appear to be the result of 
 great labor. We feel, in spite of ourselves, 
 that man does best that which he does 
 easiest. 
 
 The great poet is the instrumentality, not 
 always of his time, but of the best of his 
 time, and he must be in unison and accord 
 with the ideals of his race. The sublimer 
 he is, the simpler he is. The thoughts of 
 the people must be clad in the garments 
 of feeling — the words must be known, apt, 
 
50 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 familiar. The hight must be in the thought, 
 in the sympathy. 
 
 In the olden time they used to have May 
 day parties, and the prettiest child was 
 crowned Queen of May. Imagine an old 
 blacksmith and his wife looking at their 
 little daughter clad in white and crowned 
 with roses. They would wonder while they 
 looked at her, how they ever came to have 
 so beautiful a child. It is thus that the 
 poet clothes the intellectual children or 
 ideals of the people. They must not be 
 gemmed and garlanded beyond the recogni- 
 tion of their parents. Out from all the 
 flowers and beauty must look the eyes of 
 the child they know. 
 
 We have grown tired of gods and god- 
 desses in art. Milton's heavenly militia ex- 
 cites our laughter. Light-houses have driven 
 sirens from the dangerous coasts. We have 
 found that we do not depend on the imag- 
 ination for wonders— there are millions of 
 miracles under our feet. 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 51 
 
 Nothing can be more marvelous than the 
 common and everyday facts of life. The 
 phantoms have been cast aside. Men and 
 women are enough for men and women. In 
 their lives is all the tragedy and all the 
 comedy that they can comprehend. 
 
 The painter no longer crowds his canvas 
 with the winged and impossible — he paints 
 life as he sees it, people as he knows them, 
 and in whom he is' interested. "The An- 
 gelus," the perfection of pathos, is nothing 
 but two peasants bending their heads in 
 thankfulness as they hear the solemn sound 
 of the distant bell — two peasants, who have 
 nothing to be thankful for — nothing but 
 weariness and want, nothing but the crusts 
 that they soften with their tears — nothing. 
 And yet as you look at that picture you 
 feel that they have something besides to be 
 thankful for — that they have life, love, and 
 hope — and so the distant bell makes music 
 in their simple hearts. 
 
52 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The attitude of Whitman toward religion 
 has not been understood. Towards all forms 
 of worship, towards all creeds, he has main- 
 tained the attitude of absolute fairness. He 
 does not believe that Nature has given her 
 last message to man. He does not believe 
 that all has been ascertained. He denies 
 that any sect has written down the entire 
 truth. He believes in progress, and, so be- 
 lieving, he says : 
 
 We consider bibles and religions divine — I do not say they 
 
 are not divine, 
 I say they have all grown out of you, and may grow out of 
 
 you still, 
 It is not they who give the life, it is you who give the life. 
 
 His [the poet's] thoughts are the hymns of the praise of 
 
 things, 
 In the dispute on God and eternity he is silent. 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 53 
 
 Have you thought there could be but a single supreme? 
 
 There can be any number of supremes — one does not counter- 
 vail another any more than one eyesight countervails 
 another. 
 
 Upon the great questions, as to the great 
 problems, he feels only the serenity of a great 
 and well-poised soul. 
 
 No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about 
 God and about death. 
 
 I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God 
 
 not in the least, 
 Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than 
 
 myself. . . . 
 
 In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own 
 
 face in the glass, 
 I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one 
 
 is sign'd by God's name. 
 
 The whole visible world is regarded by him 
 as a revelation, and so is the invisible world, 
 and with this feeling he writes : 
 
 Not objecting to special revelations — considering a curl of 
 smoke or a hair on the back of my hand just as 
 curious as any revelation. 
 
54 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 The creeds do not satisfy, the old mythol- 
 ogies are not enough ; they are too narrow 
 at best, giving only hints and suggestions ; 
 and feeling this lack in that which has been 
 written and preached, Whitman says : 
 
 Magnifying and applying come I, 
 Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters, 
 Taking myself the exact dimensions of Jehovah, 
 Lithographing Kronos, Zeus his son, and Hercules his 
 
 grandson, 
 Buying drafts of Osiris, Isis, Belus, Brahma, Buddha, 
 In my portfolio placing Manito loose, Allah on a leaf, the 
 
 crucifix engraved, 
 With Odin and the hideous-faced Mexitli, and every idol 
 
 and image, 
 Taking them all for what they are worth, and not a cent 
 
 more. 
 
 Whitman keeps open house. He is intel- 
 lectually hospitable. He extends his hand 
 to a new idea. He does not accept a creed 
 because it is wrinkled and old and has a 
 long white beard. He knows that hypocrisy 
 has a venerable look, and that it relies on 
 looks and masks — -on stupidity — and fear. 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 55 
 
 Neither does he reject or accept the new 
 because it is new. He wants the truth, and 
 so he welcomes all until he knows just who 
 and what they are. 
 
56 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 X. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Walt Whitman is a philosopher. 
 
 The more a man has thought, the more 
 he has studied, the more he has traveled 
 intellectually, the less certain he is. Only 
 the very ignorant are perfectly satisfied that 
 they know. To the common man the great 
 problems are easy. He has no trouble in 
 accounting for the universe. He can tell 
 you the origin and destiny of man and the 
 why and the wherefore of things. As a rule, 
 he is a believer in special providence, and 
 is egotistic enough to suppose that every- 
 thing that happens in the universe happens 
 in reference to him. 
 
 A colony of red ants lived at the foot of 
 the Alps. It happened one day, that an 
 avalanche destroyed the hill; and one of the 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 57 
 
 ants was heard to remark : " Who could 
 have taken so much trouble to destroy our 
 home ?" 
 
 Walt Whitman walked by the side, of the 
 sea "where the fierce old mother endlessly 
 cries for her castaways," and endeavored to 
 think out, to fathom the mystery of being; 
 and he said : 
 
 I too but signify at the utmost a little wash'd-up drift, 
 
 A few sands and dead leaves to gather, 
 
 Gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and drift. 
 
 Aware now that amid all that blab whose echoes recoil upon 
 
 me I have not once had the least idea who or what 
 
 I am, 
 But that before all my arrogant poems the real Me stands 
 
 yet untouch'd, untold, altogether unreach'd, 
 Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory signs 
 
 and bows, 
 With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I have 
 
 written, 
 Pointing in silence to these songs, and then to the sand 
 
 beneath. . . . 
 I perceive I have not really understood any thing, not a single 
 
 object, and that no man ever can. 
 
5g LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 There is in our language no profounder 
 poem than the one entitled "Elemental 
 Drifts." 
 
 The effort to find the origin has ever 
 been, and will forever be, fruitless. Those 
 who endeavor to find the secret of life re- 
 semble a man looking in the mirror, who 
 thinks that if he only could be quick 
 enough he could grasp the image that he 
 sees behind the glass. 
 
 The latest word of this poet upon this 
 subject is as follows : 
 
 " To me this life with all its realities 
 and functions is finally a mystery, the real 
 something yet to be evolved, and the stamp 
 and shape and life here somehow giving an 
 important, perhaps the main, outline to 
 something further. Somehow this hangs over 
 everything else, and stands behind it, is 
 inside of all facts, and the concrete and 
 material, and the worldly affairs of life and 
 sense. That is the purport and meaning 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 5$, 
 
 behind all the other meanings of Leaves 
 or Gkass." 
 
 As a matter of fact, the questions of ori- 
 gin and destiny are beyond the grasp of 
 the human mind. We can see a certain 
 distance ; beyond that, everything is indis- 
 tinct ; and beyond the indistinct is the un- 
 seen. In the presence of these mysteries — 
 and everything is a mystery so far as 
 origin, destiny, and nature are concerned — 
 the intelligent, honest man is compelled to 
 say, "I do not know." 
 
 In the great midnight a few truths like 
 stars shine on forever — and from the brain 
 of man come a few struggling gleams of 
 light — a few momentary sparks. 
 
 Some have contended that everything is 
 spirit ; others that everything is matter ; and 
 again, others have maintained that a part is 
 matter and a part is spirit; some that spirit 
 was first and matter after ; others that mat- 
 ter was first and spirit after ; and others 
 that matter and spirit have existed together. 
 
60 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 But none of these people can by any pos- 
 sibility tell what matter is, or what spirit is, 
 or what the difference is between spirit and 
 matter. 
 
 The materialists look upon the spiritual- 
 ists as substantially crazy ; and the spirit- 
 ualists regard the materialists as low and 
 groveling. These spiritualistic people hold 
 matter in contempt ; but, after all, matter is 
 quite a mystery. You take in your hand a 
 little earth — a little dust. Do you know 
 what it is ? In this dust you put a seed ; 
 the rain falls upon it ; the light strikes it ; 
 the seed grows ; it bursts into blossom ; it 
 produces fruit. 
 
 What is this dust — this womb? Do you 
 understand it? Is there anything in the 
 wide universe more wonderful than this ? 
 
 Take a grain of sand, reduce it to powder, 
 take the smallest possible particle, look at 
 it with a microscope, contemplate its every 
 part for days, and it remains the citadel of 
 a secret — an impregnable fortress. Bring all 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 61 
 
 the theologians, philosophers, and scientists 
 in serried ranks against it ; let them attack 
 on every side with all the arts and arms of 
 thought and force. The citadel does not fall. 
 Over the battlements floats the flag, and the 
 victorious secret smiles at the baffled hosts. 
 
 Walt Whitman did not and does not im- 
 agine that he has reached the limit — the 
 end of the road traveled by the human race. 
 He knows that every victory over nature is 
 but the preparation for another battle. This 
 truth was in his mind when he said: "Un- 
 derstand me well ; it is provided in the es- 
 sence of things, that from any fruition of 
 success, no matter what, shall come forth 
 something to make a greater struggle neces- 
 sary." 
 
 This is the generalization of all history. 
 
62 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 XL 
 THE TWO POEMS. 
 
 There are two of these poems to which I 
 have time to call special attention. The 
 first is entitled, "A Word Out of the Sea." 
 
 The boy, coming out of the rocked cradle, 
 wandering over the sands and fields, up from 
 the mystic play of shadows, out of the 
 patches of briers and blackberries — from the 
 memories of birds — from the thousand re- 
 sponses of his heart — goes back to the sea 
 and his childhood, and sings a reminiscence. 
 
 Two guests from Alabama — two birds — 
 build their nest, and there were four light 
 green eggs, spotted with brown, and the two 
 birds sang for joy : 
 
 Shine! shine I shine I 
 
 Pour down your warmth, great sun! 
 
 "While we bask, we two together. 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 63 
 
 Two together I 
 
 Winds blow south, or winds blow north, 
 Day come white, or night come black, 
 Home, or rivers and mountains from home, 
 Singing all time, minding no time, 
 While we two keep together. 
 
 In a little while one of the birds is missed 
 and never appeared again, and all through 
 the summer the mate, the solitary guest, was 
 singing of the lost : 
 
 Blow ! blow ! blow 1 
 
 Blow up sea-winds along Paumanok's shore; 
 
 I wait and I wait till you blow my mate to me. 
 
 And the boy that night, blending himself 
 with the shadows, with bare feet, went down 
 to the sea, where the white arms out in the 
 breakers were tirelessly tossing ; listening to 
 the songs and translating the notes. 
 
 And the singing bird called loud and high 
 for the mate, wondering what the dusky spot 
 was in the brown and yellow, seeing the 
 mate whichever way he looked, piercing the 
 woods and the earth with his song, hoping 
 
64 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 that the mate might hear his cry ; stopping 
 that he might not lose her answer ; waiting and 
 then crying again : " Here I am ! And this 
 gentle call is for you. Do not be deceived 
 by the whistle of the wind ; those are the 
 shadows ;" and at last crying : 
 
 past ! happy life ! songs of joy ! 
 In the air, in the woods, over fields, 
 Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved! 
 But my mate no more, no more with me! 
 We two together no more. 
 
 And then the boy, understanding the song 
 that had awakened in his breast a thousand 
 songs clearer and louder and more sorrowful 
 than the bird's, knowing that the cry of un- 
 satisfied love would never again be absent 
 from him ; thinking then of the destiny of 
 all, and askirg of the sea the final word, 
 and the sea answering, delaying not and 
 hurrying not, spoke the low delicious word 
 "Death!" "ever Death!" 
 
 The next poem, one that will live as long 
 as our language, entitled : " When Lilacs . 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 65 
 
 Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd," is on the 
 death of Lincoln, 
 
 The sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands. 
 
 One who reads this will never forget the 
 odor of the lilac, " the lustrous western star " 
 and " the grey-brown bird singing in the 
 pines and cedars." 
 
 In this poem the dramatic unities are per- 
 fectly preserved, the atmosphere and climate 
 in harmony with every event. 
 
 Never will he forget the solemn journey of 
 the coffin through day and night, with the 
 great cloud darkening the land, nor the 
 pomp of inlooped flags, the processions long 
 and winding, the flambeaus of night, the 
 torches' flames, the silent sea of faces, the 
 unbared heads, the thousand voices rising 
 strong and solemn, the dirges, the shudder- 
 ing organs, the tolling bells — and the sprig 
 of lilac. 
 
 And then for a moment they will hear the 
 grey-brown bird singing in the cedars, bash- 
 
QQ LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 ful and tender, while the lustrous star lingers 
 in the West, and they will remember the 
 pictures hung on the chamber walls to adorn 
 the burial house — pictures of spring and farms 
 and homes, and the grey smoke lucid and 
 bright, and the floods of yellow gold — of the 
 gorgeous indolent sinking sun — the sweet her- 
 bage under foot — the green leaves of the trees 
 prolific — the breast of the river with the wind- 
 dapple here and there, and the varied and 
 ample land — and the most excellent sun so 
 calm and haughty — the violet and purple morn 
 with just-felt breezes — the gentle soft born 
 measureless light — the miracle spreading, bath- 
 ing all — the fulfill' d noon — the coming eve 
 delicious and the welcome night and the 
 stars. 
 
 And then again they will hear the song of 
 the grey-brown bird in the limitless dusk 
 amid the cedars and pines. Again they will 
 remember the star, and again the odor of the 
 lilao. 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 67 
 
 But most of all, the song of the bird trans- 
 lated and becoming the chant for death : 
 
 A CHANT FOR DEATH. 
 
 Come lovely and soothing death, 
 
 Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, 
 
 In the day, in the night, to all, to each, 
 
 Sooner or later delicate death. 
 
 Prais'd be the fathomless universe, 
 
 For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, 
 And for love, sweet love— but praise! praise! praise! 
 For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death. 
 
 Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, 
 Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome ? 
 Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, 
 I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, 
 come unfalteringly. 
 
 Approach strong deliveress, 
 
 When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously sing 
 
 the dead, 
 Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee, 
 Laved in the flood of thy bliss death. • 
 
 From me to thee glad serenades, 
 
 Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and 
 feastings for thee, 
 
68 LIBERTY IN LTTEEATTSE. 
 
 And the sights of the open landscape and the high) 
 
 sky are fitting. 
 And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night 
 
 The night in silence under many a star. 
 
 The ocean shore and the husky whispering ware whose 
 
 voice I know, 
 And the soul turning to thee O rast and well-veil'd death 
 And the body gratefully nestling close to thee. 
 
 Over the tree-tops I float thee a song. 
 
 Over the rising and sinking waves, orer the myriad fields 
 
 and the prairies wide. 
 Over the dense-paek'd cities all and the teeming wharves 
 
 and ways, 
 I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee death. 
 
 TMs poem, in memory of " the sweetest, 
 wisest soul of all our days and lands,"' and for 
 whose sake lilac and star and bird entwined, 
 will last as long as the memory of Lincoln. 
 
testimonial to walt whitman. $9 
 
 XIT. 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 Walt Whitman is not only the poet of child- 
 hood, of youth, of manhood, but, above all, of 
 old age. He has not been soured by slander 
 or petrified by prejudice ; neither calumny nor 
 flattery has made him revengeful or arrogant. 
 Now sitting by the fireside, in the winter of life, 
 
 His jocund heart still beating in his breast, 
 
 he is just as brave and calm and kind as ic 
 his manhood's proudest days, when roses 
 blossomed in his cheeks. He has taken life's 
 seven steps. Now, as the gamester might say, 
 " on velvet." He is enjoying " old age ex- 
 panded, broad, with the haughty breadth of 
 the universe ; old age, flowing free, with the 
 delicious near-by freedom of death ; old age, 
 superbly rising, welcoming the ineffable aggre- 
 gation of dying days." 
 
70 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 He is taking the " loftiest look at last," and 
 before he goes he utters thanks : 
 
 For health, the midday sun, the impalpable air — for life, 
 mere life, 
 
 For precious ever-lingering memories, (of you my mother 
 dear— you, father — you, brothers, sisters, friends,) 
 
 For all my days— not those of peace alone -the days of war 
 the same, 
 
 For gentle words, caresses, gifts from foreign lands, 
 
 For shelter, wine and meat — for sweet appreciation, 
 
 (You distant, dim unknown — or young or old — countless, un- 
 specified, readers belov'd, 
 
 We never met, and ne'er shall meet— and yet our souls em- 
 brace, long, close and long;) 
 
 For beings, groups, love, deeds, words, books— for colors, 
 forms, 
 
 For all the brave strong men— devoted, hardy men— who've 
 forward sprung in freedom's help, all j'ears, all lands, 
 
 For braver, stronger, more devoted men— (a special laurel ere 
 I go, to life's war's chosen ones, 
 
 The cannoneers of song and thought — the great artillerists — 
 the foremost leaders, captains of the soul). 
 
 It is a great thing to preach philosophy — far 
 greater to live it. The highest philosophy 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 71 
 
 accepts the inevitable with a smile, and greets 
 it as though it were desired. 
 
 To be satisfied : This is wealth — success. 
 
 The real philosopher knows that everything 
 has happened that could have happened — con- 
 sequently he accepts. He is glad that he has 
 lived — glad that he has had his moment on 
 the stage. In this spirit Whitman has accepted 
 life. 
 
 I shall go forth, 
 
 I shall traverse the States awhile, but I cannot tell whither 
 
 or how long, 
 Perhaps soon some day or night while I am singing my 
 
 voice will suddenly cease. 
 
 book, chants! must all then amount to but this? 
 Must we barely arrive at this beginning of us ? — and yet 
 
 it is enough, soul ; 
 soul, we have positively appear'd— that is enough. 
 
 Yes, Walt Whitman has appeared. He has 
 his place upon the stage. The drama is not 
 ended. His voice is still heard. He is the 
 Poet of Democracy — of all people. He is the 
 poet of the body and soul. He has sounded 
 
72 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE, 
 
 the note of Individuality. He has given the 
 pass-word primeval. He is the Poet of Hu- 
 manity — of Intellectual Hospitality. He has 
 voiced the aspirations of America — and, above 
 all, he is the poet of Love and Death. 
 
 How grandly, how bravely he has given his 
 thought, and how superb is his farewell — his 
 leave-taking : 
 
 After the supper and talk — after the day is done, 
 
 As a friend from friends his final withdrawal prolonging, 
 
 Good-bye and Good-bye with emotional lips repeating, 
 
 (So hard for his hand to release those hands — no more will 
 
 they meet, 
 No more for communion of sorrow and joy, of old and young, 
 A far-stretching journey awaits him, to return no more,) 
 Shunning, postponing severance -seeking to ward off the last 
 
 word ever so little, 
 E'en at the exit-door turning— charges superfluous calling back 
 
 — e'en as he descends the steps, 
 Something to eke out a minute additional— shadows of night- 
 fall deepening, 
 Farewells, messages lessening — dimmer the forthgoer's visage 
 
 and form, 
 Soon to be lost for aye in the darkness— loth, so loth to 
 depart ! 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 73 
 
 And is this all ? Will the forthgoer be lost, 
 and forevei ? Is death the end ? Over the 
 grave bends Love sobbing, and by her side 
 stands Hope and whispers : 
 
 We shall meet again. Before all life is 
 death, and after all death is life. The falling 
 leaf, touched with the hectic flush, that testi- 
 fies of autumn's death, is, in a subtler sense, a 
 prophec} 7 of spring. 
 
 Walt Whitman has dreamed great dreams, 
 told great truths and uttered sublime thoughts. 
 He has held aloft the torch and bravely led 
 the way. 
 
 As you read the marvelous book, or the 
 person, called "Leaves of Grass," you feel 
 the freedom of the antique world ; you hear 
 the voices of the morning, of the first great 
 singers — voices elemental as those of sea and 
 storm. The horizon enlarges, the heavens 
 grow ample, limitations are forgotten — the 
 realization of the will, the accomplishment of 
 the ideal, seem to be within }-our power. Ob- 
 structions become petty and disappear. The 
 
74 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 chains and bars are broken, and the distinc- 
 tions of caste are lost. The soul is in the 
 open air, under the blue and stars — the flag 
 of Nature. Creeds, theories and philoso- 
 phies ask to be examined, contradicted, re- 
 constructed. Prejudices disappear, supersti- 
 tions vanish and custom abdicates. The 
 sacred places become highways, duties and 
 desires clasp hands and become comrades 
 and friends. Authority drops the scepter, 
 the priest the miter, and the purple falls 
 from kings. The inanimate becomes articu- 
 late, the meanest and humblest things utter 
 speech and the dumb and voiceless burst into 
 song. A feeling of independence takes pos- 
 session of the soul, the body expands, the 
 blood flows full and free, superiors vanish, 
 flattery is a lost art, and life becomes rich, 
 royal, and superb. The world becomes a per- 
 sonal possession, and the oceans, the conti- 
 nents, and constellations belong to you. Tou 
 are in the center, everything radiates from you, 
 and in your veins beats and throbs the pulse 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT "WHITMAN. 75 
 
 of all life. You become a rover, careless and 
 free. You wander by the shores of all seas 
 and hear the eternal psalm. You feel the 
 silence of the wide forest, and stand beneath 
 the intertwined and over arching boughs, en- 
 tranced with symphonies of winds and woods. 
 You are borne on the tides of eager and swift 
 rivers, hear the rush and roar of cataracts as 
 they fall beneath the seven-hued arch, and 
 watch the eagles as they circling soar. You 
 traverse gorges dark and dim, and climb the 
 scarred and threatening cliffs. You stand in 
 orchards where the blossoms fall like snow, 
 where the birds nest and sing, and painted 
 moths make aimless journeys through the 
 happy air. You live the lives of those who 
 till the earth, and walk amid the perfumed 
 fields, hear the reapers' song, and feel the 
 breadth and scope of earth and sky. You are 
 in the great cities, in the midst of multitudes, 
 of the endless processions. You are on the 
 wide plains — the prairies — with hunter and 
 trapper, with savage and pioneer, and you feel 
 
76 LIBERTY IN LITERATURE. 
 
 the soft grass yielding under your feet. You 
 sail in many ships, and breathe the free air of 
 the sea. You travel many roads, and countless 
 paths. You visit palaces and prisons, hospitals 
 and courts ; you pity kings and convicts, and 
 your sympathy goes out to all the suffering and 
 insane, the oppressed and enslaved, and even 
 to the infamous. You hear the din of labor, 
 all sounds of factor}^, field, and forest, of all 
 tools, instruments and machines. You become 
 familiar with men and women of all employ- 
 ments, trades and professions — with birth and 
 burial, with wedding feast and funeral chant. 
 You see the cloud and flame of war, and you 
 enjoy the ineffable perfect days of peace. 
 In this one book, in these wondrous "Leaves 
 of Grass," you find hints and suggestions, 
 touches and fragments, of all there is of life, 
 that lies between the babe, whose rounded 
 cheeks dimple beneath his mother's laughing, 
 loving eyes, and the old man, snow-crowned, 
 who, with a smile, extends his hand to 
 death. 
 
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN. 
 
 77 
 
 We Lave met to-night to honor our- 
 selves by honoring the author of "Leaves 
 of Grass." 
 
 ^^? 
 
INGERSOLL'S WORKS. 
 
 ONLY AUTHORIZED EDITIONS. 
 
 Principal Works : Gods and Other Lectures ; Ghosts and Other 
 Lectures; Some Mistakes of Moses; Interviews on Talmage; What Must We 
 Do to Be Saved ? In one vol., half calf, $5. 
 
 Prose Poems and Selections. From his Writings and Sayings. Silk 
 cloth, $2.50; half calf, $4.50; half mor., $5; Turkey mor., $7.50. 
 
 Gods and Other Lectures. Comprising The Gods, Humboldt, 
 
 Thomas Paine, Individuality, Heretics and Heresies. Paper, 50c; cloth, $1. 
 
 Ghosts and Other Lectures. Including Liberty of Man, Woman, and 
 
 Child ; The Declaration of Independence, About Farming- in Illinois, Speech 
 Nominating- Jas. G. Blaine for Presidency in 1876, The Grant Banquet, A 
 Tribute to Rev. Alex. Clarke, The Past Rises Before Me Like a Dream, and 
 A Tribute to Ebon C. Ingersoll. Paper, 50c; Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Some Mistakes of Moses. Contents : Some Mistakes of Moses, Free 
 
 Schools, The Politicians, Man and Woman, The Pentateuch, Monday, Tues- 
 day, Wednesday, Thursday, He Made the Stars Also, Friday, Saturday, Let 
 Us Make Man, Sunday, The Necessity for a Good Memory, The Garden, The 
 Fall, Dampness,. Bacchus and Babel, Faith in Filth, The Hebrews, The Plagues, 
 The Flight, Confess and Avoid ; Inspired Slavery, Marriage, War, Religious 
 Liberty; Conclusion. Paper, 50c 
 
 Interviews on Talmage. Being Six Interviews with the Famous Ora- 
 tor on Six Sermons by the Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage, of Brooklyn, to which is 
 added A Talmagian Catechism. Paper, 50c; Cloth, $1.35. 
 
 Ingersoll-Field discussion. Faith or Agnosticism. Discussion, 
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 Blasphemy. Argument by R. G. Ingersoll in the Trial of C. B. 
 
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 Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and devotes a chapter each to the Catho- 
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 swers the question of the Christians as to what he proposes instead of Christi- 
 anity, the religion of sword and flame. Paper, 25 cents. 
 
 Thomas Fame's Vindication. A Reply to the New York Obser- 
 ver's Attack upon the Author-hero of the Revolution, by R. G. Ingersoll ; 
 together with A Roman Catholic Canard, by W. H. Burr. Paper, 15 cents. 
 
 Limitations of Toleration. A Discussion between Col. R. G. Ingersoll, 
 
 Hon. Frederic R. Coudert, and Ex-Governor Stewart L. Woodford . Paper, 10c. 
 Orthodoxy. A Lecture. Paper, 10 cents. 
 
 Civil Rights Speech. With Speech of Hon. Fredk. Douglass. Pap. , 10c. 
 Opening- Speech to the Jury : In the suit of the B. & M. Tel. Co. 
 
 vs. W. U. Tel. Co., 1886. Paper, 10 cents. 
 
 Declaration of Independence. Centennial Oration, together with a 
 
 copy of the Immortal Document and the National Anthem, Land of Liberty. 
 Paper, 6 cents. 
 
 A Lay Sermon. On the Labor Question. Paper, 5 cents. 
 
 Stage and the Pulpit. An Interview on their Comparative Merits, 
 and Opinions on the Trial of the Chicago Anarchists, the Catholic Church, 
 etc. Paper, 3 cents. 
 
 IngersoU on McGlynn. Paper, 3c. 
 Bible Idolatry. Paper, 3c. 
 
 Ingersoll Catechised. Paper, 3c. 
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 Life. A Prose Poem. In color, on board, beveled, gilt edges, 50c. 
 Lithograph of R. G. Ingersoll. 22 x 28 inches, heavy plate pap., 50c. 
 Photograph (Cabinet) of R. G. Ingersoll, 50 cents. 
 
 THE TRUTH SEEKER CO., 28 Lafayette Place, New York. 
 
WALT WHITMAN'S WORKS. 
 
 Leaves of Grass. 
 
 Complete, 1 Vol. Comprises all the author's Poetical Works to 1889. 
 
 Contains every page, line and word attempted to be officially suppressed 
 by Attorney -General Marston, of Massachusetts ; District Attorney Stevens, of 
 Boston, and (until countermanded by the Government) excluded from the mails. 
 
 i Vol. Crown 8vo, Gilt Top, uncut edges, $2. 00 
 
 Specimen Days and Collect. 
 
 A Full Compendium of the author's Prose Writings, Old and New. 
 
 Gives Mr. Whitman's earlier days on Long Island, and young manhood 
 in New York City ; copious War and Army Hospital Memoranda (i862-'65); 
 Convalescent Out-Door Notes in the Country (i876-'8i); Literary Criticisms, 
 including, at some length, an estimate of Carlyle ; Jaunts over the Great 
 Plains and along the Rivers St. Lawrence and Saguenay. The Collect 
 includes "Democratic Vistas," and all his Political and Critical Writings and 
 Youthful Sketches. Tr 7 _., ,, 
 
 I Vol. i2mo, Cloth, $2.00. 
 
 Camden's Compliment to Whitman 
 
 on his Seventieth Birthday. 
 
 With frontispiece from bust by Sidney H. Morse. Containing the 
 Addresses, Letters, Notes and Telegrams. Edited by Horace L. Traubel. 
 
 Octavo, Cloth, Gilt Top, 50 Cents. 
 
 November Boughs. 
 
 Containing all the latest poems, under title of " Sands at Seventy; " also 
 in prose, "A Backward Glance o'er Travel'd Roads," being the author's 
 carte de visile to posterity, and a collection of essays on Shakespeare, Burns, 
 Tennyson, etc. Portrait from Life, the Seventieth Year. 
 
 " ' Sands at Seventy' are like the voice of an old friend whose tunes we have learned to 
 love." — Boston Herald. 
 
 " It is an admirable book for those who wish to know Whitman." — Boston Transcript. 
 
 " The volume is indispensable to every owner of ' Leaves of" Grass,' and to every student 
 of Whitman." — Philadelphia Times. 
 
 " Sap at seventy is seldom so affluent as it is in this striking volume." — The Critic. 
 
 i Vol. Crown 8vo, Gilt Top, uncut edges, $1. 23. 
 
 After All Not to Create Only. 
 
 Recited by Walt Whitman on invitation of managers American Institute 
 on opening their 40th Annual Exhibition, New York, September 7th, 1871. 
 Only a small balance of the original edition, Boston, 1871. 
 
 1 2 mo, Cloth, 50 Cents. 
 
 Complete Works. — Of this edition, which contains, "Leaves of Grass," 
 "Specimen Days," and "November Boughs," only 600 copies were printed, 
 each copy signed and numbered. 
 
 1 Vol. Large Octavo, Half Cloth, Paper Label, $6.00, 
 

 

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