Complete Prose Works

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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.

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.

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?"

Colonel Ingersoll repeated his former argument in reply.

FEELING FAIRLY

_Friday, July 27, 1890_.--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.

Am now in my 72d year.

OLD BROOKLYN DAYS

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.

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.

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.

TWO QUESTIONS

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.

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 "Eidolons" 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.

_June, '90_.--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.

PREFACE

_To a volume of essays and tales by Wm. D. O'Connor, pub'd
posthumously in 1891_

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.

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 _Harrington_, 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.

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.)

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 _genre_ 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.

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.

Note: [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.

AN ENGINEER'S OBITUARY

_From the Engineering Record, New York, Dec. 13, 1890_

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.

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.

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.

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.

[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.]

God's blessing on your name and memory, dear brother Jeff!

W. W.

OLD ACTORS, SINGERS, SHOWS, &C., IN NEW YORK

_Flitting mention--(with much left out)_

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.)

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 roles.

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 _Queen Constance._ Tom Hamblin was
_Faulconbridge,_ 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 _Hubert_ (and the hot irons) the delicious acting of _Prince
Arthur_ (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.)

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, _Aldabella_,
enacted by Mrs. Sharpe. O how it all entranced us, and knock'd us
about, as the scenes swept on like a cyclone!

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 _brogue_, beyond anything afterward.

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 _Ariel_,
and Peter Richings the _Caliban_; both excellent. The drunken song of
the latter has probably been never equal'd. The perfect actor Clarke
(old Clarke) was _Prospero_.

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,"

"When on the Downs the fleet was moor'd,"

always bro't an encore, and sometimes a treble.

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?)

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.

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.

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.

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.

There was a series of plays and dramatic _genre_ 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.

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.

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.)