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for by Attorney-General Speed, who offered him a clerkship in his own department, which Whitman held until his attack of paralysis in 1873. Whitman's war experiences had modified his personal characteristics to a considerable extent. Always frank and cordial in his address, a touch of graciousness was now added, which, with his whitening hair, fitted him admirably to fill the rôle assigned him by a devoted coterie of friends. The influences of the war developed into the sequence of poems, Drum-Taps," which was just ready for the press at the time of Lincoln's assassination. Whitman delayed publication until he had written "Sequel to Drum-Taps," containing" When Lilacs Last in the Door-Yard Bloomed and "O Captain! My Captain!" The whole was published with the title, "Walt Whitman's Drum-Taps," under the date 186566. This volume attracted much attention and confirmed the author's reputation as a poet. The ensuing six years were probably the most enjoyable of Whitman's life. He was able to contribute to the support of his mother's family, he saw himself taken up in England, where William Michael Rossetti's eclectic edition of "Poems by Walt Whitman" appeared in 1868, gaining him a new clientage, and he received gratifying letters from Tennyson and other famous authors. In 1866.he busied himself with a rearrangement of Leaves of Grass" and additional poems, which were bound up with Drum-Taps" and pages containing the Songs before Parting," and published in one volume as "Leaves of Grass" (1867). In 1867 also appeared John Burroughs's "Notes on Walt Whitman As Poet and Person" (second edition, enlarged, 1871). Still another revision of "Leaves of Grass" was published in 1871, and the same year were issued "Passage to India," containing both new and old poems, and After All, Not To Create Only," a poem delivered at the opening of the fortieth annual exhibition of the American Institute in New York. All these were bound up in one volume as 'Leaves of Grass" (1872). Democratic Vistas," Whitman's first prose work, came out in 1871, and contains his views as to the present condition and future of "These States." It contains also some savage reflections on his brother poets, and incidentally may be considered his first response to the plentiful abuse his sexual poetry had received in certain quarters, and to the various criticisms of his metrical methods. "As a Strong Bird on Pinions Free, and Other Poems" (1872) was Whitman's next volume. In January of 1873 he suffered an attack of paralysis, from which he never fully recovered. Partial recovery ensued at once, but the death of his mother in the following May completely prostrated him. He gave up his clerkship in Washington, and removed to the home of his brother, Col. Whitman, in Camden, N. J.

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He remained there, boarding with his brother's family, until 1883. A series of articles in the Springfield (Mass.) Republican" for 1875 called attention to his feeble condition and moderate circumstances, and friends in America and England rallied to his support. Their efforts were continued at intervals through the remainder of his life. In 1875 Whitman published "Memoranda during the War," already noticed. The

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next year he prepared the "Centennial edition" of his works in two volumes, "Leaves of Grass and "Two Rivulets." The former volume is identical with the 1871 edition. The latter contains "Democratic Vistas," Memoranda during the War," "Passage to India," and new "Centennial Songs," and other poems. The books are unique in appearance and make-up. In fact, no other American poet has so carefully attended to the frequent arrangement and publication of his works. At Camden Whitman endeavored to recover health by resuming an outdoor life. He found a quiet country farmhouse some distance from Camden, and spent much of his time in the woods and along a small creek. His life at this time, and sundry visits to New York, to his birthplace on Long Island, and to the homes of his friends, John Burroughs and Dr. R. M. Bucke, were described in pleasant letters to the New York "Tribune" and "Critic." These journals, with the old "Galaxy," accepted almost every poem and article offered them by Whitman. The North American Review" and

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Lippincott's Magazine" printed much of his work during the last decade of his life, but acceptances by other magazines were scanty. The editors of the latter have declared that they were not prejudiced against Whitman, but that they often found what he sent them unavailable for their constituencies. In 1879 Whitman visited New York for the purpose of delivering a lecture on the death of Abraham Lincoln. This he repeated, publicly or privately, for a number of years, on the anniversary of that occasion. It was delivered, by the arrangements of friends, before large audiences in New York in 1887, in Boston in 1881, and in Philadelphia in 1880 and 1890, bringing Whitman material financial returns. The lecture in Boston was followed by an offer from a firm of that city to publish a new edition of Leaves of Grass." The offer was accepted, and Whitman spent some weeks in Boston in revising the proofs of what was to be a

definitive edition. It appeared as "Leaves of Grass" (1881-82), and gained a large sale through regular trade channels, but in the spring of 1882 the Attorney-General of Massachusetts called upon the publishers to suppress certain passages or withdraw the book. The firm was unwilling to test the matter in court, and Whitman was again an outlaw. The copyright receipts enabled him to purchase the plates, and a new edition was brought out by a Philadelphia publisher. It was followed by "Specimen Days and Collect" (1885), a collection of his prose works to that date. In 1883 also appeared "Walt Whitman," by Richard Maurice Bucke, the only real biography of the poet yet written, although the story of his life as told by himself has been selected from his prose writings, and published

as

Autobiographia" (1892). The income from his books and lectures, and contributions from his friends, enabled Whitman to purchase the little. house in Mickle Street, Camden, to which he removed in 1883. He remained there until his death, gratified by the attentions of comrades in Philadelphia and New York, who, with the cooperation of a devoted young friend, Horace L. Traubel, of Camden, saw that his comfort was assured. During this period he was able from various sources to gather a considerable sum

of money, with which he erected a handsome tomb at Harleigh Cemetery in the outskirts of Camden. It was designed by himself, and some of the granite blocks weigh seven tons or over. His remains were placed there with impressive ceremonies. Additional books and editions to those already named are "November Boughs" (1888) and Good Bye My Fancy" (1891), containing his latest work in prose and verse; "Complete Poems and Prose" (1889), comprising Leaves of Grass," "Specimen Days," and "November Boughs in one quarto volume; "Leaves of Grass" (1892), the final complete edition; and a complete volume of his prose works,

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WHITMAN'S HOME IN CAMDEN.

also issued in 1892. 66 Selected Poems" (1892) and "Autobiographia" (1892) were edited by the writer of this sketch. Mr. Whitman shortly before his death for the first time consented to the publication of the above-named American eclectic edition of his poems. Many such editions had appeared in England, where a full edition was not published until 1880.

The accompanying fac-simile is from a sketch that Mr. Whitman wrote in 1876, when asked to furnish the facts of his life for the " American Cyclopædia." The original is on the back of a blue letter-sheet on which some one had written to ask him for his autograph.

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WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF, American poet, born in Haverhill, Mass., Dec. 7, 1807; died in Hampton Falls, N. H., Sept. 7, 1892. The first ancestor of the name came to this country in 1638, was a member of the Bay Colony, and was of the Puritan faith. In the second generation from him, at a time of the most violent persecution of that body, the head of the family embraced the doctrines of the Friends or Quakers, as they are called by those outside the sect. The homestead in which Whittier was born was built in 1688. It was a typical New England farmhouse, standing alone, with low walls, great oaken beams, small windows, doors hung on mighty hinges, and a huge central chimney. The family were poor, in the same sense in which most of the farmers of that day were; they had nothing for the luxuries of which they had no thought or care, but the result of cheerful labor gave them sufficient for all needs. Thrifty and strong, the Whittiers asked no odds of fortune, although the basket and store never overflowed. In the prelude to his volume entitled "Among the Hills," he says:

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A farmer's son,

Proud of field-lore and harvest craft, and feeling All their fine possibilities, how rich

And restful even poverty and toil

Become when beauty, harmony, and love

Sit at their humble hearth as angels sat

At evening in the patriarch's tent, when man
Makes labor noble, and his farmer's frock

The symbol of a Christian chivalry

Tender and just and generous to her

Who clothes with grace all duty; still, I know Too well the picture has another side,

How wearily the grind of toil goes on

Where love is wanting, how the eye and ear
And heart are starved amidst the plenitude
Of nature, and how hard and colorless
Is life without an atmosphere.

When seven years of age, Whittier began to attend the neighborhood school, of which there were two sessions a year, of three months each. Here, until he was sixteen, he continued to gain the rudiments of an education, under constantly changing teachers. Sixty years afterward his memory furnished him with an incident of this time, which he embodied in his poem entitled "In School-Days: "

Still sits the school-house by the road,
A ragged beggar sunning;
Around it still the sumachs grow,
And blackberry vines are running.
Within, the master's desk is seen,
Deep scarred by raps official;
The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jack-knife's carved initial;
The charcoal frescos on its wall;

Its door's worn sill, betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school,
Went storming out to playing!
Long years ago a winter sun

Shone over it at setting;
Lit up its western window-panes,
And low eaves' icy fretting.

It touched the tangled golden curls,
And brown eyes full of grieving,
Of one who still her steps delayed
When all the school were leaving.

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For near her stood the little boy
Her childish favor singled;
His cap pulled low upon a face

Where pride and shame were mingled.

Pushing with restless feet the snow
To right and left, he lingered;-
As restlessly her tiny hands

The blue-checked apron fingered.

He saw her lift her eyes; he felt
The soft hand's light caressing,
And heard the tremble of her voice,
As if a fault confessing.

"I'm sorry that I spelt the word:

I hate to go above you,
Because," the brown eyes lower fell,-
"Because, you see, I love you!"

Still memory to a gray-haired man
That sweet child-face is showing.
Dear girl! the grasses on her grave
Have forty years been growing!

He lives to learn, in life's hard school,
How few who pass above him
Lament their triumph and his loss,

Like her, because they love him.

The library in his home was large for the time; it contained twenty volumes, mostly religious. This was supplemented by that of the neighborhood physician, Dr. Elias Weld, and many other friends, so that, when Whittier entered Haverhill Academy, he had read far more than was usual for boys of his age and class. He was thirteen years old

WHITTIER'S HOME.

when one of the itinerant merchants that long supplied the New England housewife with everything, from a skein of yarn to a Sunday dress, came to the farm to display his wares. At the hospitable hearth he sang the songs of Robert Burns, a name unknown to Quaker ears. It was years before a printed line of the original came into Whittier's hands, but meantime the impression that molded his future had been formed.

Whittier had been taught shoemaking, as was the custom, and with the results of his home work on winter evenings he paid for six months' schooling in the Academy. He was then considered competent to take a district school himself, and with the proceeds of that he obtained another course of study, covering six months, which ended his school training.

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Two years later, at the age of twenty-two, he edited for a few months, in Boston, The American Manufacturer." In 1830 he became editor of the Haverhill Gazette," and six months later he succeeded George D. Prentice as editor of The New England Weekly Review," at Hartford, Conn. His first published volume, Legends of New England, in Prose and Verse" YOL. XXXII.-51 A

(1831), was made up of matter that had been printed in his papers, much of which had commanded attention. One of these, "The Frost Spirit," early found its way into school readers, and was a favorite poem for recitation on Friday afternoons :

Ile comes, he comes,-the Frost Spirit comes! You may trace his footsteps now

On the naked woods and the blasted fields and the brown hill's withered brow.

He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees where their pleasant green came forth,

And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, have shaken them down to earth.

He comes, he comes,-the Frost Spirit comes!from the frozen Labrador.

From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which the white bear wanders o'er.

Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the luckless forms below

In the sunless cold of the lingering night into marble statues grow!

He comes, he comes,-the Frost Spirit comes !on the rushing Northern blast,

And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his fearful breath went past.

With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, where the fires of Hecla glow

On the darkly beautiful sky above and the ancient

ice below.

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He comes, he comes,-the Frost Spirit comes!and the quiet lake shall feel

The torpid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to the skater's heel;

And the streams which danced on the broken rocks, or sang to the leaning grass,

Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in mournful silence pass.

He comes, he comes,-the Frost Spirit comes !-let us meet him as we may,

And turn with the light of the parlor-fire his evil

power away;

And gather closer the circle round, when that firelight dances high,

And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as his sounding wing goes by!

Whittier was compelled, by the death of his father, to retire from editorial work, and take charge of the farm and the family. To that household-then consisting of mother, two sisters, one brother, and an aunt-his devotion was absolute. "Snow-Bound," his longest and most sustained poem, is at once a record of the New England that is fast becoming only a tradition. of the household band, and of his undying affection for them. It is also a production that goes far toward placing him in the front rank of our poets. The following passages are from it:

What matter how the night behaved?
What matter how the north-wind raved?
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow.
O Time and Change!-with hair as gray
As was my sire's that winter day,
How strange it seems, with so much gone
Of life and love, to still live on!
Ah, brother! only I and thou
Are left of all that circle now,-
The dear home faces whereupon
That fitful firelight paled and shone.
Henceforward, listen as we will,
The voices of that hearth are still;

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