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THE  LIBRARY 

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VICTORIA  UNIVERSITY 
Toronto 


THIS  FIRST  EDITION  OF 
WALT  WHITMAN'S  DIARY  IN   CANADA 
IS  LIMITED  TO  FIVE  HUNDRED  COPIES 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 
DIARY  IN   CANADA 


WALT   WHITMAN'S 
DIARY   IN  CANADA 


EDITED  BY 
WILLIAM   SLOANE  KENNEDY 


BOSTON 

SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 
MCMIV 


COPYRIGHT,  1904,  BY 
WILLIAM  SLOANE  KENNEDY 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall 


Published  November,  1904 

514-27 


THE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS,   CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE 

THE  transcribing  of  these  out-door  notes  from  the 
worn  and  time-stained  fragments  of  paper  (backs  of 
letters,  home-made  note-books,  etc.),  on  which  they 
were  originally  written,  has  been  so  fascinating  a  task 
for  me  that  I  feel  confident  the  subject-matter  will 
interest  other  lovers  of  Whitman.  I  don't  know  that 
they  need  any  other  foreword  than  just  the  telling 
how  they  came  into  my  hands  for  publication. 

In  the  autumn  of  1900  I  wrote  to  my  old  friend, 
the  late  Dr.  Richard  Maurice  Bucke  (the  senior 
member  of  Walt  Whitman's  literary  executors), 
suggesting  that  he  join  me  in  bringing  out  a"  Read- 
ers' Handbook  to  Leaves  of  Grass,"  in  the  preparation 
of  which  I  had  been  engaged  for  a  number  of  years, 
by  contributing  any  material  he  might  have  that  was 
available.  He  responded  with  enthusiasm  to  this 
proposal  for  cooperative  work.  But,  alas !  a  year 
later  he  had  passed  into  eternity.*  By  his  son,  Dr. 
Edward  Pardee  Bucke,  however,  I  was  generously 

*  He  fell  on  the  icy  floor  of  a  veranda  of  his  residence,  struck  on  the  back 
of  his  head,  and  never  regained  consciousness.  Few  knew  that  this  gay-hearted 
optimist,  with  his  magnificent  physique,  had  to  fight  his  way  through  life  (after 
twenty)  without  the  aid  of  feet,  other  than  artificial.  His  feet  were  amputated 
after  being  frozen  in  a  (finally  successful)  attempt  to  cross  the  Sierra  Nevada 
Mountains  in  the  whiter  of  1856,  in  company  with  one  of  the  two  original  discov- 
erers of  silver  in  Nevada.  I  have  the  romantic  printed  account  of  that  daring 
feat. 

V 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE 

furnished  with  such  manuscripts  of  Walt  Whitman 
as  seem  to  have  been  intended  for  our  purpose,  and 
from  them  the  following  diary  and  other  notes  were 
selected.  The  publication  of  the  Readers'  Hand- 
book is  held  over  for  the  present. 

In  his  "  Specimen  Days,"  Whitman  devotes  only  a 
couple  of  pages  to  the  St.  Lawrence  and  Saguenay 
trip, — a  condensed  abstract  of  his  journal. 

The  portrait  used  as  a  frontispiece  to  this  book  is 
reproduced  from  a  photograph  by  Edy  Brothers  of 
London,  Ontario,  made  during  the  visit  to  Dr. 
Bucke  recorded  in  the  diary.  It  has  never  before 
been  published.  All  the  notes  in  the  volume  are 
by  the  editor. 


W.  S.  K. 


BELMONT,  MASS., 

November,  1904. 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 
DIARY   IN   CANADA 

London.,  Ontario,  June  18,  1880.1  Calm 
and  glorious  roll  the  hours  here  —  the  whole 
twenty-four.  A  perfect  day  (the  third  in 
succession) ;  the  sun  clear ;  a  faint,  fresh, 
just  palpable  air  setting  in  from  the  south- 
west ;  temperature  pretty  warm  at  mid- 
day, but  moderate  enough  mornings  and 
evenings.  Everything  growing  well,  espe- 
cially the  perennials.  Never  have  I  seen 
verdure  —  grass  and  trees  and  bushery  —  to 
greater  advantage.  All  the  accompaniments 
joyous.  Cat-birds,  thrushes,  robins,  etc., 
singing.  The  profuse  blossoms  of  the  tiger- 
lily  (is  it  the  tiger-lily  ?) 2  mottling  the  lawns 

1  Whitman  left  Camden  on  .June  3  ("  on  a  first- 
class  sleeper "")  for  Canada.  Passed  Niagara  June  4, 
and  has  described  his  impressions  of  it  as  seen  on  this 
particular  occasion  (Specimen  Days,  p.  160,  1st  ed.) 
On  June  4  he  writes,  "  I  am  domiciled  at  the  hospi- 
table house  of  my  friends  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Bucke,  in  the 
ample  and  charming  garden  and  lawns  of  the  asylum." 
2  Probably  the  Turk's  Head  lily  (Lilium  super- 
bum). 

1  1 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

and  gardens  everywhere  with  their  glowing 
orange-red.     Roses  everywhere,  too. 

A  stately  show  of  stars  last  night:  the 
Scorpion  erecting  his  head  of  five  stars,  with 
glittering  Antares  in  the  neck,  soon  stretched 
his  whole  length  in  the  south ;  Arcturus 
hung  overhead  ;  Vega  a  little  to  the  east ; 
Aquila  lower  down  ;  the  constellation  of  the 
Sickle  well  toward  setting;  and  the  half- 
moon,  pensive  and  silvery,  in  the  southwest. 

June  and  July,  Canada.  Such  a  proces- 
sion of  long-drawn-out,  delicious  half-lights 
nearly  every  evening,  continuing  on  till 
'most  9  o'clock  all  through  the  last  two 
weeks  of  June  and  the  first  two  of  July ! 
It  was  worth  coming  to  Canada  to  get 
these  long-stretch'd  sunsets  in  their  tem- 
per'd  shade  and  lingering,  lingering  twi- 
lights, if  nothing  more. 

[No  date.]  It  is  only  here  in  large  por- 
tions of  Canada  that  wondrous  second  wind, 
the  Indian  summer,  attains  its  amplitude 
and  heavenly  perfection,  —  the  temperature  ; 
the  sunny  haze ;  the  mellow,  rich,  delicate, 
almost  flavored  air: 

"  Enough  to  live  —  enough  to  merely  be.11 
2 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

June  19.  On  the  train  from  London  to 
Sarnia  —  60  miles.1  A  fine  country,  many 
good  farms,  plenty  of  open  land,  the  finest 
strips  of  woods  clean  of  underbrush  —  some 
beautiful  clusters  of  great  trees ;  plenty 
of  fields  with  the  stumps  standing ;  some 
bustling  towns. 

[Same  date,  Sarnia.]  Sunset  on  the  St. 
Clair.  I  am  writing  this  on  Front  Street, 
close  by  the  river,  —  the  St.  Clair,  —  on  a 
bank.  The  setting  sun,  a  great  blood-red 
ball,  is  just  descending  on  the  Michigan 
shore,  throwing  a  bright  crimson  track  across 
the  water  to  where  I  stand.  The  river  is 
full  of  row-boats  and  shells,  with  their  crews 
of  young  fellows,  or  single  ones,  out  practis- 
ing,—  a  handsome,  inspiriting  sight.  Up 
north  I  see  at  Point  Edward,  on  Canada 
side,  the  tall  elevator  in  shadow,  with  tall- 
square  turret,  like  some  old  castle. 

As  I  write,  a  long  shell,  with  its  crew  of 
four  stript  to  their  rowing  shirts,  sweeps 

1  Sarnia  (the  former  home  for  ten  years  of  the 
late  Dr.  R.  M.  Bucke,  when  a  practising  physician) 
is  a  town  of  about  7000  inhabitants  lying  on  the  St. 
Clair  River  (Canadian  side)  near  Lake  Huron,  about 
55  miles  northeast  of  Detroit. 

3 


WALT   WHITMAN'S 

swiftly  past,  the  oars  rattling  in  their  row- 
locks. 

Opposite,  a  little  south,  on  the  Michigan 
shore,  stretches  Port  Huron.  It  is  a  still, 
moist,  voluptuous  evening,  the  twilight  deep- 
ening apace.  In  the  vapors  fly  bats  and 
myriads  of  big  insects.  A  solitary  robin  is 
whistling  his  call,  followed  by  mellow  clucks, 
in  some  trees  near.  The  panting  of  the 
locomotive  and  measured  roll  of  cars  comes 
from  over  shore,  and  occasionally  an  abrupt 
snort  or  screech,  diffused  in  space.  With  all 
these  utilitarian  episodes,  it  is  a  lovely,  soft, 
voluptuous  scene,  a  wondrous  half-hour  for 
sunset,  and  then  the  long  rose-tinged  half- 
light  with  a  touch  of  gray  we  sometimes 
have  stretched  out  in  June  at  day-close. 
How  musical  the  cries  and  voices  floating 
in  from  the  river  1  Mostly  while  I  have 
been  here  I  have  noticed  those  handsome 
shells  and  oar-boats,  some  of  them  rowing 
superbly. 

At  nearly  nine  it  is  still  quite  light,  [the 
atmosphere]  tempered  with  blue  film,  but 
the  boats,  the  river,  and  the  Michigan  shores 
quite  palpable.  The  rose  color  still  falls 
upon  everything.  A  big  river  steamer  is 
crawling  athwart  the  stream,  hoarsely  hiss- 

4 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

ing.  The  moon  in  its  third  quarter  is  just  up 
behind  me.  From  over  in  Port  Huron 
come  the  just-heard  sounds  of  a  brass  band, 
practising.  Many  obj  ects  —  half-burnt  h  ulls, 
partially  sunk  wrecks,  slanting  or  upright 
poles  —  throw  their  black  shadows  in  strong 
relief  on  the  clear  glistering  water. 

[Sarnid],  June  20.  A  FAR-OFF  REMI- 
NISCENCE. I  see  to-day  in  a  New  York 
paper  an  account  of  the  tearing  down  of  old 
St.  Ann's  Church,  Sands  and  Washington 
streets,  Brooklyn,  to  make  room  for  the  East 
River  Bridge  landing  and  roadway.  Away 
off,  nearly  1000  miles  distant,  it  roused  the 
queerest  reminiscences,  which  I  feel  to  put 
down  here.  St.  Ann's  was  twined  with 
many  memories  of  youth  to  me.  I  think 
the  church  was  built  about  1824,  the  time 
when  I  (a  little  child  of  six  years)  was 
first  taken  to  live  in  Brooklyn,  and  I  re- 
member it  so  well  then  and  for  long  years 
afterwards.  It  was  a  stately  building  with  its 
broad  grounds  and  grass,  and  the  aristocratic 
congregation,  and  the  good  clergyman,  Mr. 
Mcllvaine  (afterwards  bishop  of  Ohio), 1  and 

1  Perhaps  the  best  known  and  most  popular 
preacher  in  Ohio  a  quarter-century  ago.  The  son 

5 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

the  long  edifice  for  Sunday-school  (I  had 
a  pupil's  desk  there),  and  the  fine  gardens 
and  many  big  willow  and  elm  trees  in  the 
neighborhood.  From  St.  Ann's  started, 
over  50  years  ago,  a  strange  and  solemn 
military  funeral,  —  of  the  officers  and  sailors 
killed  by  the  explosion  of  the  steamer  Fulton 
at  the  Brooklyn  Navy  Yard.  I  remember 
well  the  impressive  services  and  the  dead- 
march  of  the  band  (moving  me  even  then 
to  tears),  and  the  led  horses  and  officers' 
trappings  in  the  procession,  and  the  black- 
draped  flags,  and  the  old  sailors,  and  the 
salutes  over  the  grave  in  the  ancient  cemetery 
in  Fulton  Street  just  below  Tillary  (now  all 
built  over  by  solid  blocks  of  houses  and  busy 
stores).1  I  was  at  school  at  the  time  of  the 
explosion  and  heard  the  rumble  which  jarred 
half  the  city. 

Nor  was  St.  Ann's  (Episcopal)  the  only 
church  bequeathing  Old  Brooklyn  remi- 
niscences. Just  opposite,  within  a  stone's 
throw,  on  Sands  Street,  with  a  high  range 
of  steps,  stood  the  main  Methodist  church, 

of  Whitman's  friend,  John  Burroughs,  in  1902  mar- 
ried a  grand-daughter  of  this  Bishop  Mcllvaine. 

2  The  Whitmans  then  lived  in  Tillary  Street,  where 
the  father  had  built  them  a  house. 

6 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

always  drawing  full  congregations  (always 
active,  singing  and  praying  in  earnest),  and 
the  scene  of  the  powerful  revivals  of  those 
days  (often  continued  for  a  week  night  and 
day  without  intermission).  This  latter  was 
the  favorite  scene  of  the  labors  of  John  N. 
Maffit,  the  famous  preacher  of  his  denomi- 
nation. It  was  a  famous  church  for  pretty 
girls. 

The  history  of  those  two  churches  would 
be  a  history  of  Brooklyn  and  of  a  main  part 
of  its  families  for  the  earlier  half  of  the 
nineteenth  century. 

Sarnia,  June  21.  A  MOONLIGHT  EX- 
CURSION UP  LAKE  HURON.  We  were  to 
start  at  8  p.  M.,  but  after  waiting  forty  min- 
utes later  for  a  music  band,  which  to  my 
secret  satisfaction  did  n't  come,  we  and  the 
Hiawatha  went  off  without  it. 

Point  Edward  on  the  Canada  side  and 
Fort  Gratiot  on  the  Michigan  —  the  crossing- 
line  for  the  Grand  Trunk  Railway,  and  look- 
ing well  alive  with  lights  and  the  sight  of 
shadowy-moving  cars  —  were  quickly  passed 
between  by  our  steamer,  after  pressing 
through  currents  of  rapids  for  a  mile  along 
here,  very  dashy  and  inspiriting,  and  we 

7 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

were  soon  out  on  the  wide  sea-room  of  the 
Lake.  The  far  and  faint-dim  shores,  the 
cool  night-breeze,  the  plashing  of  the  waters, 
and  most  of  all  the  well-up  moon,  full  and 
round  and  refulgent,  were  the  features  of 
this  pleasant  water-ride,  which  lasted  till 
midnight. 

During  the  day  I  had  seen  the  magnifi- 
cent steamboat,  City  of  Cleveland,  come 
from  above,  and,  after  making  a  short  stop 
at  Port  Huron  opposite,  sped  on  her  swift 
and  stately  way  down  the  St.  Clair.  She 
plies  between  Cleveland  and  Duluth,  and 
was  on  her  return  from  the  latter  place  — 
makes  the  voyage  in  three  (?)  days.  At  a 
Sarnia  wharf  I  saw  the  Asia,  a  large  steam- 
boat for  Lake  Superior  trade  and  passengers ; 
understood  there  were  three  other  boats  on 
the  line.  Between  Samia  and  Port  Huron 
some  nice  small-sized  ferry-boats  are  con- 
stantly plying.  I  went  aboard  the  Dor- 
mer and  made  an  agreeable  hour's  jaunt  to 
and  fro,  one  afternoon. 

A  SARNIA  PUBLIC  SCHOOL.  Stopt  im- 
promptu at  the  school  in  George  (?)  where 
I  saw  crowds  of  boys  out  at  recess,  and 
went  in  without  ceremony  among  them, 

8 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

and  so  inside  for  twenty  minutes  to  the 
school,  at  its  studies,  —  music,  grammar, 
etc.  Never  saw  a  healthier,  handsomer, 
more  intelligent  or  decorous  collection  of 
boys  and  girls,  some  500  altogether.  This 
twenty  minutes'  sight,  and  what  it  inferred, 
are  among  my  best  impressions  and  recol- 
lections of  Sarnia. 

[Sarnia].  Went  down  to  an  Indian  set- 
tlement at  Ah-me-je-wah-noong  (i.  e.,  the 
Rapids)  to  visit  the  Indians,  the  Chippewas. 
Not  much  to  see  of  novelty  —  in  fact  noth- 
ing at  all  of  aboriginal  life  or  personality ; 
but  I  had  a  fine  drive  with  the  gentleman 
that  took  me  —  Dr.  McLane,  the  physician 
appointed  by  the  government  for  the  tribe. 
There  is  a  long  stretch,  three  or  four  miles, 
fronting  the  St.  Clair,  south  of  Sarnia,  run- 
ning back  easterly  nearly  the  same  distance, 
good  lands  for  farming  and  rare  sites  for  build- 
ing —  and  this  is  the  "  reservation  "  set  apart 
for  these  Chips.  There  are  said  to  be  four 
hundred  of  them,  but  I  could  not  see  evi- 
dences of  one  quarter  of  that  number.  There 
are  three  or  four  neat  third-class  wooden 
dwellings,  a  church,  and  council-house,  but 
the  less  said  about  the  rest  of  the  edifices 

9 


WALT     WHITMAN'S 

the  better.  "  Every  prospect  pleases,"  as  far 
as  land,  shore,  and  water  are  concerned,  how- 
ever. The  Dominion  government  keeps 
entire  faith  with  these  people  (and  all  its 
Indians,  I  hear),  preserves  these  reservations 
for  them  to  live  on,  pays  them  regular 
annuities,  and,  whenever  any  of  their  land 
is  sold,  puts  the  proceeds  strictly  in  their 
funds.  Here  they  farm  languidly  (I  saw 
some  good  wheat),  fish,  etc. ;  but  the  young 
men  generally  go  off  to  hire  as  laborers  and 
deck-hands  on  the  water.  I  saw  and  con- 
versed with  Wa-wa-nosh,  the  interpreter, 
son  of  a  former  chief.  He  talks  and  writes 
as  well  as  I  do.  In  a  nice  cottage  near  by 
lived  his  mother,  who  doesn't  speak  any- 
thing but  Chippewa.  There  are  no  very  old 
people.  I  saw  one  man  of  thirty  in  the  last 
stages  of  consumption.  This  beautiful  and 
ample  tract,  in  its  present  undeveloped  con- 
dition, is  quite  an  eyesore  to  the  Sarnians. 

[London,  Ont.~\,  June  24.  TENNYSON'S 
"  DE  PROFUNDIS."  To  day  I  spent  half  an 
hour  (in  a  recluse  summer-house  embowered) 
leisurely  reading  Tennyson's  new  poem  "  De 
Profundis."  I  should  call  the  piece  (to  coin 
a  term)  a  specimen  of  the  mystical-recherche 

10 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

—  and  a  mighty  choice  specimen.  It  has 
several  exquisite  little  verses,  not  simple  like 
rosebuds,  but  gem-lines  like  garnets  or 
sapphires,  cut  by  a  lapidary  artist.  These, 
for  instance  (some  one  has  had  a  baby) : 

"  O  young  life 
Breaking  with  laughter  from  the  dark  ! " 

«  O  dear  Spirit  half-lost 
In  thine  own  shadow  and  this  fleshly  sign 
That  thou  art  thou  —  who  wailest  being  born." 

Then  from  "  The  Human  Cry  "  attached : 

"  We  feel  we  are  nothing  —  for  all  is  Thou  and  in 

Thee; 

We  feel  we  are  something  —  that  also  has  come 
from  Thee." 

Some  cute  friends  afterward  said  it  was 
altogether  vague  and  could  not  be  grasped. 
Very  likely ;  it  sounded  to  me  like  organ- 
playing,  capriccio,  which  also  cannot  be 
grasped. 

Night  of  Saturday,  July  3d.  Good  night 
for  stars  and  heavens ;  perfectly  still  and 
cloudless,  fresh  and  cool  enough ;  evenings 
very  long ;  pleasant  twilight  till  nine  o'clock 
all  through  the  last  half  of  June  and  first  half 
of  July.  These  are  my  most  pleasant  hours. 
11 


WALT     WHITMAN'S 

The  air  is  pretty  cool,  but  I  find  it  enjoyable, 
and  like  to  saunter  the  well-kept  roads. 
Went  out  about  10  on  a  solitary  ramble  in 
the  grounds,  slow  through  the  fresh  air,  over 
the  gravel  walks  and  velvety  grass,  with 
many  pauses,  many  upward  gazings.  It  was 
again  an  exceptional  night  for  the  show  and 
sentiment  of  the  stars,  very  still  and  clear, 
not  a  cloud,  and  neither  warm  nor  cold. 
High  overhead  the  constellation  of  the 
Harp ;  south  of  east  the  Northern  Cross  ;  in 
the  Milky  Way  the  Diadem ;  and  more  to 
the  north  Cassiopeia ;  bright  Arcturus  and 
silvery  Vega  dominating  aloft.  But  the 
heavens  everywhere  studded  so  thickly  — 
layers  on  layers  of  phosphorescence,  spangled 
with  those  still  orbs,  emulous,  nestling  so 
close,  with  such  light  and  glow  everywhere, 
flooding  the  soul. 

Sunday  evening,  July  4.  A  very  enjoy- 
able hour  or  two  this  evening.  They  sent 
for  me  to  come  down  in  the  parlor  to  hear 
my  friend  M.  E.  L.,  a  deaf  and  dumb  young 
woman,  give  some  recitations  (of  course  by 
pantomime,  not  a  word  spoken).  She  gave 
first  an  Indian  legend,  —  the  warriors,  the 
women,  the  woods,  the  action  of  an  old  chief, 

12 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

etc.,  very  expressive.  But  best  of  all,  and 
indeed  a  wonderful  performance,  she  ren- 
dered Christ  stilling  the  tempest  (from  Luke, 
is  it  ?) 

[London],  Canada,  July  6,  '80.  HAY- 
MAKING, JULY  5,  6,  7.  I  go  out  every  day 
two  or  three  hours  for  the  spectacle.  A 
sweet,  poetic,  practical,  busy  sight.  Never 
before  such  fine  growths  of  clover  and 
timothy  everywhere  as  the  present  year ;  and 
I  never  saw  such  large  fields  of  rich  grass 
as  on  this  farm.  I  ride  around  in  a  low  easy 
basket-wagon  drawn  by  a  sagacious  pony. 
We  go  at  random  over  the  flat  just-mown 
layers  and  all  around  through  lanes  and 
across  fields.  The  smell  of  the  cut  herbage, 
the  whirr  of  the  mower,  the  trailing  swish  of 
the  horse-rakes,  the  forks  of  the  busy  pitchers, 
and  the  loaders  on  the  wagons  —  I  linger 
long  and  long  to  absorb  them  all.  Soothing, 
sane,  odorous  hours  !  Two  weeks  of  such. 

It  is  a  great  place  for  birds.  No  gunning 
here,  and  no  dogs  or  cats  allowed.  I  never 
before  saw  so  many  robins,  nor  such  big 
fellows,  nor  so  tame.1  You  look  out  over 

1  The  editor  of  this  diary  has  the  same  to  record 
of  the  robins  of  southern  Wisconsin  in  the  same  lati- 
13 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

the  lawn  any  time  and  can  see  from  four  or 
five  to  a  score  of  them  hopping  about.  I 
never  before  heard  singing  wrens  (the  com- 
mon house  wren,  I  believe),  either,  to  such 
advantage  —  two  of  them,  these  times,  on 
the  verandahs  of  different  houses  where  I 
have  been  staying.  Such  vigorous,  musical, 
well-fibred  little  notes !  (What  must  the 
winter  wren  be,  then  ?  —  they  say  it  is  far 
ahead  of  this.) 

July  8.  I  am  in  the  midst  of  haymaking, 
and,  though  but  a  looker-on,  I  enjoy  it 
greatly,  untiringly,  day  after  day.  Any 
hour  I  hear  the  sound  of  scythes  sharpening, 
or  the  distant  rattle  of  horse-mowers,  or  see 
loaded  wagons,  high-piled,  slowly  wending 
toward  the  barns ;  or,  toward  sundown, 
groups  of  tan-faced  men  going  from  work. 
To-day  we  are  indeed  at  the  height  of  it 
here  in  Ontario. 

[No  date.~\  A  muffled  and  musical  clang 
of  cow-bells  from  the  grassy  wood-edge  not 
far  distant. 


tude.     They  have  a  larger  and  fresher  look  than 
Eastern  robins. 

14 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

July  10-14,  Canada.  In  blossom  now: 
Delphinium,  blue,  four  feet  high,  great  pro- 
fusion ;  yellow-red  lilies  [written  down  for 
him  in  a  lady's  handwriting  as  LiUum  auran- 
tium  and  Lilium  Buschaniuiri] ;  a  yellow 
coreopsis-like  flower  [Cosmidium  Burridge- 
anuni},  same  as  I  saw  Sept.  '79 ;  wild  tansy, 
weed  from  10  to  15  inches  high,  white  blos- 
som, out  in  July  (middle)  Canada ;  straw- 
colored  hollyhocks,  many  like  roses,  others 
pure  white  —  beautiful  clusters  everywhere  in 
the  thick  dense  hedge-lines  ;  aromatic  white 
cedars  at  evening ;  Canadian  red  honey- 
suckles ;  the  fences,  verandahs,  gables,  cov- 
ered with  grapevines,  ivies,  honeysuckles  ;  a 
certain  clematis  (the  Jackmanni)  bursting  all 
over  with  deep  purple  blossoms,  each  with 
its  four  or  five  great  leaves,  delicate  as  some 
court  lady's  dress,  but  tough  and  durable  — 
day  after  day ;  I  afterwards  saw  a  large  six- 
leaved  (?)  one  of  pure  satin-like  white  —  as 
beautiful  a  flower  as  I  ever  beheld. 

Canada,  July  18,  '80.  SWALLOW-GAM- 
BOLS. I  spent  a  long  time  to-day  watching 
the  swallows  —  an  hour  this  forenoon  and 
another  hour  afternoon.  There  is  a  pleasant, 
secluded,  close-cropt  grassy  lawn  of  a  couple 
15 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

of  acres  or  over,  flat  as  a  floor  and  surrounded 
by  a  flowery  and  bushy  hedge,  just  off  the 
road  adjoining  the  house,  —  a  favorite  spot 
of  mine.  Over  this  open  grassy  area  im- 
mense numbers  of  swallows  have  been  sail- 
ing, darting,  circling,  and  cutting  large  or 
small  8's  and  s's,  close  to  the  ground,  for 
hours  to-day.  It  is  evidently  for  fun  alto- 
gether. I  never  saw  anything  prettier  — 
this  free  swallow-dance.  They  kept  it  up, 
too,  the  greater  part  of  the  day. 


[Here  follows  Whitman's  journal  of  his 
midsummer  trip  with  Dr.  R.  M.  Bucke 
down  the  St.  Lawrence  and  up  the  Sague- 
nay  rivers  (Montreal,  Quebec,  Thousand 
Islands,  Cape  Eternity,  Trinity  Rock,  etc.). 
The  journal  is  written  on  the  pages  of  a 
thick  pocket  "  heft  "  (as  the  Germans  call  an 
extemporized  book  of  stitched  leaves),  5  by 
SJ4  inches  in  dimensions,  and  is  labelled 
"  St.  Lawrence  and  Saguenay  Trip,  July 
and  Aug.  1880."  It  is  prefixed  by  a  table 
of  distances  and  a  skeleton  itinerary  (which 
here  follow),  has  three  maps  pasted  in, 
covering  the  entire  route,  and  contains 
various  minor  memoranda  (names,  addresses, 
16 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

etc.)  scattered  here  and  there,  usually  on 
the  verso  of  the  sheet.] 


DISTANCES. 

Miles. 

From  Philadelphia  to  London  about  .  520 

London  to  Toronto 120 

Toronto  to  Kingston 161 

Kingston  to  Montreal 172 

Montreal  to  Quebec 180 

Quebec  to  Tadousac 134 

Tadousac  to  Chicoutimi 101 

1388 

[Itinerary.] 

Started  from  London  8.40  A.  M.  July  26  by 

R.  R.  to  Toronto ;  arrived  in  T.  same 

day. 
Left  Toronto  by  steamboat  Algerian  July 

27,  arrived  at   Kingston  5  A.  M.  28th ; 

stopt  at  Dr.  W.  G.  Metcalf 's ;  down  at 

the   Thousand    Islands    three    days  — 

"Hub  Island." 
Left  Kingston  6  A.  M.  Aug.  3 ;  arrived  at 

Montreal  same  evening. 
Left  Montreal  Aug.  5 ;  down  to  Quebec  in 

steamer  Montreal. 

2  17 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

Left  Quebec  7  A.  M.  Aug.  6  in  steamer 
Saguenay ;  down  the  St.  Lawrence ; 
splendid  scenery. 

Night  of  6th  and  7th  up  the  Saguenay  to 
Chicoutimi  and  Ha  Ha  Bay ;  Cape 
Eternity  and  Trinity  Rock. 

Then  down,  and,  on  our  return,  Aug.  8 
early  A.  M.  arrived  in  Quebec ;  staid 
two  days. 

Aug.  10  early  A.  M.  in  Montreal ;  left  [same 
day]  in  Algerian ;  had  a  pleasant  voy- 
age (two  days  and  nights)  to  Toronto. 

Aug.  12  arrived  in  Toronto ;  3  hours  at 
Queen's  Hotel;  left  11  A.  M. 

Aug.  12,  13,  14,  in  Hamilton. 

Back  home  to  London  Aug.  14. 

July  26.  Started  this  morning  at  8.40 
from  London  for  Toronto,  120  miles  by 
R.  R.  I  am  writing  this  on  the  cars,  very 
comfortable.  We  are  now  (10-11  A.  M.) 
passing  through  a  beautiful  country.  Rained 
hard  last  night,  and  showery  this  morning ; 
everything  looking  bright  and  green.  I  am 
enjoying  the  ride  (in  a  big  easy  R.  R.  chair 
in  a  roomy  car).  The  atmosphere  cool, 
moist,  just  right,  and  the  sky  veiled.  All 
pleasant  fertile  country,  sufficiently  diver- 

18 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

sified,  frequent  signs  of  land  not  long  cleared, 
—  black  stumps  (often  the  fields  fenced 
with  the  roots  of  them),  patches  of  beauti- 
ful woods,  beech,  fine  elms,  thrifty  apple 
orchards,  the  hay  and  wheat  mostly  har- 
vested, barley  begun,  oats  almost  ready ; 
some  good  farms  (a  little  hilly  between 
Dundas  and  Hamilton,  and  the  same  on 
to  Toronto).  Corn  looking  well,  potatoes 
ditto  ;  but  the  great  show-charm  of  my  ride 
is  from  the  unfailing  grass  and  woods. 

Hamilton  a  bustling  city. 

As  we  approach  Toronto  everything  looks 
doubly  beautiful,  especially  the  glimpses  of 
blue  Ontario's  waters,  sunlit,  yet  with  a 
slight  haze,  through  which  occasionally  a 
distant  sail. 

In  Toronto  at  half-past  one.  I  rode  up 
on  top  of  the  omnibus  with  the  driver.  The 
city  made  the  impression  on  me  of  a  lively 
dashing  place.  The  lake  gives  it  its 
character. 

In  Toronto,  July  27,  '80.     Long  and  ele- 
gant streets  of  semi-rural  residences,  many 
of  them  very  costly  and   beautiful.      The 
horse-chestnut  is  the  prevalent  tree:    you 
19 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

see  it  everywhere.     The  mountain  ash  now 
with  its  bunches  of  red  berries. 

[Same  date.~\  I  write  this  in  Toronto,  aboard 
the  steamboat  the  Algerian,  two  o'clock  p.  M. 
We  are  presently  off.  The  boat  from  Lewis- 
ton,  New  York,  has  just  come  in ;  the  usual 
hurry  with  passengers  and  freight,  and,  as 
I  write,  I  hear  the  pilot's  bells,  the  thud  of 
hawsers  unloosened,  and  feel  the  boat  squirm- 
ing slowly  from  her  ties,  out  into  freedom. 
We  are  off,  off  into  Toronto  Bay  (soon  the 
wide  expanse  and  cool  breezes  of  Lake 
Ontario).  As  we  steam  out  a  mile  or  so 
we  get  a  pretty  view  of  Toronto  from  the 
blue  foreground  of  the  waters,  —  the  whole 
rising  spread  of  the  city,  groupings  of  roofs, 
spires,  trees,  hills  in  the  background.  Good- 
bye, Toronto,  with  your  memories  of  a  very 
lively  and  agreeable  visit.  [Entry  here  of 
name  of  James  W.  Slocum,  of  Detroit, 
Wagner  car  conductor,  and  memorandum 
"  your  James  Slocum."] 

July  27.  A  DAY  AND  NIGHT  ON  LAKE 
ONTARIO.  Steamboat  middling  good-sized 
and  comfortable,  carrying  shore  freight 
and  summer  passengers.  Quite  a  voyage 
[Toronto  to  Kingston],  the  whole  length  of 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

Lake  Ontario ;  very  enjoyable  day,  clear, 
breezy,  and  cool  enough  for  me  to  wrap  my 
blanket  around  me  as  I  pace  the  upper  deck. 
For  the  first  sixty  or  seventy  miles  we  keep 
near  the  Canadian  shore  —  of  course  no  land 
in  sight  the  other  side ;  stop  at  Port  Hope, 
Coburg,  etc.,  and  then  stretch  out  toward 
the  mid- waters  of  the  lake. 

I  pace  the  deck  or  sit  till  pretty  late, 
wrapt  in  my  blanket,  enjoying  all,  —  the 
coolness,  darkness,  —  and  then  to  my  berth 
awhile. 

July  27  [28].  Rose  soon  after  three  to 
come  out  on  deck  and  enjoy  a  magnificent 
night-show  before  dawn.  Overhead  the 
moon  at  her  half,  and  waning  half,  with 
lustrous  Jupiter  and  Saturn,  made  a  trio- 
cluster  close  together  in  the  purest  of  skies 
—  with  the  groups  of  the  Pleiades  and 
Hyades  following  a  little  to  the  east.  The 
lights  off  on  the  islands  and  rocks,  the 
splashing  waters,  the  many  shadowy  shores 
and  passages  through  them  in  the  crystal 
atmosphere,  the  dawn-streaks  of  faint  red 
and  yellow  in  the  east,  made  a  good  hour 
for  me.  We  landed  on  Kingston  wharf  just 
at  sunrise. 

21 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

LAKE  ONTARIO.  Lake  O.  is  234  feet 
above  sea-level  (Huron  is  over  500,  and 
Superior  over  600).  The  chain  of  lakes  and 
river  St.  Lawrence  drain  400,000  square 
miles.  The  rainfall  on  this  vast  area  averages 
annually  a  depth  of  thirty  inches  —  so  that 
the  existence  and  supply  of  the  river,  fed  by 
such  inland  preceding  seas,  is  a  matter  of 
very  simple  calculation  after  all. 

July  28.  To-day  Dr.  M  [etcalf  ]  took  me 
in  his  steam  yacht  a  long,  lively,  varied 
voyage  down  among  the  Lakes  of  the  Thou- 
sand Islands.  We  went  swiftly  on  east  of 
Kingston,  through  cuts,  channels,  lagoons  (?)  * 
and  out  across  lakes  ;  numbers  of  islands 
always  in  sight ;  often,  as  we  steamed  by, 
some  almost  grazing  us ;  rocks  and  cedars ; 
occasionally  a  camping  party  on  the  shores, 
perhaps  fishing;  a  little  sea-swell  on  the 
water ;  on  our  return  evening  deepened, 
bringing  a  miracle  of  sunset. 

I  could  have  gone  on  thus  for  days  over 
the  savage-tame  beautiful  element.  We  had 
some  good  music  (one  of  Verdi's  composi- 
tions) from  the  band  of  B  battery  as  we 

1  These  query  marks  are  always  Whitman's.     If  I 
use  one,  it  shall  be  in  brackets. 
22 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

hauled  in  shore,  anchored,  and  listened  in 
the  twilight  (to  the  slapping  rocking  gurgle 
of  our  boat).  Late  when  we  reached  home. 
July  29.  This  forenoon  a  long  ride 
through  the  streets  of  Kingston  and  so  out 
into  the  country  and  the  lake-shore  road. 
Kingston  is  a  military  station  (B  battery), 
shows  quite  a  fort,  and  half  a  dozen  old 
martello  towers  (like  big  conical-topt  pound 
cakes).  It  is  a  pretty  town  of  fifteen  thou- 
sand inhabitants. 

July  31,  Evening,  Saturday,  Lakes  of 
the  Thousand  Islands.  I  am  writing  this 
at  and  after  sundown  in  the  central  portion 
("American  side,"  as  they  call  it  here)  of 
the  Lakes  of  the  Thousand  Islands,  twenty- 
five  miles  east  of  Kingston.  The  scene  is 
made  up  of  the  most  beautiful  and  ample 
waters,  —  twenty  or  thirty  woody  and  rocky 
islands  (varying  in  size,  some  large,  others 
small,  others  middling),  the  distant  shores  of 
the  New  York  side,  some  puffing  steamboats 
in  the  open  waters,  and  numerous  skiffs  and 
row-boats,  all  showing  as  minute  specks  in 
the  amplitude  and  primal  naturalness. 

The  brooding  waters,  the  cool  and  delicious 
air,  the  long  evening  with  its  transparent 


WALT     WHITMAN'S 

half-lights,  the  glistening  and  faintly  slap- 
ping waves,  the  circles  of  swallows  gam- 
bolling and  piping. 

[In  the  back  of  the  Canada  diary  is  the 
following,  evidently  a  first  draft  or  memoran- 
dum for  a  letter  to  some  one.] 

Aug.  1.  I  write  this  in  the  most  beauti- 
ful extensive  region  of  lakes  and  islands  one 
can  probably  see  on  earth.  Have  been  here 
several  days  ;  came  down,  leisurely  cruising 
around,  in  a  handsome  little  steam-yacht 
which  I  am  living  on  half  the  time.  The 
lakes  are  very  extensive  (over  1000  square 
miles)  and  the  islands  numberless,  .  .  .  here 
and  there  dotted  with  summer  villas. 

[Same  date.~\  Sunday  noon.  Still  among 
the  Thousand  Islands.  This  is  about  the 
centre  of  them,  stretching  twenty-five  miles 
to  the  east  and  the  same  distance  west. 
The  beauty  of  the  spot  all  through  the  day, 
the  sunlit  waters,  the  fanning  breeze,  the 
rocky  and  cedar-bronzed  islets,  the  larger 
islands  with  fields  and  farms,  the  white- 
winged  yachts  and  shooting  row-boats,  and 
over  all  the  blue  sky  arching  copious  —  make 
a  sane,  calm,  eternal  picture,  to  eyes,  senses, 
and  my  soul 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

Evening.  An  unusual  show  of  boats 
gaily  darting  over  the  waters  in  every  direc- 
tion ;  not  a  poor  model  among  them,  and 
many  of  exquisite  beauty  and  grace  and 
speed.  It  is  a  precious  experience,  one  of 
these  long  midsummer  twilights  in  these 
waters  arid  this  atmosphere.  Land  of  pure 
air !  Land  of  unnumbered  lakes  !  Land  of 
the  islets  and  the  woods  ! 

Lakes  of  Thousand  Islands,  Aug.  2. 
Early  morning ;  a  steady  southwest  wind  ; 
the  fresh  peculiar  atmosphere  of  the  hour 
and  place  worth  coming  a  thousand  miles 
to  get.  O'er  the  waters  the  gray  rocks  and 
dark-green  cedars  of  a  score  of  big  and  little 
islands  around  me ;  the  added  splendor  of 
sunrise.  As  I  sit,  the  sound  of  slapping 
water,  to  me  most  musical  of  sounds. 

One  peculiarity  as  you  go  about  among 
the  islands,  or  stop  at  them,  is  the  entire 
absence  of  horses  and  wagons.  Plenty  of 
small  boats,  however,  and  always  very  hand- 
some ones.  Even  the  women  row  and  sail 
skiffs.  Often  the  men  here  build  their  boats 
themselves. 

Forenoon.  A  run  of  three  hours  (some 
thirty  miles)  through  the  islands  and  lakes 

25 


WALT     WHITMAN'S 

in  the  Princess  Louise  to  Kingston.  Saw 
the  whole  scene,  with  its  sylvan  rocky  and 
aquatic  loveliness,  to  fine  advantage.  Such 
amplitude  —  room  enough  here  for  the  sum- 
mer recreation  of  all  North  America. 

Aug.  4.  In  Montreal;  guest  of  Dr. 
T.  S.  H.1  Genial  host,  delightful  quarters, 
good  sleep.  Explore  the  city  leisurely,  but 
quite  thoroughly :  St.  James  Street,  with  its 
handsome  shops ;  Victoria  Bridge ;  great 
French  church  ;  the  English  Cathedral ;  the 
old  French  church  of  Notre  Dame  de  Bon 
Secours  ;  the  handsome,  new,  peculiarly  and 
lavishly  ornamented  church  of  Notre  Dame 
de  Lourdes ;  the  French  streets  of  middle 
life,  with  their  signs.  A  city  of  150,000 
people. 

But  the  principal  character  of  Montreal, 
to  me,  was  from  a  drive  along  the  street 
looking  down  on  the  river  front  and  the 
wharves,  where  the  steamships  lay, — twenty 
or  more  of  them,  —  some  as  handsome  and 

1  Dr.  T.  Sterry  Hunt,  who  first  brought  Whitman's 
writings  to  the  notice  of  Dr.  Bucke.  He  is  described 
by  Dr.  B.  in  Walt  Whitman  Fellowship  Papers, 
No.  6,  as  Mineralogist  to  the  Geological  Survey  of 
Canada. 

26 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

large  as  I  ever  saw ;  beautiful  models,  trim, 
two  or  three  hundred  feet  long ;  some  mov- 
ing out,  one  or  two  coming  in ;  plenty  of 
room,  and  fine  dockage,  with  heavy  masonry 
banks. 

Aug.  5,  Forenoon.  Three  hours  on 
Mount  Royal,  the  great  hill  and  park  back 
of  Montreal ;  spent  the  forenoon  in  a  leisurely 
most  pleasant  drive  on  and  about  the  hill ; 
many  views  of  the  city  below ;  the  waters  of 
the  St.  Lawrence  in  the  clear  air ;  the 
Adirondacks  fifty  miles  or  more  distant ; 
the  excellent  roads,  miles  of  them,  up  hill 
and  down  ;  the  plentiful  woods,  oak,  pine, 
hickory ;  the  French  signboards  —  Passez  a 
droite  —  as  we  zigzag  around ;  the  splendid 
views,  distances,  waters,  mountains,  vistas, 
some  of  them  quite  unsurpassable  ;  the  con- 
tinual surprises  of  fine  trees,  in  groups  or 
singly ;  the  grand  rocky  natural  escarp- 
ments ;  frequently  open  spaces,  larger  or 
smaller,  with  patches  of  goldenrod  or  white 
yarrow,  or  along  the  road  the  red  fire- weed 
or  Scotch  thistle  in  bloom  ;  just  the  great 
hill  itself,  with  its  rocks  and  trees  unmolested 
by  any  impertinence  of  ornamentation. 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

Sunrise,  the  St.  Lawrence  near  Quebec, 
Aug.  5-6.  Have  just  seen  sunrise  (standing 
on  the  extreme  bow  of  the  boat),  the  great 
round  dazzling  ball  straight  ahead  over  the 
broad  waters,  —  a  rare  view.  The  shores 
pleasantly,  thickly,  dotted  with  houses,  the 
river  here  wide  and  looking  beautiful  in 
the  golden  morning's  sheen.  As  we  advance 
northeast  the  earth-banks  high  and  sheer, 
quite  thickly  wooded ;  thin  dawn-mists 
quickly  resolving ;  the  youthful,  strong, 
warm  forenoon  over  the  high  green  bluffs ; 
little  white  houses  seen  along  the  banks  as 
we  steam  rapidly  through  the  verdure ; 
occasionally  a  pretensive  mansion,  a  mill, 
a  two-tower'd  church  (in  burnish'd  tin).  A 
pretty  shore  (miles  of  it,  sitting  up  high, 
well-sprinkled  with  dwellings  of  habitans,  — 
farmers,  fishermen,  French  cottagers,  etc.), 
verdant  everywhere  (but  no  big  trees)  for 
fifty  miles  before  coming  to  Quebec.  These 
little  rural  cluster-towns  just  back  from  the 
bank-bluffs,  so  happy  and  peaceful  looking. 
I  saw  them  through  my  glass,  everything 
quite  minutely  and  fully.  In  one  such  town 
of  perhaps  two  hundred  houses  on  sloping 
ground,  the  old  church  with  glistening  spire 
stood  in  the  middle,  and  quite  a  large  grave- 
28 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

yard  around  it.  I  could  see  the  white  head- 
stones almost  plainly  enough  to  count  them. 
Approaching  Quebec,  rocks  and  rocky 
banks  again,  the  shores  lined  for  many  miles 
with  immense  rafts  and  logs  and  partially 
hewn  timber,  the  hills  more  broken  and 
abrupt,  the  higher  shores  crowded  with  many 
fine  dormer- window'd  houses.  Sail-ships 
appear  in  clusters  with  their  weather-beaten 
spars  and  furl'd  canvas.  The  river  still 
ample  and  grand,  the  banks  bold,  plenty  of 
round  turns  and  promontories,  plenty  of 
gray  rock  cropping  out.  Rafts,  rafts,  of  logs 
everywhere.  The  high  rocky  citadel  thrusts 
itself  out  —  altogether  perhaps  (at  any  rate 
as  you  approach  it  on  the  water,  the  sun  two 
hours  high)  as  picturesque  an  appearing  city 
as  there  is  on  earth. 

Aug.  6,  Quebec.  To  the  east  of  Quebec 
we  pass  the  large  fertile  island  of  Orleans  — 
the  fields  divided  in  long  lateral  strips  across 
the  island  and  appearing  to  be  closely  culti- 
vated. In  one  field  I  notice  them  getting 
in  the  hay,  a  woman  assisting,  loading  and 
hauling  it.  The  view  and  scene  continue 
broad  and  beautiful  under  the  forenoon  sun ; 
around  me  an  expanse  of  waters  stretches 
29 


WALT    W  HITMAN'S 

fore  and  aft  as  far  as  I  can  see  ;  outlines  of 
mountains  in  the  distance  north  and  south ; 
of  the  farthest  ones  the  bulk  and  the  crest 
lines  showing  through  strong  but  delicate 
haze  like  gray  lace. 

Aug.  6.  [By  daylight  down  the  St. 
Lawrence.]  Night  —  we  are  steaming  up 
the  Saguenay. 

Ha  Ha  Bay  [?]  I  am  here  nearly  1000 
miles  slightly  east  of  due  north  from  Phila- 
delphia, by  way  of  Montreal  and  Quebec  — 
in  the  strangest  country.  Had  a  good 
night's  sleep ;  cold,  —  overcoat,  but  up  before 
sunrise,  —  northern  lights  every  night,  as 
with  overcoat  on  or  wrapt  in  my  blanket, 
I  plant  myself  on  the  forward  deck. 

[Note  at  end  of  diary. ,]  Walt  Whitman 
is  at  Ha  Ha  Bay.  He  says  he  would  like 
to  spend  a  month  every  year  of  his  life  there 
on  the  Saguenay  River  and  near  Cape 
Eternity  and  Trinity  Rock. 

Aug.  6  and  7,  Ha  Ha  Bay.  Up  the 
black  Saguenay  River,  a  hundred  or  so  miles 
—  a  dash  of  the  grimmest,  wildest,  savagest 
scenery  on  the  planet,  I  guess  ;  a  strong,  deep 
(always  hundreds  of  feet,  sometimes  thou- 
sands), dark-water'd  river,  very  dark,  with 

30 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

high  rocky  hills,  green  and  gray  edged  banks 
in  all  directions  — no  flowers,  no  fruits 
(plenty  of  delicious  wild  blueberries  and 
raspberries  up  at  Chicoutimi,  though,  and 
Ha  Ha  Bay). 

THE  PRIESTS.  Saw  them  on  every  boat 
and  at  every  landing.  At  Tadousac  came  a 
barge  and  handsome  yacht,  manned  and 
evidently  owned  by  them,  to  bring  some 
departing  passengers  of  their  cloth  and  take 
on  others.  It  looked  funny  to  me  at  first  to 
see  the  movements,  ropes  and  tillers  handled 
by  these  swarming  black  birds,  but  I  soon  saw 
that  they  sailed  their  craft  skilfully  and  well. 
[The  people  are]  simple,  middling  industrious, 
merry,  devout  Catholic,  a  church  everywhere 
(priests  in  their  black  gowns  everywhere, 
often  groups  of  handsome  young  fellows), 
life  toned  low,  few  luxuries,  none  of  the 
modern  improvements,  no  hurry,  often  big 
families  of  children,  nobody  "  progressive," 
all  apparently  living  and  moving  entirely 
among  themselves,  taking  small  interest  in 
the  outside  world  of  politics,  changes,  news, 
fashions ;  industrious,  yet  taking  life  very 
leisurely,  with  much  dancing  and  music. 


31 


WALT     WHITMAN'S 

[Here  follows  what  is  evidently  a  thumb- 
nail sketch  for  the  first  part  of  Fancies 
at  Navesink.~]  Again  I  steam  over  the 
Saguenay.  The  bronze-black  waters,  and 
the  thin  lines  of  white  curd,  and  the  dazzling 
sun-dash  on  the  stream,  the  banks  of  grim- 
gray  mountains  and  the  rocks  —  I  see  the 
grim  and  savage  scene. 

Made  a  good  breakfast  of  sea-trout,  finish- 
ing off  with  wild  raspberries.  Hotels  here  ; 
a  few  fashionables,  but  they  get  away  soon  ; 
it  is  almost  cold,  except  the  middle  of  a  few 
July  and  August  days. 

{Undated  fragment.'}  The  inhabitants 
peculiar  to  our  eyes  ;  many  marked  charac- 
ters, looks,  by-plays,  costumes,  etc.,  that 
would  make  the  fortune  of  actors  who  could 
reproduce  them. 

A  more  or  less  aquatic  character  runs 
through  the  people.  The  two  influences  of 
French  and  British  contribute  a  curious 
by-play. 

Contrasts  all  the  while.  At  this  place, 
backed  by  these  mountains  high  and  bold, 
nestled  down  the  hamlet  of  St.  Pierre,  ap- 
parently below  the  level  of  the  bay,  and 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

very  secluded  and  cosy.  Then  two  or  three 
miles  further  on  I  saw  a  larger  town  high  up 
on  the  plateau.  At  St.  Paul's  Bay  a  stronger 
cast  of  scenery,  many  rugged  peaks. 

[Aro   date.']      On    the    Saguenay.      THE 

NOTICEABLE      ITEMS     ON     LAND  I      the     long 

boxes  of  blueberries  (we  had  over  a  thousand 
of  them  carried  on  board  at  Ha  Ha  Bay 
one  day  I  was  on  the  pier) ;  the  groups  of 
"  boarders  "  (retaining  all  their  most  refined 
toggery) ;  the  vehicles,  some  "  calashes," 
many  queer  old  one-horse  top- wagons  with 
an  air  of  faded  gentility.  ON  THE  WATER  : 
the  sail  craft  and  steamers  we  pass  out 
in  the  stream ;  the  rolling  and  turning  up 
of  the  white-bellied  porpoises  ;  some  special 
island  or  rock  (often  very  picturesque  in 
color  or  form) ;  all  the  scenes  at  the  piers 
as  we  land  to  leave  or  take  passengers  and 
freight,  especially  many  of  the  natives  ;  the 
changing  aspect  of  the  light  and  the  mar- 
vellous study  from  that  alone  every  hour  of 
the  day  or  night ;  the  indescribable  sunsets 
and  sunrises  (I  often  see  the  latter  now) ;  the 
scenes  at  breakfast  and  other  meal-times  (and 
what  an  appetite  one  gets !) ;  the  delicious 
fish  (I  mean  from  the  cook's  fire,  hot). 
3  33 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

I  had  a  good  opera  glass,  and  made  con- 
stant use  of  it,  sweeping  every  shore. 
Northern  lights  every  night. 

Quebec  from  the  River,  Aug.  8,  '80. 
Imagine  a  high  rocky  hill  (the  angles  each 
a  mile  long),  flush  and  bold  to  the  river, 
with  plateau  on  top,  the  front  handsomely 
presented  to  the  south  and  east  (we  are 
steaming  up  the  river) ;  on  the  principal 
height,  still  flush  with  the  stream,  a  vast 
stone  fort,  the  most  conspicuous  object  in 
view ;  the  magnificent  St.  Lawrence  itself ; 
many  hills  and  ascents  and  tall  edifices 
shown  at  their  best  —  and  steeples ;  the 
handsome  town  of  Point  Levi  opposite ;  a 
long  low  sea-steamer  just  hauling  out. 

Aug.  8,  Sunday  forenoon.  A  leisurely 
varied  drive  around  the  city,  stopping  a 
dozen  times  and  more.  I  went  into  the 
citadel,  talked  with  the  soldiers  (over  100 
here,  Battery  A,  Canadian  militia,  the 
regulars  having  long  since  departed ;  a  fort 
under  the  old  dispensation,  strong  and 
picturesque  as  Gibraltar).  Then  to  several 
Catholic  churches  and  to  the  Esplanade. 

The  chime-bells  rang  out  at  intervals  all 
the  forenoon,  joyfully  clanging.     It  seems 
34 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

almost  an  art  here.  I  never  before  heard 
their  peculiar  sound  to  such  mellifluous 
advantage  and  pleasure. 

The  old  name  of  Quebec  —  Hochelega 
[sic],  [Hochelaga  (ho-shel'-a-gah)  is  derived 
from  an  aboriginal  word  meaning  beaver- 
grounds.] 

Aug.  9,  Quebec.  Forenoon.  We  have 
driven  out  six  or  seven  miles  to  the  Mont- 
morenci  Falls,  and  I  am  writing  this 
as  I  sit  high  up  on  the  steps,  the  cascade 
immediately  before  me,  the  great  rocky 
chasm  at  my  right  and  an  immense 
lumber  depot  bordering  the  river,  far,  far 
below,  almost  under  me,  to  the  left.  It 
makes  a  pretty  and  picturesque  show,  but 
not  a  grand  one.  The  principal  fall,  30  or 
40  feet  wide  and  250  high,  pours  roaring 
and  white  down  a  slant  of  dark  gray  rocks, 
and  there  are  six  or  seven  rivulet  falls 
flanking  it. 

Since  writing  the  above  I  have  gone  down 
the  steps  (some  350)  to  the  foot  of  the  Fall, 
which  I  recommend  every  visitor  to  do :  the 
view  is  peculiar  and  fine.  The  whole  scene 
grows  steadily  upon  one,  and  I  can  imagine 
myself,  after  many  visits,  forming  a  finally 
35 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

first-class  estimate,1  from  what  I  see  here 
of  Montmorenci  over  a  part  of  the  scaly, 
grim,  bald-black  rock,  the  water  falling 
downward  like  strings  of  snowy-spiritual 
beautiful  tresses. 

The  road  out  here  from  the  city  is  a  very 
good  one,  lined  with  moderate-class  houses, 
copious  with  women  and  children.  Doors 
and  windows  wide  open,  exhibiting  many 
groups  to  us  as  we  passed.  The  men  appear 
to  be  away :  I  wonder  what  they  work  at  ? 
Every  house  for  miles  is  set  diagonally  with 
one  of  its  corners  to  the  road,  never  its 
gable  or  front.  There  seems  little  farming 
here,  and  I  see  no  factories. 

Through  the  forenoon  watched  the  cascade 
under  the  advantages  now  of  partly  cloudy 
atmosphere  and  now  of  the  full  sunshine. 
The  tamarack-trees.  —  The  great  loaves  of 
bread,  shaped  like  clumsy  butterflies.  —  Jo 
Le  Clerc,  our  driver,  lifting  his  ringer. — 

1  This  word  in  the  MS.  has  a  query  above  it,  —  a 
common  habit  of  Whitman,  not  only  in  this  diary, 
but  elsewhere,  when  he  felt  not  wholly  satisfied  but 
that  he  might  be  able  later  to  write  a  better  word. 
Very  frequently,  too,  in  this  diary,  a  second  (alterna- 
tive) word  is  written  above  the  first,  as  if  in  his 
mind  the  choice  were  doubtful. 
36 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

Hundreds  of  (to  our  eyes)  funny-looking 
one-horse  vehicles,  —  calashes  ;  antique  gigs  ; 
heavy  two-seated  covered  voitures,  always 
drawn  by  one  horse ;  long  narrow  strips  of 
farms  [as  in  France] ;  coarse,  rank  tobacco  ; 
potatoes,  plenty  and  fine-looking ;  big-roofed 
one-story  houses  with  projecting  eaves ; 
entire  absence  of  barns.  —  The  ruins  of 
Montcalm's  country-seat,  the  strong  old 
stone  walls  still  standing  to  the  second  story ; 
indeed,  many  old  stone  walls,  including  those 
of  the  old  city,  still  standing. 

Aug.  9  [on  the  St.  Lawrence].  Very 
pleasant  journey  of  180  miles  this  afternoon 
and  to-night ;  crowds  of  Catholic  priests  on 
board  with  their  long  loose  black  gowns, 
and  the  broad  brims  of  their  hats  turned 
into  a  peculiar  triangle. 

Aug.  10.  Again  in  Montreal.  As  I 
write  this  I  am  seated  aft  in  the  delicious 
river  breeze  on  the  steamboat  that  is  to  take 
me  back  west  some  380  miles  from  here  to 
Hamilton.  Two  hours  yet  before  we  start ; 
few  passengers,  as  they  come  east  by  the 
boats,  and  then  generally  take  the  railroad 
back.  Montreal  has  the  largest  show  of  sail 
ships  and  handsome  ocean  steamers  of  any 
37 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

place  on  the  river  and  lake  line,  and  I  am 
right  in  full  sight  of  them. 

Going  on  the  river  westward  from  Montreal 
is  pretty  slow  and  tedious,  taking  a  long 
time  to  get  through  the  canals  and  many 
locks,  to  Lake  St.  Francis,  where  the 
steamer  emerges  to  the  river  again.  These 
rapids  along  here  —  the  boats  can  descend, 
but  cannot  go  up  them.  A  great  incon- 
venience to  the  navigator,  but  they  are  quite 
exciting  with  their  whirls  and  roar  and  foam, 
and  very  picturesque. 

Here,  too,  are  graveyards.  In  a  lovely 
little  shore-nook,  under  an  apple-tree,  green, 
grassy,  fenced  by  rails,  lapped  by  the  waters, 
I  saw  a  grave,  —  white  headstone  and  foot- 
stone  ;  could  almost  read  the  inscription. 

Aug.  10,  Evening.  Wondrously  clear, 
pleasant,  and  calm.  I  think  it  must  have 
been  unusual ;  the  river  was  as  smooth  as 
glass  for  hours.  All  the  stars  shone  in  it 
from  below  as  brightly  as  above,  —  the  young 
moon,  and  Arcturus,  and  Aquila,  and,  after 
10,  lustrous  Jupiter.  Nothing  could  be  more 
exquisite.  I  sat  away  forward  by  the  bow 
and  watched  the  show  till  after  11. 


38 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

Aug.  12,  11  A.  M.  As  we  take  the  cars 
at  Toronto  to  go  west,  the  first  thing  I 
notice  is  the  change  of  temperature ;  no 
more  the  cool  fresh  air  of  the  lakes,  the  St. 
Lawrence,  and  the  Saguenay. 

Aug.  12,  4^  P.M.  I  am  writing  this  at 
Hamilton,  high  up  on  a  hill  south  of  the 
town. 

Aug.  13,  P.  M.  I  write  this  on  a  singular 
strip  of  beach  off  Hamilton. 

To-day  have  been  driving  about  for  several 
hours,  —  some  of  the  roads  high  up  on  the 
crest  of  the  mountain  ;  spent  a  pleasant  hour 
in  the  wine  vaults  of  Mr.  Haskins,  and  an- 
other at  the  vineyard  and  hospitable  house 
of  Mr.  Paine,  who  treated  us  to  some 
delicious  native  wine. 

Aug.  14.  I  am  writing  this  on  the  high 
balcony  of  the  Asylum  at  Hamilton  (Ontario, 
Canada).1  The  city  is  spread  in  full  view 
before  me.  (Is  there  not  an  escaped  patient  ? 
I  see  a  great  commotion,  —  Dr.  W.  and 
several  attendants,  men  and  women,  rushing 

1  Dr.  Bucke  was  during  the  year  1876  medical 
superintendent  of  this  asylum.  —  Free  Press,  Lon- 
don, Ont,  Feb.  2,  1902  (obituary). 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

down  the  cliff). — A  dark,  moist,  lowering 
forenoon ;  balmy  air  though ;  wind  south- 
west. 

Aug.  14,  5^2  P.M.  Arrived  back  in  Lon- 
don a  couple  of  hours  ago,  all  right.  Am 
writing  this  in  my  room,  Dr.  B.'s  house. 

Along  the  way  on  the  journey  from  Hamil- 
ton to  London  everywhere  through  the  car- 
windows  I  saw  locust-trees  growing  and  the 
broad  yellow  faces  of  sunflowers,  the  sumach 
bushes  with  their  red  cones,  and  the  orchard 
trees  loaded  with  apples. 

The  waters,  the  lakes,  and  the  indescrib- 
able grandeur  and 1  of  the  St.  Lawrence 
are  the  beauty  of  Canada  through  this  vast 
line  of  two  thousand  miles  and  over.  In 
its  peculiar  advantages,  sanities,  and  charms, 
I  doubt  whether  the  globe  for  democratic 
purposes  has  its  equal. 

[A  little  farther  back  in  his  diary  Whit- 
man has  the  following  equally  enthusiastic 
paragraphs  of  generalizations  on  Canada. 
They  are  labelled  thus: 

"  ?  For  lecture  —  for  conclusion  ? "] 

A  grand,  sane,  temperate  land,  the  amplest 

1  The  blank  space,  and  others  below,  are  re- 
produced from  the  MS. 

40 


/ 
\ 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

and  most  beautiful  and  stream  of  water, 
—  a  river  and  necklace  of  vast  lakes,  pure, 
sweet,  eligible,  supplied  by  the  chemistry  of 
millions  of  square  miles  of  gushing  springs 
and  melted  snows.  No  stream  this  for  side 
frontier — stream  rather  for  the  great  central 
current,  the  glorious  mid-artery,  of  the  great 
Free  Pluribus  Unum  of  America,  the  solid 
Nationality  of  the  present  and  the  future,  the 
home  of  an  improved  grand  race  of  men  and 
women ;  not  of  some  select  class  only,  but 
of  larger,  saner,  better  masses.  I  should  say 
this  vast  area  (from  lat.  and  ) 

was  fitted  to  be  their  unsurpassed  habitat. 

I  know  nothing  finer.  The  European 
democratic  tourist,  philanthropist,  geogra- 
pher, or  genuine  inquirer,  will  make  a  fatal 
mistake  who  leaves  these  shores  without 
understanding  this.  —  I  know  nothing  finer, 
either  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  soci- 
ologist, the  traveller,  or  the  artist,  than  a 
month's  devotion  to  even  the  surface  of 
Canada,  over  the  line  of  the  great  Lakes  and 
the  St.  Lawrence,  the  fertile,  populous,  and 
happy  province  of  Ontario,  the  [province]  of 
Quebec,  with  another  month  to  the  hardy 
maritime  regions  of  New  Brunswick,  Nova 
Scotia,  and  Newfoundland. 
41 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

[In  Whitman's  Canadian  diary,  as  I  re- 
ceived it,  I  find  the  following  notes  on  loose 
sheets.] 

I  see,  or  imagine  I  see  in  the  future,  a 
race  of  two  million  farm-families,  ten  million 
people  —  every  farm  running  down  to  the 
water,1  or  at  least  in  sight  of  it  —  the  best 
air  and  drink  and  sky  and  scenery  of  the 
globe,  the  sure  foundation-nutriment  of 
heroic  men  and  women.  The  summers,  the 
winters  —  I  have  sometimes  doubted  whether 
there  could  be  a  great  race  without  the 
hardy  influence  of  winters  in  due  propor- 
tion. 

Total  Dominion,  3,500,000  square  miles. 
Quebec,  Ontario,  Nova  Scotia,  New  Bruns- 
wick, Prince  Edward  Island,  British  Colum- 
bia, Manitoba,  Hudson  Bay,  and  Northwest 
Territories.  (Newfoundland  not  in  Domin- 
ion.) Area  equal  to  the  whole  of  Europe. 
Population,  1880,  four  to  five  millions. 

Principal  timber:  white  and  red  pine. 
The  woods  are  full  of  white  oak,  elm,  beech, 
ash,  maple  (bird's-eye,  curled,  etc.),  wal- 
nut, cedar,  birch,  tamarack,  sugar  orchards 
(maple). 

1  The  St.  Lawrence. 
42 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

The  honey-bee  everywhere ;  rural  ponds 
and  lakes  (often  abounding  with  the  great 
white  sweet-smelling  water-lily) ;  wild  fruits 
and  berries  everywhere ;  in  the  vast  flat 
grounds  the  prairie  anemone. 

The  fisheries  of  Canada  are  almost  un- 
paralleled. .  .  .  Then  the  furs.  .  .  . 

If  the  most  significant  trait  of  modern 
civilization  is  benevolence  (as  a  leading 
statesman  has  said),  it  is  doubtful  whether 
this  is  anywhere  illustrated  to  a  fuller  degree 
than  in  the  province  of  Ontario.  All  the 
maimed,  insane,  idiotic,  blind,  deaf  and  dumb, 
needy,  sick  and  old,  minor  criminals,  fallen 
women,  foundlings,  have  advanced  and  ample 
provision  of  house  and  care  and  oversight, 
at  least  fully  equal  to  anything  of  the  kind 
in  any  of  the  United  States  —  probably  in- 
deed superior  to  them.  In  Ontario  for  its 
eighty-eight  electoral  ridings,  each  one  re- 
turning a  member  of  parliament,  there  are 
four  Insane  Asylums,  an  Idiot  Asylum,  one 
Institution  for  the  Blind,  one  for  the  Deaf 
and  Dumb,  one  for  Foundlings,  a  Reforma- 
tory for  Girls,  one  for  Women,  and  no  end 
of  homes  for  the  old  and  infirm,  for  waifs, 
and  for  the  sick. 

Its  school  system,  founded  on  the  Massa- 
43 


WALT    WHITMAN'S 

chusetts  plan,  is  one  of  the  best  and  most 
comprehensive  in  the  world. 

Some  of  the  good  people  of  Ontario  have 
complained  in  my  hearing  of  faults  and 
fraudulencies,  commissive  or  emissive,  on 
the  part  of  the  government,  but  I  guess 
said  people  have  reason  to  bless  their  stars 
for  the  general  fairness,  economy,  wisdom, 
and  liberality  of  their  officers  and  adminis- 
tration. 

Aug.  21,  '80  [London,  Canada].  I  rose 
this  morning  at  four  and  look'd  out  on  the 
most  pure  and  refulgent  starry  show.  Right 
over  my  head,  like  a  Tree-Universe  spread- 
ing with  its  orb-apples,  —  Aldebaran  leading 
the  Hyades ;  Jupiter  of  amazing  lustre,  soft- 
ness, and  volume  ;  and,  not  far  behind,  heavy 
Saturn,  —  both  past  the  meridian  ;  the  seven 
sparkling  gems  of  the  Pleiades ;  the  full 
moon,  voluptuous  and  yellow,  and  full  of 
radiance,  an  hour  to  setting  in  the  west. 
Everything  so  fresh,  so  still ;  the  delicious 
something  there  is  in  early  youth,  in  early 
dawn  —  the  spirit,  the  spring,  the  feel; 
the  air  and  light,  precursors  of  the  untried 
sun  ;  love,  action,  forenoon,  noon,  life  —  full- 
fibred,  latent  with  them  all.  And  is  not 


DIARY    IN    CANADA 

that  Orion  the  mighty  hunter?  Are  not 
those  the  three  glittering  studs  in  his  belt  ? 
And  there  to  the  north  Capella  and  his 
kids. 

Aug.  29.  At  Dr.  B. 's.  The  robins  on  the 
grassy  lawn  (I  sometimes  see  a  dozen  at  a 
time,  great  fat  fellows).  The  little  black- 
and-yellow  bird  with  his  billowy  flight  [the 
goldfinch] ;  the  flocks  of  sparrows.  [Else- 
where in  this  diary  he  writes  of  "  the  long 
clear  quaver  of  the  robin,  its  mellow  and 
reedy  note,"  although  he  erased  the  words 
as  being  unsatisfactory.  But  I  think  they 
are  admirably  descriptive  of  the  timbre  of  the 
robin's  evening  song  as  well  as  the  song 
itself.] 

END   OF   THE   DIARY   IN   CANADA 


45 


FROM  OTHER  JOURNALS   OF 
WALT  WHITMAN 


FROM  OTHER  JOURNALS 
OF    WALT    WHITMAN 

Wednesday,  4th  March,  1863.  SCENE  UP 
TO  NOON.  CLOSE  OF  THE  37TH  CONGRESS  ; 
HOUSE.  Well,  here  is  the  4th  of  March, 
and  two  out  of  the  four  years  of  the  Lincoln 
administration  have  gone  by.  And  now 
there  are  two  to  follow.  What  will  happen 
during  those  two  years  ? 

Forenoon,  4sth  March.  The  House  now 
presents  a  most  animated  and  characteristic 
scene.  The  ranges  of  crowded  galleries  are 
in  shadow,  while  the  strong  day  showers  its 
powerful  and  steady  streams  upon  the  floor. 
Did  I  think  and  say  it  looked  so  much  bet- 
ter at  night  ?  Well,  I  think  I  never  saw  it 
look  better  than  now  (11 /^  A.  M.). 

A  member  from  New  York  has  just  been 
making  a  most  excited  little  speech.  At 
this  moment  the  clerk  is  calling  the  ayes 
and  noes.  The  members  and  many  distin- 
guished and  undistinguished  visitors  are 
filling  the  floor,  talking,  walking,  sauntering 
in  twos  or  threes,  or  gathered  together  in 
*  49 


JOURNALS    OF 

little  knots.  —  The  clapping  of  hands  calling 
the  pages ;  the  fresh  green  of  the  carpets 
and  desks  ;  the  strong,  good-tinted  panel 
frames  of  the  glass  roof;  the  short,  decided 
voice  of  the  speaker ;  the  continual  soda-pop- 
like  burstings  of  members  calling  "  Mr. 
Speaker !  Mr.  Speaker ! "  the  incessant  bustle, 
motion,  surging  hubbub  of  voices,  undertoned 
but  steady. 

There  is  a  rather  notable  absence  of 
military  uniforms  on  the  floor  of  the  house ; 
crowded  as  it  is  at  this  moment,  I  do  not, 
as  I  sweep  my  eyes  around,  see  a  single 
shoulder-strap. 

Interruption :  a  message  from  the  Senate 
of  the  United  States  ;  it  is  half-past  eleven  ; 
there  are  but  thirty  minutes  left  for  the 
87th  Congress ;  the  ladies'  gallery  in  the 
House  is  about  half  of  the  whole  room 
devoted  to  the  public  ;  a  resolution  is  adopted 
giving  a  boy  who  was  employed  by  the 
House  $100  —  he  has  had  his  ankles  crushed, 
disabled ;  the  hands  of  the  clock  move  on  ; 
there  is  great  hubbub  and  confusion,  actual 
disorder ;  bang !  bang !  bang !  the  speaker's 
hammer  is  rapidly  falling,  and  he  sternly 
calls  for  gentlemen  to  come  to  order ;  and 
still  the  hands  of  the  clock  invisibly  move 
50 


WALT    WHITMAN 

on  ;  there  are  but  fifteen  minutes  left ;  voices 
of  hubbub ;  bump,  bump,  bump,  bump, 
bump  I  "  Gentlemen  will  please  take  their 
seats."  "  Not  one  step  further,  gentlemen, 
till  there  is  something  like  order." 

Five  minutes  to  twelve ;  there  is  a  kind 
of  hush  and  abeyance  —  not  the  hubbub  now 
there  has  been ;  some  filibustering  is  at- 
tempted on  a  small  scale ;  tellers  are  called 
to  clear  up  a  disputed  vote ;  the  strong  hum 
goes  on ;  the  crowd  is  very  great ;  the  laws 
of  the  door  have  been  relaxed  and  everybody 
appears  to  have  somebody  in  tow ;  the 
hands  are  on  12 ;  the  speaker  rises  ;  the 
clerks,  officers,  pages,  gather  in  a  close 
phalanx  around  the  desk,  on  the  steps  and 
close  to  them  ;  the  hubbub  subsides  into  the 
stillness  of  death  ;  the  doorkeepers  guard  all 
the  doors  ;  the  speaker's  address.  — The  37th 
Congress  is  adjourned  sine  die ;  the  impres- 
sion evidently  good  as  he  concludes ;  there 
is  hearty  applause,  and  then  things  are  un- 
tied ;  the  doors  fly  open  ;  the  many-drest 
public  streams  in ;  all  below  there  is  now 
a  crawling  jam  of  people,  —  soldier  boys, 
hoosiers,  gents,  etc.  etc.  etc.  A  dust  arises 
from  the  tread  of  so  many  footsteps  — 
boots  with  the  mud  dried  on  them ;  the 

51 


J  OURN ALS    OF 

last  breath  of  the  37th  Congress,  full  of  dim 
opaque  particles,  rises  and  fills  the  air  of  the 
most  beautiful  room  in  the  world ;  but  the 
light  strikes  down  through  it ;  the  crowd 
wave  their  hats. 

VICTOR  HUGO'S  ANNEE  TERRIBLE  [1870- 
71]  (as  translated  to  me  by  Mr.  Aubin,  Oct. 
'72).  First  the  Prologue,  the  splendid  por- 
traiture of  the  People  and  the  Mob.  A 
whole  world,  if  it  is  wrong,  does  not  out- 
weigh one  just  man.  Distinction  between 
the  People  and  the  Mob  —  magnificent.  It 
is  not  incense  that  has  broken  the  nose  of 
the  Sphinx:  it  is  the  bosom  made  vulgar 
by  the  belly.  —  "  SEDAN."  The  close,  where 
the  sword  of  France  representing  all  the 
great  heroic  characters  and  all  the  famous 
victories  (mentioned  by  name)  is  "by  the 
hand  of  a  bandit"  ignominiously  surren- 
dered. 

[The  passages  in  "L'Annee  Terrible" 
referred  to  are  as  follows : 

"  Un  raonde,  s'il  a  tort,  ne  pese  pas  un  juste, 
Tout  un  ocean  fou  bat  en  vain  un  grand  coeur." 

Says  Hugo  :  The  crowd  and  the  idealist 
have  rude  encounters :  Moses,  Ezekiel,  Dante, 
52 


WALT    WHITMAN 

were  men  grave  and  severe.  The  spirit  of 
redoutable  thinkers  can  be  better  employed 
than  in  caressing  the  sphinx  — 

"  Ce  grand  monstre  de  pierre  accroupe  qui  medite, 
Ayant  en  lui  Tenigme  adorable  ou  maudite ; 
L'ouragan  n'est  pas  tendre  aux  colosses  emus ; 
C'est  ne  pas  d'encensoirs  que  le  sphinx  est  camus. 
La  verite,  voila  le  grand  encens  austere 
Qu'on  doit  a  cette  masse  ou  palpite  un  mystere, 
Et  qui  porte  en  son  sein  qu'un  ventre  appesantit, 
Le  droit  juste  mele  de  Tinjuste  appetit." 

At  the  close  of  the  section  called  "Aout " 
and  also  headed  "  Sedan,"  Hugo  is  de- 
scribing in  grandiose  imagery  the  battle  of 
Sedan,  —  the  vast  clouds  of  smoke,  the 
thunder-roll  of  the  cannon,  the  feeling  of 
honor,  of  devotion  to  country,  the  sublime 
moment  when,  in  the  passion  of  battle, 
the  soldier  is  ready  to  consecrate  his  life 
to  his  country's  welfare,  when  the  trumpets 
are  breathing  their  thrilling  sounds,  and 
the  word  is  "  resist  or  die  1 "  And  then 
(continues  Hugo)  is  heard  this  monstrous 
and  cowardly  cry  "  I  wish  to  live,"  "  Je 
veux  vivre"  (alluding  to  Napoleon  the 
Little). 

63 


JOURNALS    OF 

"  Alors  la  Gaule,  alors  la  France,  alors  la  gloire, 
Alors  Brennus,  Taudace,  et  Clovis,  la  victoire, 

Les  hommes  du  dernier  carre  de  Waterloo, 

Et  tous  les  chefs  de  guerre,  Heristal,  Charlemagne, 

Napoleon  plus  grand  que  Cesar  et  Pompee 
Par  la  main  d'un  bandit  rendirent  leur  epee."] 

NEW  YORK  VISIT.  Came  on  to  N.  Y. 
June  13,  '78,  to  1309  Fifth  Ave.  2d  door 
south  of  86th  street. — At  Mr.  Bryant's 
funeral  [the  poet  Bryant]  at  the  church  in 
4th  Ave.  June  14,  '78. — Up  the  Hudson 
River  to  West  Point  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bigelow's,  Sunday,  June  16th. 

(Wm.  H.  Taylor,  policeman,  959  Fifth 
Ave. ;  house  south  of  85th  St.1  —  Alonzo 
Sprague,  33  years  of  age  —  western  —  been 
two  years  with  Frank  Aiken,  the  actor.) 

Visit  to  Watson  Gilder's,  evening  of  June 
14.  Modjeska,  Wyatt  Eaton,  Charles  De 
Kay. 

1  Sprinkled  through  all  Whitman's  pocket-book 
diaries  are  names  of  men  to  whom  he  was  at- 
tracted, e.  g.,  a  Pullman-car  conductor,  a  policeman,  a 
'bus  driver,  a  great  poet.  His  magnetic  love  always 
drew  him  hungeringly  toward  manly  men. 

54 


WALT    WHITMAN 

20-24sth  June  (inclusive}.  Visit  at  John 
Burroughs's,  Esopus  (Sirfith  Caswell). 

25th  June.  Down  the  bay  with  Sorosis 
party. 

July  3,  '78.  Visited  the  Tribune  news- 
paper office;  read  proof  [of  a  letter  they 
printed].  Up,  up,  up,  in  the  elevator  some 
eight  or  nine  stories,  to  the  top  of  the  tall 
tower.  Then  the  most  wonderful  expanse 
and  views  !  A  living  map  indeed,  —  all  New 
York  and  Brooklyn,  and  all  the  waters  and 
lands  adjacent  for  twenty  miles,  every  direc- 
tion. My  thoughts  of  the  beauty  and  am- 
plitude of  these  bay  and  river  surroundings 
confirmed.  Other  thoughts  also  confirmed, 

—  that  of  a  fitter  name ;  for  instance,  Man- 
nahatta,  "  the  place  around  which  there  are 
hurried  and  joyous  waters,  continually  "  — 
(that 's  the  sense  of  the  old  aboriginal  word). 

—  Was    treated   with    much    courtesy  by 
Whitelaw  Reid,1  the  editor  who  placed  his 
cab  at  my  disposal.    Had  a  pleasant  evening 
drive  through  the  Park  [Central  Park],  it 
being  on  my  way  home. 

1  Perhaps  to  make  up  for  his  long  years  of 
lending  the  Tribune  to  insulting  attacks  on  Whit- 
man. 

55 


JOURNALS     OF 

Oct.,  Nov.,  etc.,  '79.  NOTES  IN  ST.  Louis. 
In  the  Mercantile  Library  on  Fourth  Street 
(where  I  used  to  go  for  an  hour  daily  to  read 
the  New  York  and  Philadelphia  papers  by 
courtesy  of  Mr.  Dyer)  they  have  a  very  good 
photograph  from  life  of  Edgar  Poe  and  a 
bust  of  Thomas  H.  Benton,  the  best  life 
likeness.  Also  a  colossal  clay  figure,  very 
good,  of  Mr.  Shaw,  a  rich  philanthropist 
here,  and  donor  of  a  handsome  park  and 
botanical  garden  to  the  city. 

[New  York],  Sunday,  '79.  Took  a  slow 
walk  forenoon  to-day  (Easter  Sunday:  the 
chick  is  breaking  the  egg)  along  Fifth 
Avenue  where  it  flanks  the  Park,  from 
85th  to  90th  street.  I  rest  my  note-book, 
to  write  this,  on  the  roof-shaped  coping  of 
the  wall.  All  round  this  vast  pleasure- 
ground  has  been  built  a  costly,  grim,  for- 
bidding stone  fence,  some  parts  of  it  seven 
feet  high,  others  lower,  capped  with  heavy 
bevelled  rough  marble, — in  my  judgment  a 
nuisance,  the  whole  thing.  There  ought  to 
be  no  such  fence ;  the  grounds  ought  to  be 
open  all  round  (both  the  spirit  of  the  matter 
and  the  visible  fact  and  convenience  are 
important  and  require  it). 
56 


WALT    WHITMAN 

Perhaps  (though  I  am  not  sure)  the  gen- 
eral planning,  designing,  and  carrying  out 
of  this  Park,  from  its  original  state  to  the 
present,  are  successes  and  the  results  good. 
But  the  same  ideas,  theories  (by  the  same 
person,  I  understand),  applied  to  Prospect 
Park,  Brooklyn,  have  in  my  opinion  done 
their  best  to  spoil  that  incomparable  hill  and 
ground,  —  in  some  respects  the  grandest  site 
for  a  park  in  the  world.  The  same  error  in 
Capitol  Hill  at  Washington,  —  exploiting 
the  designs  of  ingrain  carpets,  with  sprawl- 
ing and  meaningless  lines. 

Aug.  9,  '79.  GORGEOUS  FLOWERS.  As  I 
walk  the  suburbs  of  a  town  where  I  am 
temporarily  staying,  great  sunflowers  bend 
their  tall  and  stately  discs  in  full  bloom  in 
silent  salute  to  the  day-orb.  Many  other 
gorgeous  blossoms.  Roses  of  Sharon  are 
out,  both  the  white  ones  and  the  red.  Then 
the  tawny  trumpet-flower,  its  rich-deep 
orange-yellow  on  copious  vines  in  back  yards 
and  on  the  gables  of  old  houses.  Great  balls 
of  the  blue  hydrangeas  are  not  uncommon. 
I  stop  long  before  a  tall  clump  of  the  Japanese 
sunflowers. 


57 


JOURNALS     OF 

May  13  to  26,  '81.  Down  in  the  country, 
mostly  in  the  woods,  enjoying  the  early 
summer,  the  bird  music,  and  the  pure  air. 
For  interest  and  occupation  I  busy  myself 
three  or  four  hours  every  day,  arranging, 
revising,  cohering,  here  and  there  slightly 
rewriting  (and  sometimes  cancelling)  a  new 
edition  of  L.  of  G.  complete  in  one  volume. 
I  do  the  main  part  of  the  work  out  in  the 
woods.  I  like  to  try  my  pieces  by  negligent, 
free,  primitive  Nature,  —  the  sky,  the  sea- 
shore, the  sunshine,  the  plentiful  grass,  or 
dead  leaves  (as  now)  under  my  feet,  and  the 
song  of  some  catbird,  wren,  or  russet  thrush 
within  hearing ;  like  (as  now)  the  half- 
shadowed  tall-columned  trees,  with  green 
leaves  and  branches  in  relief  against  the  sky. 
Such  is  the  library,  the  study  where  (seated 
on  a  big  log)  I  have  sifted  out  and  given 
some  finishing  touches  to  this  edition 
(J.  R.  O[sgood]  publisher,  1881).  I  take 
a  bout  at  it  every  day  for  an  hour  or  two  — 
sometimes  twice  a  day. 

Received  back  to-day  the  MS.  of  the 
little  piece  of  "A  Summer  Invocation," 
which  I  had  sent  to  H.'s  [Harper's]  maga- 
zine. The  editor  said  he  returned  it  be- 
cause his  readers  wouldn't  understand  any 
58 


WALT    WHITMAN 

meaning  to  it.     (Put  in  Holland's   [Scrib- 
ner's].) 

THE  ENGLISH  SPARROWS.  March  30,  79, 
Sunday  forenoon,  10,  11,  etc.  The  window 
where  I  sit  (after  a  good  breakfast  with 
my  hospitable  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  J.  M. 
S[covel]  and  their  family,  who  have  all  gone 
off  to  church,  leaving  me  to  myself)  opens 
on  a  spacious  side-yard  exhibiting  near-at- 
hand  views  of  an  old  extensive  Ivy  Vine, 
with  thick-matted,  yet-green  foliage,  nearly 
covering  the  east  gable  wall  of  the  adjoining 
house  (fifty  feet  square,  I  should  guess), 
alive  at  this  moment,  in  its  sunny  exposure, 
with  the  darting,  flirting,  twittering,  of  scores, 
hundreds,  of  English  sparrows,  busily  en- 
gaged, with  much  loquacity,  pulling  old 
nests  to  pieces  and  building  new  ones.  I 
had  before  in  my  walks  noticed  this  grand 
Ivy,  with  its  flocks  of  sparrows  ;  but  now 
alone  here,  comfortable,  I  note  leisurely  the 
little  drama,  taking  it  all  in  and  enjoying  it. 
(What  a  noble  and  verdant  vine  yet  —  a 
lesson  to  old  age.)  What  tireless,  vehement 
noisy  tit-bits  the  birds  are !  What  a  rollick- 
ing time  1  Evidently  what  fun !  Some- 
times, at  a  spirt  of  wind  coming,  the  whole 

59 


JOURNALS     OF 

swarm  of  them,  as  if  frightened,  emerge  in- 
stantaneously from  the  recesses  of  the  vast 
vine,  and  slant  and  radiate  off  like  flashes ; 
but  it  is  all  affectation,  for  presently  they 
return,  and  operations  are  renewed  and  car- 
ried on  as  actively  as  ever.  It  is  a  hurried, 
whirling,  crossing,  chattering,  most  intense 
and  interested  scene,  for  an  hour.  (As 
many  have  said  or  thought,  who  knows  but 
what  there  are  beings  of  superior  spheres, 
invisible,  looking  on  the  chattering  activity 
and  affectations  of  man,  with  the  same  critical 
top-loftical  air  ?  Echo  —  who  knows  ?) 

Aug.  7,  '81.  How  deeply  I  was  touched 
just  now  reading  in  the  account  of  the  famed 
Italian  tragedian  and  manager  Modena  that 
he  had  succeeded  in  "  founding  a  school  of 
acting  with  Liberty  as  its  keystone  and 
motto  "  !  With  that  inspiration  he  seems  to 
have  brought  forward  Salvini  and  Rossi. 

LEAVES  OF  GRASS  FINISHED.  Boston, 
Oct.  22,  '81,  8.30  A.  M.  I  am  pencilling  this 
in  the  N.  E.  and  N.  Y.  depot,  foot  of  Sum- 
mer street,  waiting  to  start  west  in  the  9 
o'clock  train.  Have  been  in  Boston  the  last 
two  months  seeing  to  the  "  materialization  " 

60 


WALT     WHITMAN 

of  my  completed  "  Leaves  of  Grass  "  —  first 
deciding  on  the  kind  of  type,  size  of  page, 
head-lines,  consecutive  arrangement  of  pieces, 
etc. ;  then  the  composition,  proof-reading, 
electrotyping,  etc.,  which  all  went  on  smoothly 
and  with  sufficient  rapidity.  Indeed  I  quite 
enjoyed  the  work  (have  felt  the  last  few  days 
as  though  I  should  like  to  shoulder  a  similar 
job  once  or  twice  every  year).  The  printing- 
office  (Rand  and  Avery's  [corner  Franklin  and 
Federal  streets])  is  a  fine  one,  and  I  had  the 
very  genial  and  competent  aid  throughout 
of  Henry  H.  Clark,  principal  proof-reader 
and  book-superintendent  of  the  concern.1 
And  so  I  have  put  those  completed  poems 
in  permanent  type-form  at  last.  And  of  the 
present  prose  volume  [what  volume  ?  he  did 
not  begin  to  prepare  his  first  and  only  prose 
volume,  Specimen  Days,  until  July,  '82 ;  see 
first  page  of  that  work]  —  are  not  its  items 
("ducks  and  drakes,"  as  the  boys  term  the 
little  pebble-flats  they  send  at  random  to 

1  Mr.  Clark  was  for  many  years  at  the  University 
Press,  Cambridge,  and  used  to  tell  me  how  he  would 
sometimes  induce  Longfellow  to  alter  a  word  at  his 
suggestion,  the  poet  often  dropping  in  from  his  home 
on  the  same  street  to  oversee  the  work  of  getting  new 
poems  into  type. 

61 


JOURNALS     OF 

skip  over  the  surface  of  the  water  and  sink 
in  its  depths)  —  is  not  the  preceding  col- 
lection mainly  an  attempt  at  specimen  sam- 
ples of  the  bases  and  arrieres  of  those  same 
poems?  often  unwitting  to  myself  at  the 
time. 

Sunday  Morning,  early  May,  '84.  As  I 
saunter  along  I  mark  the  profuse  pink-and- 
white  of  the  wild  honeysuckle,  the  creamy 
blossoming  of  the  dog- wood  ;  everything 
most  fragrant,  early  season ;  odors  of  pine 
and  oak  and  the  flowering  grape-vines ;  the 
difference  between  shady  places  and  strong 
sunshine ;  the  holy  Sabbath  morning ;  the 
myriad  living  columns  of  the  temple,  the 
soothing  silence,  the  incense  of  some  moss, 
and  the  earth  fragrance  after  a  rain,  strangely 
touching  the  soul. 

Sunday,  Sept.  14,  '84,  Cape  May,  N.  J. 
I  am  writing  this  on  the  beach  at  Cape  May. 
Came  down  this  morning  on  the  West  Jer- 
sey R.  R. ;  had  a  good  ride  along  the  shore, 
then  a  sail,  beating  about  in  a  fine  breeze  for 
over  an  hour  ;  then  a  capital  good  dinner  (a 
friend  I  met  insisted  on  my  having  some 
champagne).  After  dinner  I  went  down 
alone  and  have  had  two  soothing  hours  close 
62 


WALT    WHITMAN 

by  the  sea-edge,  seated  on  the  sand,  to  the 
hoarse  music  of  the  surf  rolling  in.1 

Jan.  11,  '85.  At  J.  M.  S[covel]s  Hinds' 
army  reminiscences  as  he  told  them  by  the 
wood  fire  in  S.'s  parlor.  The  scenes  of  May, 
'64,  as  witnessed  at  Fredericksburg ;  that 
whole  old  town  glutted,  filled,  probably  15  to 
20,000  wounded,  broken,  dead,  dying  soldiers, 
sent  northward  from  Grant's  forces  on  their 
terrific  promenade  from  the  Rapidan  down  to 
Petersburg,  fighting  the  way,  not  only  day 
by  day,  but  mile  by  mile  —  sent  up  from  the 
battles  of  "  the  Wilderness  " ;  groups,  crowds, 
or  ones  or  twos,  lying  in  every  house,  in  every 
church,  uncared  for ;  the  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds dying ;  the  other  hundreds  of  corpses 
of  the  dead ;  the  fearful  heat  of  the  weather ; 
the  many  undressed  wounds  filled  with  mag- 
gots (actually  more  than  one  thousand,  and 
more  than  two  thousand,  such  cases). 

[The  following  four  items  marked  in  red 
ink  "  Specimen  Days."  There  are  many  such 

1  It  was  on  this  Jersey  shore  that,  a  few  months 
previously,  he  had  composed  his  wonderful  poem 
"With  Husky-Haughty  Lips,  O  Sea,"  of  which  he 
sent  me  a  proof-slip  (as  he  often  did  of  other  poems) 
inscribed  "  Harper's  Monthly,  March,  '84." 
63 


JOURN A  LS     OF 

in  his  MSS.  evidently  intended  for  a  possible 
new  edition.] 

Grisi  and  Mario  arrived  in  N.  Y.  Aug.  19, 
1854  ;  I  heard  them  that  winter  and  in  1855. 

The  cholera  in  N.  Y.  in  1855. 

Kossuth  in  America  in  1851 ;  I  saw  him 
make  his  entre'e  in  N.  Y.  latter  part  of  1851, 
riding  up  Broadway. 

N.  Y.  Exposition  (Crystal  Palace),  6th 
Ave.,  40th  to  42d  St. ;  opened  July  14,  1853 
(I  go  for  a  year) ;  the  great  heat  August 
that  year  —  400  deaths  in  three  or  four  days 
in  N.  Y.1 

[Among  Whitman's  MSS.  I  find  the  fol- 
lowing clipping  from  the  Brooklyn  Daily 
Times,  Jan.  20,  '85.] 

I  recollect  (doubtless  I  am  now  going  to 
be  egotistical  about  it),  the  question  of  the 
new  Water  Works  (magnificently  outlined 
by  Me  Alpine  and  duly  carried  out  and  im- 
proved by  Kirkwood,  first-class  engineers, 
both),  was  still  pending,  and  the  works, 
though  well  under  way,  continued  to  be 
strongly  opposed  by  many.  With  the  con- 
sent of  the  proprietor,  I  bent  the  whole 

1  For   more   about   this   Crystal  Palace,  see  Dr. 
R.  M.  Bucke's  Walt  Whitman,  p.  25. 
64 


WALT    WHITMAN 

weight  of  the  paper  steadily  in  favor  of  the 
McAlpine  plan  as  against  a  flimsy,  cheap 
and  temporary  series  of  works  that  would 
have  long  since  broken  down  and  disgraced 
the  city. 

This,  with  my  course  on  another  matter, 
the  securing  to  public  use  of  Washington 
Park  (old  Fort  Greene),  stoutly  championed 
by  me  some  thirty-five  years  ago  against 
heavy  odds  during  an  editorship  of  the 
Brooklyn  Eagle,  are  "feathers  in  my  wings" 
that  I  would  wish  to  preserve. 

WALT  WHITMAN. 


65 


PERSONAL    MEMORANDA 
NOTES    AND    JOTTINGS 

All  through  young  and  middle  age  I 
thought  my  heredity-stamp  was  mainly  de- 
cidedly from  my  mother's  side ;  but,  as  I 
grow  older,  and  latent  traits  come  out,  I  see 
my  father's  also.  As  to  loving  and  dis- 
interested parents,  no  boy  or  man  ever 
had  more  cause  to  bless  and  thank  them 
than  I.1 

[For  Dr.  Bucke's  Walt  Whitman  the  poet 
sent  on  certain  autobiographic  materials  in 
his  own  autograph.  The  following  para- 
graph was  not  used  by  Dr.  Bucke.] 

Like  the  Whitmans,  the  Van  Velsors 
too  were  farmers  on  their  own  land.  Though 
both  families  were  well-to-do  for  those  times, 
the  biblical  prayer  for  "  neither  poverty  nor 
riches  "  might  have  been  considered  as  ful- 
filled in  either  case.  The  poet's  father  died 
in  Brooklyn,  New  York,  July  11,  1855 ;  the 
"  dear  dear  mother"  in  Camden,  New  Jersey, 

1  Written  on  the  back  of  a  letter  from  James  M. 
Scovel,  which  is  dated  Oct.  15,  1883. 
66 


WALT    WHITMAN 

May  23,  1873.  .  .  .  Though  the  concrete 
and  entire  foundation  of  the  poet,  as  person 
and  writer,  doubtless  comes  from  his  solid 
English  fatherhood,  the  emotional  and 
liberty-loving,  the  social,  the  preponderating 
qualities  of  adhesiveness,  immovable  gravi- 
tation and  simplicity,  with  a  certain  conser- 
vative protestantism  and  other  traits,  are 
unmistakably  from  his  motherhood,  and  are 
pure  Hollandic  or  Dutch. 

[For  my  work  on  Whitman  (the  bulk  of 
which  he  read  in  MS.  and  approved),  he  sent 
me  the  following  notes  on  his  ancestry.  I 
used  a  small  portion  of  these,  inserting  what 
seemed  available  almost  verbatim,  but  give 
them  now  entire.] 

Going  back  far  enough  ancestrally,  Walt 
Whitman  undoubtedly  comes  meandering 
from  a  blended  tri-heredity  stream  of  Dutch 
(Hollandisk),  the  original  Friends  (Quakers), 
and  the  Puritans  of  Cromwell's  time.  The 
first  Whitman  immigrant  settled  in  Con- 
necticut, 1635,  and  a  son  of  his  went  over 
to  Long  Island  as  farmer  at  West  Hills, 
Suffolk  County ;  and  a  young  descendant 
five  generations  afterward  marries  a  daughter 
of  Cornelius  and  Amy  Van  Velsor  (the  last 
of  Quaker  training  and  nee  Williams).  This 
67 


JOURNALS     OF 

daughter  was  the  mother  of  W.  W.  Though 
developed,  and  Anglofied,  and  Americanized, 
she  was  Hollandisk  from  top  to  toe,  and 
W.  W.  inherits  her  to  the  life,  emotionally, 
full-bloodedness,  voice,  and  physiognomy. 

Whitman  favors  (as  the  old  vernacular 
word  had  it)  his  mother,  nee  Louisa  Van 
Velsor,  of  Queens  County,  New  York.  She 
was  of  ordinary  medium  size  (a  little  plus\ 
of  splendid  physique  and  health,  a  hard 
worker,  had  eight  children,  was  beloved  by 
all  who  met  her ;  good-looking  to  the  last ; 
lived  to  be  nearly  eighty.  No  tenderer  or 
more  invariable  tie  was  ever  between  mother 
and  son  than  the  love  between  her  and 
W.  W.  No  one  could  have  seen  her  and 
her  father,  Major  Kale  (Cornelius)  Van  Vel- 
sor, either  in  their  prime  or  in  their  older 
age,  without  instantly  perceiving  their  plainly 
marked  Hollandisk  physiognomy,  color,  and 
body-build.  Walt  Whitman  has  all  of  it: 
he  shows  it  in  his  old  features  now,  his  full 
flesh  and  red  color.  The  Van  Velsors 
(Walt's  mother's  family)  were  pure  Low 
Dutch  of  the  third  or  fourth  remove  from 
the  original  emigrants.  Few  realize  how 
this  Dutch  element  has  percolated  into 
our  New  York,  Pennsylvania,  and  other 
68 


WALT    WHITMAN 

regions,1  not  so  much  in  ostensible  literature 
and  politics,  but  deep  in  the  blood  and  breed 
of  the  race,  and  to  tinge  all  that  is  to  come. 
Like  the  Quakers,  the  Dutch  are  very 
practical  and  materialistic,  and  are  great 
money-makers,  in  the  bulk  and  concrete  of 
the  ostent  of  life,  but  are  yet  terribly  tran- 
scendental and  cloudy,  too.  More  than  half 
the  Hollandisk  immigrants  to  New  York 
Bay  became  farmers,  and  a  goodly  portion 
of  the  rest  became  engineers  or  sailors. 

It  is  curious  how  deep  influences,  elements, 
and  characteristic-trends  operate  through 
races  and  long  periods  of  time,  in  practical 
events  or  palpably  in  long  continued  strug- 
gles of  war  and  peace  —  and  then  sprout  out 
eventually  in  some  marked  book,  perhaps 
poem.  Whitman  himself  is  fond  of  resum- 
ing the  history  and  development  of  the  Low 
Dutch,  and  their  fierce  war  against  Philip 
and  Alva,  and  the  building  of  the  dykes,  and 
the  shipping  and  trade  and  colonization  from 
1600  to  the  present,  and  the  old  cities  and 
towers  and  soldiery  and  markets  and  salt- 
air,  and  flat  topography,  and  human  physi- 

1  See  other  details  of  this  in  my  Reminiscences  of 
Walt  Whitman,  p.  89. 

69 


JOURNALS     OF 

ognomy  and  bodily  form  (not  the  Jewish 
seems  to  be  more  strictly  perpetuated  than 
these  Hollandisk),  and  their  coming  and 
planting  here  in  America,  and  investing 
themselves  not  so  much  hi  outward  mani- 
festations, but  in  the  blood  and  deeds  of  the 
race  ;  and  the  poet  considers  his  "  Leaves  of 
Grass"  to  be,  in  some  respects,  spinally 
understood  only  by  reference  to  that  Hol- 
landisk history  and  personality. 

[The  following  is  marked  in  red  ink: 
"  ?  a  1"  for  Specimen  Days."] 

There  is  something  in  concrete  Nature 
itself  in  all  its  parts  that  is  a  quality,  an 
identity,  apart  from  and  superior  to  any 
appreciation  of  the  same  through  realism  or 
mysticism  (the  very  thought  of  which  in- 
volves abstraction)  or  through  literature  or 
art.  This  something  belonging  to  the  ob- 
jects themselves  not  only  lies  beyond  all  the 
expressions  of  literature  and  art,  but  seems 
disdainful  of  them  and  fades  away  at  their 
touch. 

[The  two  next  paragraphs  are  marked, 
"  2d  vol.  Specimen  Days."] 

After    reading    the    pages   of   Specimen 
70 


WALT    WHITMAN 

Days  do  you  object  that  they  are  a  great 
jumble,  everything  scattered,  disjointed, 
bound  together  without  coherence,  without 
order  or  system  ?  My  answer  would  be,  So 
much  the  better  do  they  reflect  the  life  they 
are  intended  to  stand  for. 

Though  I  would  not  have  dared  to  gather 
the  various  pieces  of  the  following  book  in  a 
single  volume  with  a  generic  name  unless  I 
felt  the  strong  inward  thread  of  spinality 
running  through  all  the  pieces  and  giving 
them  affinity-purpose  —  I  yet  realize  that 
the  collection  is  indeed  a  melange  and  its 
cohesion  and  singleness  of  purpose  not  so 
evident  at  first  glance. 

It  is  said,  perhaps  rather  quizzically,  by 
my  friends  that  I  bring  civilization,  politics, 
the  topography  of  a  country,  and  even  the 
hydrography,  to  one  final  test,  —  the  capa- 
bility of  producing,  favoring,  and  maintain- 
ing a  fine  crop  of  children,  a  magnificent 
race  of  men  and  women.  I  must  confess 
I  look  with  comparative  indifference  on  all 
the  lauded  triumphs  of  the  greatest  manu- 
facturing, exporting,  gold-and-silver-produc- 
ing  nation  in  comparison  with  a  race  of 
really  fine  physical  perfectionists. 
71 


JOURNALS    OF 

Col.  J.  W.  F[orney]  remarked  in  the 
course  of  our  talk  this  evening :  "  If  I 
were  asked  to  put  my  finger  on  the  name 
of  any  eminent  official  in  this  great  city 
[Philadelphia]  —  and  I  know  nine-tenths 
of  them  —  as  of  undoubted  honesty  and 
integrity,  I  could  not  do  it."  (F.,  who  has 
been  in  public  life  for  forty  years,  and 
knows  everybody,  especially  the  Phila- 
delphians,  is  not  a  sour  man,  either  —  is 
quite  lenient,  human,  tolerant.)  [Col.  For- 
ney died  in  1881.] 

[NOTES  FOR  A  CANADA  LECTURE,  NEVER 
DELIVERED.]  In  modern  times  the  new 
word  Business  has  been  brought  to  the  front 
and  now  dominates  individuals  and  nations 
(always  of  account  in  all  ages,  but  never 
before  confessedly  leading  the  rest  as  in  our 
19th  century)  ;  Business  —  not  the  mere 
sordid,  prodding,  muck-and-money-raking 
mania,  but  an  immense  and  noble  attribute 
of  man,  the  occupation  of  nations  and  in- 
dividuals (without  which  is  no  happiness), 
the  progress  of  the  masses,  the  tie  and  inter- 
change of  all  the  peoples  of  the  earth.  Ruth- 
less war  and  arrogant  dominion-conquest  was 
the  ideal  of  the  antique  and  mediaeval  hero ; 

72 


WALT    WHITMAN 

Business  shall  be,  nay  is,  the  word  of  the 
modern  hero. 

[1883.]  Meeting  with  Thurlow  Weed  and 
long  talk  with  him. 

PRESIDENTIAL  ELECTION.  Oct.  31,  '84. 
The  political  parties  are  trying  —  but  mostly 
in  vain — to  get  up  some  fervor  of  excite- 
ment on  the  pending  Presidential  election. 
It  comes  off  next  Tuesday.  There  is  no 
question  at  issue  of  any  importance.  I  can- 
not "  enthuse  "  at  all.  I  think  of  the  elec- 
tions of  '30  and  '20.  Then  there  was 
something  to  arouse  a  fellow.  But  I  like 
well  the  fact  of  all  these  national  elections 
—  have  written  a  little  poem  about  it  (to 
order),  —  published  in  a  Philadelphia  daily, 
of  26th  instant.1  [The  candidates  in  '84  were 
Blaine  and  Cleveland ;  the  issues  tariff  and 
Chinese  exclusion.  Blaine  was  defeated, 
owing  to  Conkling's  defection.] 

1  "  If  I  Should  Need  to  Name,  O  Western  World." 
Press,  October  26  (styled  now  "Election  Day,  1884." 
It  is  only  poetic  prose.  Compare  it  with  Whittier's 
nervy  lyric  "  After  Election.") 


73 


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