new pieces, especially in "By Blue Ontario's Shore," "Song of the Answerer," "To a Foil'd European Revolutionaire," and "Song of Prudence." The poems extend to page 342. The rest of the volume, called "Leaves Droppings," is made up, first, of Emerson's letter to Walt Whitman, preceding-second, a long letter to Emerson in reply-and third, of twenty-six pages of criticisms of the first edition, taken from various quarters, a few favorable, the rest intensely bitter. (Extracts from some of these criticisms are given in the Appendix to Part II. of this vol.) Not only was this edition also savagely criticised, but so extreme was the feeling excited by it, that some good people in New York seriously contemplated having the author indicted and tried for publishing an obscene book. From this step they were only deterred by the consideration that, whatever might be the estimation which his book deserved, the man Walt Whitman was so popular in New York and Brooklyn, that it would be impossible to get a jury to find him guilty.

If any of the poems of Leaves of Grass can be put before the rest, we may say that upon the publication of the second edition the fundamental and important parts of the author's work were done, the foundations squarely and solidly laid, and the lines of the edifice drawn with a sure hand. The work, although far from completed, was already of supreme beauty and of infinite value. What then did men say of it? They received it with such a unanimous howl of execration and refusal, that after the sale of a small number of copies, Fowler & Wells, the publishers, thinking it might seriously injure their business, then very flourishing, peremptorily threw it up, and the publication of Leaves of Grass ceased. For the next four years the history of the work is a blank.

I am not sure but the attitude and course of Walt Whitman, these following years, form the most heroic part of all. He went on his way with the same enjoyment of life, the same ruddy countenance, the same free, elastic stride, through the tumult of sneers and hisses, as if he were surrounded by nothing but applause; not in the slightest degree abashed or roused to resent

ment by the taunts and opposition. The poems written directly after the collapse of this second edition (compare, for instance, "Starting from Paumanok," and "Whoever you are, holding me now in hand,") are, if possible, more sympathetic, exultant, arrogant, and make larger claims than any. So far, the book had reached no circulation worth mentioning; probably not a hundred copies had been sold of both first and second editions. It is likely that at the time when the publishers of the second edition withdrew it from the market not a thousand people had read it, and not one in fifty of these would have the least idea what it was about.

Toward the end of the year 1856 Thoreau called upon Walt Whitman (Emerson had twice already visited him), and shortly afterwards T. wrote a letter to a friend, extremely curious as showing the impression made by the poet at that time upon so fine a genius and so sensible a man as the Walden hermit. The uncertain tone of the letter, and the contradictions in it, are remarkably suggestive:

....

CONCORD, December 7th, 1856.

MR. B That Walt Whitman of whom I wrote to you is the most interesting fact to me at present. I have just read his second edition (which he gave me) and it has done me more good than any reading for a long time. Perhaps I remember best the "Poem of Walt Whitman, an American" [now called "Song of Myself"] and the "Sun-down Poem" [now called" Crossing Brooklyn Ferry"]. There are two or three pieces in the book which are disagreeable, to say the least; simply sensual. He does not celebrate love at all. It is as if the beasts spoke. I think that men have not been ashamed of themselves without reason. No doubt there have always been dens where such deeds were unblushingly recited, and it is no merit to compete with their inhabitants. But even on this side he has spoken more truth than any American or modern that I know. I have found his poem exhilarating, encouraging. As for its sensuality—and it may turn out to be less sensual than it appearsI do not so much wish that those parts were not written, as that men and women were so pure that they could read them without harm, that is, without understanding them. One woman told me that no woman could read it—as if a man could read what a woman could not. Of course, Walt Whitman can communicate to us no new experience, and if we are shocked, whose experience is it we are reminded of?

On the whole, it sounds to me very brave and American, after whatever

deductions. I do not believe that all the sermons, so called, that have been preached in this land, put together, are equal to it for preaching. We ought to rejoice greatly in him. He occasionally suggests something a little more than human. You can't confound him with the other inhabitants of Brooklyn or New York. How they must shudder when they read him! He is

awfully good. To be sure, I sometime feel a little imposed on. By his heartiness and broad generalities he puts me into a liberal frame of mind, prepared to see wonders-and, as it were, sets me upon a hill, or in the midst of a plain,―stirs me up well, and then throws in—a thousand of brick! Though rude and sometimes ineffectual, it is a great primitive poem, an alarum or trumpet-note ringing through the American camp. Wonderfully like the Orientals, too, considering that, when I asked him if he had read them, he answered, "No; tell me about them."

I did not get far in conversation with him, two more being present-and among the few things that I chanced to say, I remember that one was, in answer to him as representing America, that I did not think much of America, or of politics, and so on-which may have been somewhat of a damper to him.

Since I have seen him, I find that I am not disturbed by any brag or egotism in his book. He may turn out the least of a braggart of all, having a better right to be confident.

He is a great fellow.

H. D. T.

During 1857-'8-'9 Leaves of Grass was out of print. In 1860 a third edition appeared, very much larger and handsomer than either of the preceding, published by Thayer & Eldridge, of Boston, beautifully printed on heavy white paper, and strongly bound in cloth-a volume of 456 pages, containing the 32 poems of the second edition, and 122 new ones. Many of the pieces have individual names, but most of them are named by groups. The words Leaves of Grass constitute the headline on the left-hand page throughout the volume; the right-hand page bears the name of the poem or group of poems. The likeness of the author, which accompanies the two earlier editions (and which appears again in the sixth as well as the late complete one), is replaced in the third by another, only used in this edition; an engraving on steel, from an oil painting by Charles Hine, (a valued artistfriend of Walt Whitman)-one of the most striking and interesting likenesses of the poet that has ever been made. The chief thing to note about this third edition is that not one word of the

poems which had given such terrible offence in the earlier issues is omitted. The author has not swerved a hair's breadth from the line upon which he set out. The volume breathes the same all-generous spirit as the earlier issues; the same faith in God, the same love of man, perfect patience, and the largest and most absolute tolerance. In this edition those poems treating especially of sexual passions and acts are, for the first time, grouped together under one name, "Children of Adam" (written here "Enfans d'Adam"). Walt Whitman was advised, urged, even implored by his friends to omit or at least modify these pieces. An old and intimate personal friend, urging him one day to leave them out, said to him, "What in the world do you want to put in that stuff for, that nobody can read?" He answered with a smile, "Well, John, if you need to ask that question, it is evident at any rate that the book was not written for you."

In the course of the summer of 1860, while Walt Whitman was in Boston, putting that third edition through the press, Emerson came to see him, and presently said, "When people want to talk in Boston, they go to the Common; let us go there." So they went to the Common, and Emerson talked for something like two hours on the subject of "Children of Adam.” He set forth the impolicy, the utter inadvisability of those poems. Walt Whitman listened to all he had to say; he did not argue the point, but when Emerson made an end, he said quietly, "My mind is not changed; I feel, if possible more strongly than ever, that those pieces should be retained." "Very well," said Emerson, "then let us go to dinner.” *

* In "The Critic" for December 3d, 1881, Walt Whitman gives the following account of the interview: "Up and down this breadth by Beacon Street, between these same old elms, I walked for two hours, of a bright, sharp February midday twenty-one years ago, with Emerson, then in his prime, keen, physically and morally magnetic, armed at every point, and when he chose, wielding the emotional just as well as the intellectual. During those two hours he was the talker, and I the listener. It was an argument-statement-reconnoitring, review, attack, and pressing home (like an army corps in order, artillery, cavalry, infantry), of all that could be said against that part (and a main part) in the construction of my poems, 'Children of Adam.' More precious than gold to me that dissertation (I only wish I had it now verbatim). It afforded me, ever after, this strange and paradoxical lesson; each point of E.'s statement was unanswerable, no judge's charge ever more complete or convincing-I could never hear the points better put-and then I felt down in my soul the clear and unmistakable conviction to disobey all, and pursue my own way. 'What

There was less out

This third edition, which came out early in the summer of 1860, was the first that had any sale at all. cry about it than about the first and second. A class of men had begun to appear-a very few-who, having more or less absorbed Leaves of Grass, were in a position to hold in check the army of detractors. Although it could not be said that public opinion was becoming even partially favorable, still a hearing was beginning to be established, and here and there both in America and England, individuals were rising up to defend the book and strike a blow in its advocacy. Just at this time when the enterprise looked encouraging, the Secession War ruined (among much else) the book-publishing trade. Thayer, Eldridge failed, and Leaves of Grass was again out of print. Soon after (in 1862) Walt Whitman went to the seat of war (see Specimen Days), and poetry was forgotten, or at least laid aside, in the vast, vehement, all-devouring interests and duties of the time, and the succeeding years.

Late in 1865 was published "Drum Taps"-poems composed on battle-fields, in hospitals, or on the march, among the sights and surroundings of the war, saturated with the spirit and mournful tragedies of that time, including in a supplement, "When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom'd," commemorating the death of President Lincoln. Then in 1867, the war being well over, and the ordinary avocations of peace resumed, the poet (he had at the time a clerkship in the office of the Attorney-General, at Washington) brought out the fourth edition, including all the poems written down to that period. This volume in size and shape is very similar to the current edition. It contains 470 pages and 235 poems. All the old ones are retained, and about 80 new ones added. words "LEAVES OF GRASS, New York, 1867." This fourth edition contains no portrait. It is fairly printed (from the type) on good paper, but is not nearly as handsome a volume as the third edition.

The title-page bears the

have you to say, then, to such things?' said E., pausing in conclusion. Only that while I can't answer them at all, I feel more settled than ever to adhere to my own theory, and exemplify it,' was my candid response. Whereupon we went and had a good dinner at the American House."