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dthe vilozophic mind. It is pig oond rich; poot noding orichinal toes it brotuce."

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Nothing that springs from the soil and savors of the soil," said Lady Verifier.

Except its Washington Adamses," said the M. P., in a surly undertone.

"My lord," I answered, "your question and Lady Verifier's remind me of a paragraph that I saw quoted from a London sporting paper, a short time ago, about American horses." (Here Captain Surcingle dropped his knife and fork, and turned his glass on me.) "It accounted for the fact that American horses had won so many cups lately by the other fact that the Americans had been importing English horses, and thus had improved their stock; so that in truth the cups had been won by England, after all."

"That's jolly good," said the cap

tain.

"Now that is quite true. But it is only half the truth; for the whole truth is that all our horses are English. The horse is not indigenous to America. Neither are we. We are not autochthones, as by your expectations it would seem you think us. We are not products of the soil. We are not the fruit of Niagara or the prairies, which most of us have never been within five hundred miles of; nor of the oceans, which few of us have ever seen. We are what we are by race and circumstances; not because we live on a certain part of the earth's surface. If you want a literature and an art that smack of the soil, you must go to Sitting Bull and Squatting Bear, with whom we have no other relations than we, or you, have with the cave-dwellers. Nor do Americans live and manage their affairs with the purpose of satisfying the philosophic mind, of working out interesting social problems, or of creating a new literature and a new art, but simply to get, each one of them, as much material comfort

out of life and the world as to him is possible; a not very novel notion in the human creature."

"And so, sir," said Mr. Adams, speaking to me for the first time, in tones which, when addressed to me, seemed to have something familiar in them, "that is your patriotic veoo of your country? And may I ask what good thing you think is peculiar to 'Muh'ky?" "Food for the hungry and freedom for the oppressed."

"Nothing else?" asked our host.
"Nothing."

"But to the wide benevolence of an American democrat I suppose that is enough," said Lady Toppingham.

"Pardon me, madam, but I sometimes think that birth and breeding in a democratic country may make men aristocrats of the blackest dye; and I go about fancying that some of us ought to have been guillotined forty or fifty years before we were born, as enemies to the human race."

"Oh, I say," cried the captain, “that won't do! Could n't guillotine ' fellah b'foah he was bawn, you know."

"Nevertheless, my dear captain, I'm inclined to believe that it might better have been done."

"Vewy stwange," drawled the Honorable John.

Here Mr. Adams, as he was regarding me with fixed and desperate eye, drew his bowie-knife from his pocket and opened it; but before the horror of an expected onslaught upon me could well have thrilled the company, he quieted all apprehensions, if not all nerves, by picking his teeth with it in a very deliberate manner.

Meantime the two authoresses and the professor were talking with animation; and I heard fragmentarily "dear Walt Whitman," "most enthralling of American writers," "egsbrezzion of dthe droo Amerigan sbirit;" and Lord Toppingham, looking at our end of the table, said, "Our literary friends here

insist that you have one truly representative author; one who represents, not perhaps your cultured classes, but the feelin's and hopes and aspirations of those people who are the true representatives of the American genius."

"Yaas," said Mr. Adams.

"As to that, I can only refer you to Mr. Stedman, a writer whom some of your Victorian Poets ought to know; and who has seen and recorded the fact that Walt Whitman is entirely disregarded, and almost contemned, by our people of the plainer and humbler sort, who find in him no expression of their feelings or their thoughts; and that he is considered (for I cannot say that he is read) only by the curious, the critical, the theorists, and the dilettanti, — the fastidious aristocracy and literary bricabrac hunters of the intellectual world. As to his poetry, except on some rare occasions when he lapses into common sense and human feeling, it is simply naught. Ere long some of you in England will be ashamed of the attention you have given to its affectations. The merit that it has you would have passed over without notice. It is written in a jargon unknown to us. The very title of his book is in a language that I never heard spoken."

"What can you mean?"

"I was brought up in New England and New York, and never there, nor yet in Old England, nor in any of the literature common to both countries, did I hear of "leaves of grass." Grass has not what in English we call leaves. We have blades of grass, even spears; but who ever heard of leaves? A trifle this; but coming on the title-page, it proves to be a sign of what's within."

"My very paytriotic friend," said Mr. Adams sarcastically, "thet 's a sort of 'bjecshin thet ud do fur th' Sahturday Reveoo; but 't won't go daown 'th any true 'Muh'kin. Ef Muh'ky wants leaves o' grass 'nstid o' blades,

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I expatiate myself in female man.

A reciprocity treaty. Not like a jug's handle. They look at me, and my eyes start out of my head; they speak to me, and I yell with delight; they shake hands with me, and things are mixed; I don't know exactly whether I'm them, or them 's me.

Women watch for me; they do. Yes, sir! They rush upon me; seven women laying hold of one man; and the divine efflux that thrilled the cosmos before the nuptials of the saurians overflows, surrounds, and interpenetrates their souls, and they cry, Where is Walt, our brother? Why does he tarry, leaving us forlorn?

O, mes sœurs!

As Mr. Adams read this in a voice heavily monotonous and slightly nasal, the whole company listened with animation in their faces. Lord Toppingham looked puzzled. Lady Toppingham smiled, a little cynically, I thought. The M. P. sat with open, wondering eyes. Professor Schlamm, at the conclusion of the first stanza, folded his hands upon the table, putting his two thumbs together, and leaning forward

looked through his spectacles at the reader with solemnity. Lady Verifier exclaimed, "A truly cyclical utterance; worthy to be echoed through the eternal æons!" Mrs. Longmore, at the end of the third stanza, murmured, "Divine! divine! America is the new Paradise." Captain Surcingle turned to me, and asked, "What language is it witten in, -'Mewican?"

Then Mr. Adams continued:

57 Of Beauty.

Of excellence, of purity, of honesty, of truth.

Of the beauty of flat-nosed, pock-marked, pied Congo niggers.

Of the purity of compost-heaps, the perfume of bone-boiling; of the fragrance of pigsties, and the ineffable sweetness of general corruption.

Of the honesty and general incorruptibility

of political bosses, of aldermen, of common-council men, of postmasters and government contractors, of members of the House of Representatives, and of government officers generally, of executors of wills, of trustees of estates, of referees, and of cashiers of banks who are Sundayschool superintendents.

Of the truth of theatrical advertisements, and advertisements generally, of an actor's speech on his benefit night, of your salutation when you say, "I am happy to see you, sir," of Mrs. Lydia Pinkham's public confidences, of the miracles worked by St. Jacob's Oil, and the long-recorded virtues of Scheidam schnapps.

58 I glorify schnapps; I celebrate gin.

In beer I revel and welter. I shall liquor.
Ein lager!

I swear there is no nectar like lager. I swim
in it, I float upon it, it heaves me up to
heaven, it bears me beyond the stars; I
tread upon the ether; spread myself
abroad; I stand self-poised in illimitable
space. I look down; I see you; I am no
better than you. You also shall mount
with me.

Zwei lager! Encore.

1003 O, my soul!

O, your soul! which is no better than my soul, and no worse, but just the same. O soul in general! Loafe! Proceed through space with rent garments.

O shirt out-issuing, pendent! tattered, fluttering flag of freedom! not national freedom, nor any of that sort of infernal nonsense, but freedom individual, freedom to do just what you blessed please!

1004 By golly, there is nothing in this world so unutterably magnificent as the inexplicable comprehensibility of inexplicableness!

1005 Of mud.

1006 O eternal circles, O squares, O triangles, O hypothenuses, O centres, circumferences, diameters, radiuses, arcs, sines, co-sines, tangents, parallelograms and parallelopipedons! O pipes that are not parallel, furnace pipes, sewer pipes, meerschaum pipes, brier-wood pipes, clay pipes! O matches, O fire, and coal-scuttle, and shovel, and tongs, and fender, and ashes, and dust, and dirt! O everything! O nothing! O myself! O yourself!

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1247. These things are not in Webster's Dictionary, Unabridged Pictorial;

Nor yet in Worcester's. Wait and get the best.

These have come up out of the ages:

Out of the ground that you crush with your boot-heel:

Out of the muck that you have shoveled away into the compost:

Out of the offal that the slow, lumbering
cart, blood-dabbled and grease-dropping,
bears away from the slaughter-house, a
white-armed boy sitting on top of it, shout-
ing Hi! and licking the horse on the raw,
with the bridle.

That muck has been many philosophers;
that offal was once gods and sages.
And I verify that I don't see why a man in
gold spectacles and a white cravat, stuck
up in a library, stuck up in a pulpit, stuck
up in a professor's chair, stuck up in a
governor's chair or in a president's chair,
should be of any more account than a pos-
sum or a wood-chuck.

Libertad, and the divine average!

1249 I tell you the truth. Salut!

I am not to be bluffed off. No, sir!
I am large, hairy, earthy, smell of the soil,
am big in the shoulders, narrow in the
flank, strong in the knees, and of an in-
quiring and communicative disposition.
Also instructive in my propensities, given to
contemplation, and able to lift anything
that is not too heavy.

Listen to me, and I will do you good.
Loafe with me, and I will do you better.
And if any man gets ahead of me, he will
find me after him.

Vale! 1

There was a hum of admiration around Mr. Adams as he restored the manuscript to his pocket; but Captain Surcingle turned to me, and asked, 'Mewican poetwy?'

"Yes, Jack," said his cousin, answering for me; "and some of our wise people say that it's the only poetry that can be called American; but if it is, I am content with my English Longfellow." "And I, madam, with my still more English Whittier."

This Mr. Adams evidently thought would be a good time to bring his visit to an end, and rising in his place, with a manner as if addressing the chair, he said, "My lord, I shall now bid your lordship farwell; an' in doin' so I thank you for your elegint en bountiful hospitality. It wuz fuss class, en thar wuz plenty of it; en I shall remember it 'z long 'z I live. En I thank your good lady too, en feel specially obleeged to her ladyship fur that thar pie 'i' the chicken-fixins into it. It wuz fuss class, and no mistake. En now I hope you'll all jine me in drinkin' her ladyship's health, en long may she wave. I can't

1 Readers of the New York Albion in 1860 may have memories awakened by these lines, but I am

call for the hips and the tiger, seein' there's so many ladies present; but let's all liquor up, and knock down, and no heel-taps."

"Weal 'Mewican," said the captain, with an air of satisfaction. "Know it now. Was n't quite sure befoah; but when he said liquor up 'knew he was weal."

The company had risen, and had drunk Mr. Adams's toast, and now broke up. He took, I thought, a rather hurried leave. The four-wheeled cab in which he came had remained, and was at the door, to which some of us accompanied him. When he was seated he looked out, and said, "If your lordship ever comes to New York, jess look inter my office. Happy to see you. Name's into the D'rect'ry. So long!"

As the cab turned down the drive, we saw Mr. Adams's boot thrust itself lazily out of one of the windows, and rest there at its ease.

"First time I ever saw a weal 'Mewican off the stage," said the captain, slipping his arm into mine as we entered the hall again. "Vewy intwestin'. Think I should n't like it as a wegula' thing, you know."

Since my return to New York, I have inquired in vain for Mr. Washington Adams. Many persons seem to recognize my description of him as that of a man they have seen, but no one knows him by name; nor is there any such member of the New York legislature. I have not yet been able to ask Humphreys to resolve my perplexity.

Richard Grant White. able to insure Mr. Adams against a suit for copyright, or a charge of plagiarism.

SYLVAN STATION.

I HAVE been reflecting upon the wonderful spectroscope, and wishing it could be applied to human beings. How intensely interesting our commonest neighbor might suddenly become, some bright new apparition irradiating our vision, as the test was applied! Every substance in nature giving out, in suitable circumstances, a peculiar characteristic light, how can we doubt that there is in every human being something altogether its own, if it could only be exhumed from the conventionalities that overlie it, and could be induced to reveal itself?

Accident lately disclosed veins of gold and silver where I had all my life been in the habit of searching for the earliest hepaticas, without once dreaming that there was any other reason for digging among the dead leaves than to have the honor of discovering them.

The year I spent at Sylvan Station seemed to me rich in the material for thought that lies in common things and humble people. We had been living for twenty years in California, at a place called the "Encinal," or Oak Grove, of Alameda. We thought it a curious coincidence that directed us to another oak grove in Massachusetts. We had no idea that within five miles of Boston could still be found a place of so much wild, natural beauty. We welcomed with delight the oaks and the pines. "For him who endures the pine grows green and flourishes," and so with the oak (robur, the strong tree). We felt at once invigorated by their presence, and in a fair way to recover the lost health of which we were in search.

After so many years without seeing a snowflake, it was like living in a wonderful new world to wake, on the second morning after our arrival, and look

upon the white earth. The first great fall of snow was in perfect silence. All landmarks were obliterated, and we took a new start in life on a pure white plain. It was amusing to see each man's estimate of his duty depicted upon it, in the way of shoveling. Our pioneer neighbor in the rear made a deep cut that passed five or six houses, and reached the main street; our timid neighbor on the other side dug merely a footpath to his own door. Later in the day, the little bride opposite came out in slippers and a white cloud, looking like a pretty snow wraith, and flourished her broom about, to clear the steps and welcome her husband home. The station - master made little diverging paths in all directions, to accommodate the world and facilitate travel.

This station-master, unpretending as he was, really did a great deal to give its character to the place. Sometimes, at the railroad offices, I have wondered if it would not be just as well to have some machinery arranged, by which one could pass in money and take out a ticket, so perfectly automatic has the railroad official become. To see this you have only to ask some question a little out of the ordinary routine, which it is not perhaps exactly his business to answer, but which it concerns you very much to know. To him travelers are evidently mere moving masses. This man, however, appeared to entertain the idea that into everything which a human being does some human element should enter. His little rough building he made as comfortable as possible, out of pure good will toward the whole human race, and evidently considered every man that waited for a train there as his guest. In summer, he twined scarlet beans and morning-glories over it, and set his old cane-seat rocking

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