lly palpable in a few lines,
I shall only say the espousing principle of those lines so gives
breath to my whole scheme that the bulk of the pieces might as well
have been left unwritten were those lines omitted. . . .

Universal as are certain facts and symptoms of communities . . .
there is nothing so rare in modern conventions and poetry as their
normal recognizance. Literature is always calling in the doctor for
consultation and confession, and always giving evasions and swathing
suppressions in place of that 'heroic nudity' on which only a genuine
diagnosis . . . can be built. And in respect to editions of _Leaves
of Grass_ in time to come (if there should be such) I take occasion
now to confirm those lines with the settled convictions and
deliberate renewals of thirty years, and to hereby prohibit, as far
as word of mine can do so, any elision of them.

But beyond all these notes and moods and motives is the lofty spirit of a
grand and free acceptance of all things that are worthy of existence. He
desired, he says, 'to formulate a poem whose every thought or fact should
directly or indirectly be or connive at an implicit belief in the wisdom,
health, mystery, beauty of every process, every concrete object, every
human or other existence, not only consider'd from the point of view of
all, but of each.' His two final utterances are that 'really great
poetry is always . . . the result of a national spirit, and not the
privilege of a polish'd and select few'; and that 'the strongest and
sweetest songs yet remain to be sung.'

Such are the views contained in the opening essay _A Backward Glance O'er
Travel'd Roads_, as he calls it; but there are many other essays in this
fascinating volume, some on poets such as Burns and Lord Tennyson, for
whom Walt Whitman has a profound admiration; some on old actors and
singers, the elder Booth, Forrest, Alboni and Mario being his special
favourites; others on the native Indians, on the Spanish element in
American nationality, on Western slang, on the poetry of the Bible, and
on Abraham Lincoln. But Walt Whitman is at his best when he is analysing
his own work and making schemes for the poetry of the future.
Literature, to him, has a distinctly social aim. He seeks to build up
the masses by 'building up grand individuals.' And yet literature itself
must be preceded by noble forms of life. 'The best literature is always
t