Wichita eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1886-1890, 1890-02-26

As Walt clicked the type into the compos-
ing stick he remarked nonchalantly to Otter
son: Frank, the Fowlers, on examining your
head, would say you were only fit to drive
mules along a canal" Otterson was vain,
and retorted quickly: eyes. Walt, and they'd
say that you should be one of those mules-if
you were not SO internally lazy" The latter
part of the sentence was SO true that it drove
Walt into a long silence. Recovering HIM
self, he began to badger Otterson again, and
at last they agreed to have their bumps ex-
amined by the Fowlers, who then had small
place in Ann street. When they received Sc
each for their weeks work on Saturday, they
hung up their aprons, washed their hands
and faces, smoothed their hair, and started
for the phrenologists'. Walt was the first to
undergo the ordeal He rose from the chair
with smiles all over his big, young face He
was told that he was born poet. Soon OF
terson was made equally happy. He was in
formed thatzhe would make his mark in the
world as an original thinker, and perhaps a
great creator / only knew him to endeavor
to create a free love school in the Bowery,
and that failed.
Ever since that day Walt has continued to
solidify faith in himself as Homer's only sue
cessor He attired his big form in an outfit
which everybody recognized. 1t consisted OF
strong, heavy boots, dark trousers, q short
pilot coat which gave him the look of skip
per, a Tyrolean shaped hat with broad brim,
and Byron shaped collar, rolled low down
on his great hairy breast. Give me-" he
would say, as he strolled leisurely along
Broadway, ''loafng with his soul" with his
big hands stuffed in the pockets of his jerkin,
'give me the great trees in the forest-give
me the roaring cataract-give me the noun
tains, the ocean, the rushing steam engine,
and the monarchs of the storm that pillow the
seas-give me these for poem These are
the mighty Inspirations that the genius Of my
soul surrounds me with and devours. o
Mother Ocean, come to my arms! Great oaks
of the forest abide in my veins" These
were some of his enthusiasts.
No more type setting for Walt. He was
poet, and the world owed him living-and
rightfully, believe, for what nation is any
thing without its poets! But the practical
cattle who grab and eat, and hoard and die,
think that these are all of life. They flutter
in silks and satins, broadcloth and fine linen,
without thought above the dross, while
genius goes hungry and in rags.
Walt set to work on his ''barbaric yaups,"
and when he had enough to make a respect
able sized volume, he sought a publisher, but
he sought in vain, nor could be find news
paper to print single yaup. But kuowl-
edge of letters had taught him that nothing
receives so many rebuffs as genius. He knew
that Homer begged; that Milton shifted from
republcanism to royalty to get bread and
cheese; that Tasso prayed for an eye Of a cat
to see to write when he could not pay for
candle, and that Camecns died-like other
men of genius-of starvation. This fortified
Walt in his genius; SO he went to a little
printing Office in Brooklyn, took off his coat,
put his yaups in type, and published them
under the title of The Leaves of Grass"
The next difficulty he met with was to find
publisher who would keep his book for sale.