The daily critic. (Washington City, D.C.) 1890-1890, 1890-11-17
WALT WHITMAN.
AN AMBROSIAL NIGHT WITH HIS
FRIENDS AND ADMIRERS.
The weird scene Presented wbue the
Aged Poet and Colonel Robert q.
inRersoii Discussed Religion
and Death.

Around the table In the dining room
Of the Lafayette Hotel, Philadelphia,
Walt Whitman, the aged poet, aud
Colonel Robert G. lngersoll discussed
religion and death
The clock struck midnight while they
we're talking
il was Tuesday night after Colonel
irgersolls address I'm Horticultural
Hall for the benefit Of Whitman.
With deal Of care and tenderness
The crippled poet, who cannot stand up
right and who must be handled az
carefully as the daintiest glass, was re-
moved from the platform Of the hall
back TO the hotel
lie was put into his invalid chair on
descending at the hotel and rolled
through the long corridor to the dining.
room, where he was to partake Of some
light refreshment
A dozen of the poets friends, who
heard that Colonel Ingersoll was TO
chat with him while he ate, account a.
MED him to the dining room As the
little procession followed the chair
through the corridor 1t had a funeral
look. The old poet, suffering from the
reaction after the excitement of the
ovation he had received at the hall,
looked thirty years older than his sew
enty. one years. Some said he was the
oldest looking man they had ever seen.
He realized ones ideal of the Old Man
of the Sea-long, white beard break
ing In venerable flood upon his breast, 3"
unkempt locks as white as snow tum-
bling over ear and temple, and half
dimmed, mild eyes looking out between
frosty caves, hands thin and trembling
as they lay upon the arms Of the chair.
In the dining room Walt was drawn
up TO a table whereon was placed a
glass Of champagne. Into this, during
the evening the poet dipped pieces of
bread, which he munched with diff
Guilty.
Colonel Iugersoll sat beside him In
light ovcrcoat, his high silk hat laid
aside Waits broad.rimmed felt par.
TALLY covered his long hair The Colonel
had glass Of Apollinaris before him.
The conversation was fragmentarv for
half an hour, the large dining room was
half dark except where, here and there,
late diner was seated
Suddenly Waits right hand fluttered
feebly into his right pocket and he
drew forth crumpled. well worn piece
Of paper. lie opened the sheet and
look of surprise lighted up his pallid
face
Il found this In my coat" he said.
II don't often put on this coat. This
poem Is translation OF mine from the
French Of Henri Murger. I'll read II
10 you"
This he said With difficulty and with
much hesitation. All through the even
ing he seemed TO be making au effort
10 pull his great mental forces together,
The sight was sad.
Raising his voice he began to read ia
childish treble. The scattered diners
left their seats and ilocked about the
long table at the head Of which sat the
two gray haired men.
The room was dark save where one
chandelier threw a patch Of light upon
the readers yellow paper.
The walters in their white aprons
fitted about on the edge of the listening
group like semi. ghosts
The words whistled through the
poets thick beard as they came In aspi-
rate puffs from his thin lips. Several
ladies looked around at the darkness.
and shiyering, moved up closer to the
patch Of light. Here are the lines he
read
THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR.
"Nhose steps are those' Who comes so
latefn
''Iet me come IN, the door unlock
80 It's midnight now; my lonely gate
II open to no strangers knock.
,.Nho art thou' speakp'-"Men call me
To Trnwortalftv Iasa %
"Pass, idle phantom Of a name"
Listen again, and now take heed.
"'Twas false. My names are Song, Love,
Art.
My poet now unbar the door,
"Art's dead, Song cannot touch my heart,
My once loves name l chant no more"
"Open then now, for see, I stand,
Riches my name, with endless gold,
Gold, and your wish In either hand
"TOo late-my youth you still withhold"
Then If Il must be, since the door
Stands shut, my last true name TO know,
Men call me Death. Delay no mOrei
bring the cure Of every woeh
The door flies wide sab, guest so wan,
Forgive the poor place There dwell;
An ice-eold hearth, heaTt-sief man,
stand here TO welcome thee an well.n
Not a sound had disturb / the read
ing. When be had fms I'd Whitman
looked up al Ingersoll, who had never
taken his eyes of the old man, and said
With a cracked infection; Isn't that
funnyY"
Ingersoll shrugged bis shoulders.
drew his head down and said slowly Il
d ut think there is anything funny
about death. It's SO sort of cold, so
white, don't like Il.
Walt nodded his head slowly. There
was a pause, as II he were trying 10
make connection between death and
what be was about 10 say. AZ last he
said Il believe religion has done more
good to the world than harm.
This unclaimed the dialogue that fol-
lowed. lngeTs0ll who addressed the
group more than the poet quickly re-
piled:
III might have done So had it only
stuck 10 the good Il didn't; it taught
what was mean and cruel Ii puts me
in mind Of my wish 10 a church when
was a boy. Ii was a Presbyterian church
and the preacher was IN d high box
above my head / fell asleep and az
last rolled of the seat. which aW0ke me.
I aW0ke Just in time 10 hear the
preacher tell the story Of Dives aud
Lazarus. tie dWelt on every detail with
viYidness. / was tlled with an awful
fear as / heard him speak
IDgersolls facial display here was
superb. Expressing bis fear, his eye
gradually Wideneds and he half rose.
pCeTing into the darkness.
Il can remember he went on,