Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-05-24

an niversary Of the assassination of Abraham
Lincoln, when he stirred everybody by recit-
ing Captain, My Captain James Russell
Lowell and Edmund Clarence Stedman, the
poets we're there to hear him and chatted
with him after his discourse Mr. Stedman
called upon Mr.. VIII itman at his hotel and
made his stay in the city pleasant. Speaking
OF these two poets, Mr.. Whitman was warm
IN cneir praise. He said that he had 30 many
friends who were bards that he could not ortiz
invidioua
At this juncture in the interview the old man
became anxious to show that he could use his
arms with ease and he swung them around
over his head several times. In talking about
his strength or rather lack Of strength, we
were afraid that he would come 10 the appetite
question and would refuse to talk any more,
but he seemed more in . literary than in
gastronomic mood. He continued: "You ask
me about contemporary literature, and if
think literature in America 10 deteriorating.
Well, must confess that have not given the
subject any study. do not keep up as should.
l published my Leaves Of Grass in 1855,
nearly thirty-6ve years ago, many, many vol
umes or poems and literary works have been
published. II I were not . sufferer from
paralysis perhaps could better keep up with
current literature. In order to criticiss the
works Of poets here and in England would
certainly like to be thoroughly we'll posted. It
would not be fair TO criticiss works that have
not read. am not q pessimist. see that the
march Of progress cannot be stayed, and but
Tor these pains that keep me inactive would
The old poet moved about uneasily In his
chair a. he spoke and seemed like Q great
wounded animal eager and anxious to arise in
his majesty and do something. But the paral-
ysis. OF which he spoke chained him TO his
chair.
THE GOLDEN AGE.
II am afraid" he went on, shat am not q
safe critic to follow. OF course do read some
newspapers, some books and some magazines,
but am not sufficiently we'll informed to give
on opinion on this or that mans work. only
know this: That it is the golden age for liter
airy workers. They are paid better for their
productions now than ever before. The pub
fishers get up their books in better style than
ever before. Americans are a busy, rushing
people, but have time to pause and listen to
the muses.. and il they sing in tune our people
are ready to applaud. Our literary workers
have done wonderfully good work and will do
better. Sitting here in my quiet little home,
away from the hurry burly Of the big cities,
here. where there is no malice, and where every
man or woman who rises is judged solely on
his or her merits, I see the bow Of promise in
the sky. 1t is well for the future of literature.
There is no cause for complaint. There are
scores OF promising young men and women in
this country, and the banner of American
literature will never trail in the dust. The
standard has been set high. but have no fear
in my soul that Americans will not reach that
standard"
The old man turned his face away from us,
looked out of the window for a moment, and |
fancied that there was tear Of regret in his
eye.
"How I wish was strong" he said.
He seemed to be getting tired, and we arose
to go. We had conversed longer than his Wis
itors are usually allowed to converse. He
bent forward, shook US cordially by the hands
and said: 81 am glad you came. wish could
talk longer. Remember me to all my friends,
and above all do not forget to say to them that
my heart is in the highlands with them. Good
by"
As we passed out of the room the old man
picked up q magazine and began to read At
the door, as we passed into the street. we met
a postrnan with an armful of letters from
many parts Of the country, some of them ask
ing for autographs, but the majority bringing
good wishes from friends, who hoped that the
old poets seventy-frst birthday would be
full OF sunshine and happiness.
FOSTER CoArs.
HOMER FORT.