The times., 1898-02-06
~rhe wound-presser."

An interesting contribution to Wal
volume in red by the name of The
Wound Dresser" This title, is OF
course, taken from the poem of tha
name by Whitman. which introduces
the book. Following this is q preface
by Richard Maurice Buckle, and the
rest of the book is taken up with let
ters written by the good gray poet
during the war.
Whitman's poetry is himself, all OF
himself, and nothing but himself; but
these letters, written partly for the
public and partly to his home people
seem to bring one nearer to the great
human heart of the man, and empha-
size more than ever the fact that he
was one of the common people OF
America, feeling with them, thinking
with them, and going through the same
experiences. He naiyely says in one
OF the letters: II fancy the reason / am
able to do some good in the hospitals
is. that i am so large and well, indeed
like a great wild buffalo, with much
hair Many of the soldiers are from
the West and far North, and they take
TO q man that has not the bleached,
shiny and shaved cut Of the cities and
the East And again he says: L be-
lieve that even the moving around
among the men, or through the ward,
Of a hearty, healthy. clean, strong,
generous-souled person. man or wom-
an. fun of humanity and love, send
ing out invisible. constant currents
thereof, does immense good to the sick
and wounded This is exactly what
Whitman did. Not only did he dress
wounds, care for the sick, watch,
soothe, write letters, hunt up little COM
forts for the great army of the wound.
ed, but he gave OF himself, of his splen-
did. overfiowing, vigorous animal vi
tality which in another letter he calls
the foundation of all-righteousness
Included" He was like an immense
reservoir from which all the drained
out springs of tortured humanity
could draw; and from the strain of
this self-giving he never fully recover
ed. The hospital poison got into
his system, and whereas UP to the
time of his hospital work he had never
known a days sickness. after that
time he never knew what it was to be
buoyantly, vigorously well. In nearly
every page of his letters to his moth
er one can see how deeply he sympa-
thiZed with the suffering he found on
every side; and he never learned. by
any scientific or philosophical meth
cd, TO steel himself 10 it.
Three of the letters were published
in the newspapers of that time; the
rest are to his mother. whose portrait,
reproduced from one of the old-fash-
ioned ambrotypes, shows a strong,
plain, kindly face, the face of a moth
er in Israel" as the old-faslhoned
preachers were fond Of calling the eld-
er women OF their congregations
toll
the deep-set eyes; there is executive
ability in the broad forehead, firm,
ness in the mouth, enterprise in the
chin. abundant health in face
and figure. She is exactly the type of
woman one might suppose Walt Whit
mans mother to he. In his letters to
her there is the utmost frankneSs: he
tells her of every least little circum-
stance of his daily life; of his buying
new suit, and OF the materials, know
Ing. with the intuiJiVe tlFoughtfulness
OF his great, tender nature, that his
mother would brood over and re-read
the letter and would take satisfaction
in picturing him just as he lived day
by day. He tells her of his room, his
furnishings. of the people with whom
Ire lived, of every new acquaintance.
He asks after every member of the
family. and after neighbors and
friends. in the homely fashion of ev-
speech On "a dark. rainy day,
about half-past three he writes:
Il WAS really amused at Sis's re-
and all that was in the letter
about her. You must none of you no.
tice her smartness, nor criticisms, be-
fore her, nsT encourage her to spread
herself. nor be critical as ii is not good
to encourage a child to be too sharp
and / hope Sissy is going to be a
splendid specimen of good animal
health. AS to her mental yivacity and
growth. they will get along quite fast
enough of themselves, plenty fast
enough-don't stimulate them at all.
Dear little creature. how L would like |
TO see her this minute
Whitman never grew away from his |
family, or from the commonest of /
common people. He could write in this
homely colloquial fashion to his moth
er, letters which seem like a cordial
grasp of the hand. even across more
han thirty years Of time. to strangers
who had no concern in his affairs, and
Ie could write of this same mother the
ines which form the epilogue 10 the
book:
AS at thy portals also death.
thy sovereign, dim, illin1ita-
bic grounds,
% memories of my mother, to the di-
vine blending, maternity,
% her. buried and gone, yet buried
not. gone not from me,
see again the calm benignant face, |
fresh and beautiful still,
SIT by the form in the coffin,
kiss and kiss convulsively again the
sweet old lips, the checks, the clos
ed eyes in the coffin):
- her the ideal woman, practical, |
spiritual, of all of earth, life, love,
to me the best,
grave a monumental line, before /
go. amid these songs,
nd set a tombstone here
To those who do not care for Walt
Whitman, the present addition to lit
nature viii have no interest. He de-
es analysis. 1t is not possible to say
-hy, or how, he is great. His face, in
le portrait which forms the fronts,
iece OF the book, is not clasSically |
D11'ect or beautiful. But il is a face
hich one can trust, rugged. strong,
enerous. lovable. And the man who
ppears in these letters is the man |
hose soul looks out of that portrait. |
he book is wholly personal in its in
crest. (Boston: Small, Maynard &
o.. 6 Beacon street. Washington: All |
ooksellers. $L50)
Davenport's Cartoons.
Homer c. Davenport, whose work