"
How they laboured with "Walt" to induce him to leave out certain of
his poems from the next edition! The wife went to her room to pray
that he might yield, and the husband argued. But no use, it was all
"art" every word, and not one line would he ever give up. The old poet
was supposed to be poor and needy, and an enthusiastic daughter of
Mrs. Smith had secured quite a sum at college to provide bed linen and
blankets for him in the simple cottage at Camden. Whitman was a great,
breezy, florid-faced out-of-doors genius, but we all wished he had
been a little less _au naturel_.
To speak once more of Miss Willard, no one enjoyed a really laughable
thing more than she did, but I never felt like being a foolish trifler
in her presence. Her outlook was so far above mine that I always felt
not rebuked, but ashamed of my superficial lightness of manner.
Just one illustration of the unconscious influence of her noble soul
and her convincing words:
Many years ago, at an anniversary of Sorosis in New York, I had half
promised the persuasive president (Jennie June) that I would say
something. The possibility of being called up for an after-dinner
speech! Something brief, terse, sparkling, complimentary,
satisfactory, and something to raise a laugh! O, you know this agony!
I had nothing in particular to say; I wanted to be quiet and enjoy the
treat.
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