Sunday, November 25, 1888

     6.55 P.M. W. reading Boswell: his first look into it for some months. The humor to read had struck him: he reached for a book: Boswell was there: so I found him reading Boswell. The Press was near by. On a basket in front of him was to-day's N. Y. Tribune, left by Harned. W. was not very cheerful—talked wearily: sat by the light: fire burning low. This personal was in to-day's Press: "Walt Whitman, the poet, is confined to his room with a serious cold." Had he seen it? "Oh! yes: who could have put it there?"

     As I entered the house I found a reporter at the front door questioning Ed. W. wanted to know who he was and what Ed told him. How could the reporters have learned of his cold, etc.? "That is easily explained: the object, the principle, of a reporter is to make a story—a story at all hazards: if the victim does not want to contribute towards it, make him." After a half stop: "Of all newspaper men George Childs is the only one—the only

     My father had reinforced W. in his Goethean views. I had repeated these views from my notes. W.: "Oh! that is good news to hear: your father speaks almost by authority: I know how well equipped he is to formulate the German writers." Was disappointed that "no mail—not a letter or paper—or any sign of anything," as he expressed it, had been given Ed at the postoffice this evening. "They put him off wilfully," he said: "when my carrier is there, he looks and gets what is owing me, but the others are official-wise and do not look: it is much easier to sit on a stool and say 'no.'" He had particularly wished The Critic.

     W. spoke of the labor question: then of the Malthusian doctrine—"its horrible falsity": for he "had never been inclined to a moment's acceptance of it." The earth crowded? It was "absurd" on the face of it. Instanced Texas: Henry George's declaration that it could almost or quite feed the population of the world. "That," said W. "is wonderfully instructive, if true—and mainly true I have no doubt it is." "I have myself," he went on, "learned much at this point, simply by crude observations and reasoning." His Colorado trip—"the road to Denver—miles, thousands of miles, of arable land left wild, unsubdued, fruitless." Overpopulation? "That is a pure confession of incapacity to explain social sores. Why, even

     Returned me Baba's pamphlet, The Political Condition of Japan, remarking: "I read it through—every word of it: there are curious institutions over there which we all ought to know about"—things, as he thought, "we can only come to know from such native sources." Commended Baba's English as "more than good." Then asked me about Baba: listened attentively and questioned me. Baba is out at the University. Some mention of Carlyle induced me to say: "What an occasion that would have been—you and Carlyle sitting opposite to each other in this room talking." W. laughed. "Would n't it? I reckon on one certain thing had that occurred: I would have done my best to draw from him all he knew, thought, especially what he thought, about America. Do you know, I have myself imagined such a meeting." W. spoke of Gladstone: "Gladstone is one of the curiousities: his age, vigor, wonderful alertness, put together, excite respect." He spoke of G.'s "wide awakeness"—called him the "rarest thing among well preserved human beings." Allusion was made to Webster—Carlyle's impression of him. W. said: "I heard Webster often—heard him deliver some of th greatest of his political speeches. The effect he had on me was more of grandeur of manner, size, importance, power—the breathing forth of these—than of things said, anything said." I referred to Theodore Parker: remarked that Parker looked a bit like Webster.

     W. reflected:"How can that be so? If that is so it may be an important thing to know—to have said." Then: "But the men are no way alike in essentials: Parker is way and beyond bigger, more expansive, sincerer: he leaves Webster in the lurch everyhow: why, in pure intellectuality, where Webster shone, Parker was a brilliant luminary." I said: "I would rather say the godlike Theodore than the godlike Dan." W. fervently: "So would I: good, good: so would I rather—a thousand times rather."

     I asked W.: "What do you think of the anti-Zola decision?" He: "It is very bad indeed." I asked: "How about The Press statement?" "I have forgotten that part of it: how did The Press put it?" The Press argued that the French should not be condemned: it reaches scholars, does not harm them: the English reaches the masses, who would be hurt—therefore should be censored. W. said. "That is characteristically bad—ridiculous, in fact. Such hair splitting is unmanly and degrading." He had "no sympathy" with attempts "to style Zola": "we seem to have fallen into an age of meteors—small appearances, lights, pen pictures: poor petty wonders, worships: but I look forward to a time beyond that, to a heroic purification: more drastic, healthier, cleaner ways and means of life." I told him of several of Zola's minor stories which I have recently read—also of Sims's recent criticism, which W. had not read. I knew W. was attracted by the nature of that question. He asked: "How are you impressed? tell me that." Then said: "Zola has been friendly to me—is an admirer, reader: so, at least, I am told: reads Leaves of Grass, accepts. He send me word of it three or four years ago. A man who had met him, dined with him—Minturn was his name: of New York—was charged by Zola when he returned to come and see me—come for him—say this." Did he feel dishonored? "Oh!" he said, laughing: "nothing like that I guess." Had he read much of Zola? "Not much—only here and there: it seems to me—"here he stopped to ask: "What do you think about

     W. asked me: "Where are you going this evening?" And when I said Adler was in Philadelphia and I expected to hear him speak W. said: "Ah! that is good news!" Had he a message for Adler? "I have nothing to say to him—nothing in the way of news: yet you can tell him that I send my affectionate remembrances—tell him I hope he prospers: tell him I am still chained here, confined—but helped, hopeful, with my head up." Adler was "considerable of a man." Some one had spoken of the Ethical movement as "dangerous." "Dangerous!" exclaimed W.: "that sounds hopeful—that is encouraging!"—then: "Well, let 'em damn! What fol de rol!" Shook his head over Republican propositions to "settle the Southern question with bayonets,"&c. It would "never do." That was "cast-off clothing." Gave me sheets of Complete Walt Whitman with illustrations, etc., as he wished them bound: on top a memorandum of instructions, steadily written, ink and pencil. "I leave it with you now: I guess the notes there will be easily understood." The directions were extremely simple. I am to see Oldach to-morrow.

     He handed me the Montefiore piece I left with him yesterday. Then reached for it again—took a bit of string (rather, rope) and tied it up loosely with Baba's pamphlet, monologuing meanwhile: "It is really a formidable article: more than that, it is mainly true." I said: "It is a coincidence: the English visitors here hit at once upon our pov-