In the curious and interesting essay called "A Backward Glance
over Travel's Roads," which he wrote late in life, surveying his
work, he admits that he has not gained acceptance, that his book is
a failure, and has incurred marked anger and contempt; and he good-
humouredly quotes a sentence from a friend's letter, written in
1884, "I find a solid line of enemies to you everywhere." And yet,
he says, for all that, and in spite of everything, he has had "his
say entirely his own way, and put it unerringly on record." It is
simply "a faithful, and doubtless self-willed record," he says.
That then was Walt Whitman's programme, surely in its very scope
and range worthy of some amazement and respect! Because it is not
done insolently or with any braggadocio, in spite of what he calls
"the barbaric yawp." I do not think that anything is more notable
than the good-humour and the equanimity of it all. He is not
interested in himself in a morbid or self-conscious way; he has not
the slightest wish to make himself out to be fine or magnificent or
superior--it is quite the other way. He is merely going to try to
break down the barriers between soul and soul, to let the river of
self ripple and welter and wash among the grasses at the feet of
man. He does not wish you to admire it, though he hopes you may
love it; there are to be no excuses or pretences; he does not wish
to be seen at certain angles or in subdued lights.
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