WALT WHITMAN'S LAST POEM. WALT WHITMAN presented me, some time before his death, with a bundle of manuscript, in which, among a number of curious pencilings and pennings, I found the newspaper article which inspired the "Prayer of Columbus" and the original notes of that wonderful poem. The notes mentioned were written on scattered odds and ends of ruled paper of all shapes and sizes, mainly in pencil, and revealed upon examination that Whitman, in the profound study of his subject, had rejected as well as adopted noble and melodic lines. It may be seen how much, in his own way, he was a man of method, if I add that I here found, bundled carefully together with the notes and the inceptional newspaper, his correspondence with the Harpers over the publication of the poem, and sheets of a first printed copy of the magazine in which it appeared. I refer to this now because my discovery of the later Columbus poem—which, as he indicates, is "brought up to 1892," and which has just been published—was somewhat of an accident, and might, but for that, have been delayed indefinitely. March 26th last, ten days before Whitman died, on one of my usual trips off toward evening, just as I was about to leave, I picked up from the floor, out of a miscellaneous mass of papers, a big, square manilla envelope, addressed to him by another, on which I found in his hand, written with blue pencil, the word "Columbus." I was in a hurry, and did no more at the moment than glance inside, where, in the various bits of transcribed paper, I thought I had only lighted upon further notes of the earlier Columbus poem. I called Walt's attention to the package I had in my hand. He asked: "What is it?" and when I told him, he responded from his pillow: "Oh, yes! take it along," which, with his—to me—familiar "put it in your pocket," was the customary phrase by whose grace he had transferred to me a thousand and one "curiosities of literature" in the previous years of our intimacy. The serious nature of Walt's illness and the increased labor it entailed upon me drove thought of the poem out of my mind after I had taken it home. My first idea had been to file it away with the "Prayer" manuscripts. Had I done that it is difficult to say when its more modern date and application would have been divulged. But, in the hurry of affairs, I simply laid the big envelope on my desk, where it still rested untouched on the day of Walt's death. Doctor Bucke came on and spoke at the funeral and stayed with me for several days. One of the things revived by his presence was the existence of this manuscript, which, rather at his hint than by his suggestion, I more definitely examined and explored. It was in this way I realized that I had in my hands a new poem, never before printed, on a theme which I knew had greatly occupied Whitman and which to the world at large, industrial and spiritual, was ambitious and absorbing. Whitman had a habit of writing on any bit of paper that happened to be nearest at hand—often, if not oftenest, some old envelope, spread out to make a sheet. The evidence developed by scrutiny of this Columbus poem showed that it must have been drafted in November last and early December [*though finished on his death*] There were five or six rough drafts of lines and verses, all written in blue, and one complete draft in ink—that which you now fac-simile—constructed out of white and yellow paper and envelopes pasted securely into a long sheet. Some of these envelopes were post-marked November. This established an indubitable date. That he considered the poem in some sense complete is proved by the signature which he affixed. We had argued with the poet to write a poem for the Exposition. George Horton and several others in Chicago and elsewhere had likewise spontaneously urged its propriety. I know, also, that he was much pleased when William S. Walsh, as he supposed, in the Illustrated American, discussing the requirements implied by a Columbian poem, declared that only Lowell or Whitman could do the hour justice, and that Whitman alone would ideally fill the bill. Yet to all our objurgations Walt had only responded: "It is impossible; I cannot do it." Once he said to his doctor, Longaker, in my presence: "Now that I am beyond filling orders, I get enough to make me rich." Again, he shook his head, at some further pressure from me: "No, Horace, I am out of the business; the old habitude is laid aside. It takes all my care and assiduity these days simply to keep alive--to hold my head above water." Without intending any formal composition he must still have borne the friendly invitation in mind. This poem marks his final deliberate deliverance [*and his touches in February and March were slight*]. After the mid-December attack, about all that issued from his pen was comprised in two signatures to his will, the autographing of several pictures for Bucke and his doctor, the penning of one brief letter to England and several simple messages to one of his sisters and to Bucke. He made me two memorandums, at the time, in publication matters. Arthur Stedman possesses one of these, I have the other. Here his chirographical efforts ceased. He desired and attempted to write other letters, but, as he said, could not screw his courage up to the [*shaking*] sticking point. For any composition of a studied character, I know he had no mind or heart. He would frequently assure me.: "I am at the last post; my work is done; here is the last turn of the road; I see the end of the journey." Once or twice he seemed aroused to some small hope, which, however, in swift reactions, he readily and quickly abandoned. "I shall write no more. It is well for Longaker to be cheery: that is his part. But it is well for us to face the fact." Thus, you may go with his heart in [affairs?] to the very end, this "thought" of Columbus marks the final lifting of the flame—his last august touch with that divine energy which through a heroic life had imparted to him its highest and rarest potencies of prophecy and song. HORACE L. TRAUBEL. [*Once a Week: July 16, 1892.*]Once a Week Vol. IX, No 13 Scenes at Coney Island - The West End. (Sketches made from Life by Special Artist)JULY 9, 1892.] ONCE A WEEK 521-547 West Thirteenth Street, 518-524 West Fourteenth Street, NEW YORK CITY. 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This will insure prompt delivery. Subscribers changing their address will please remember that it takes one to three weeks — dependent upon the distance from New York— from the date on which they notify this office of their change of address, until they receive the paper at the new one. When writing to us be sure to mention the number on the wrapper. Remittances should be made by Post-Office or Express Money Order, Bank Check or Draft; or, if none of them be available, by inclosing the money in a Registered Letter. All letters referring to subscriptions should be addressed P.F. COLLIER, No. 523 West 13th Street, New York Communications in reference to manuscripts, or connected with the literary department should be addressed to "ONCE A WEEK." Rejected manuscripts will not be returned hereafter unless stamps are forwarded with the same for return postafe. Bulky manuscripts will be returned by express. JULIUS CHAMBERS . . . . . . EDITOR This is an exceptionally fine number of ONCE A WEEK. The frontispiece, by Mr. CHILDE HASSAM, is a delightful example of this artist's work. The beauties of his impressionistic effects are admirably brought out by Mr. KURTZ'S new process, which has been utilized in the preparation of the picture for the press. The interview with Mr. C. P. HUNTINGTON is remarkable for the information it contains.* The portrait on the wood of the famous railroad king is from his latest photograph. The fac-simile of WALT WHITMAN'S last poem will interest everybody who writes verse. It will gratify real lovers of WHITMAN to see how patiently he toiled over his lines. ONCE A WEEK is glad to have secured this poem, which will endure as long as the [??me] of WHITMAN. The memoirs of the poet's last day[?????] follow next week. The Chicago Convention received complete attention. Our artist, Mr. FRED. MORGAN, a son of the late lamented MATT. MORGAN, was on the scene, and made many sketches. We also sent a special artist to Gray Gables, Mr. CLEVELAND'S Summer home on Buzzard's Bay, and he has brought back some very pretty pictures, which will be found in this number. BRILLIANT as all these features are, we shall present, next week, a literary and artistic treat such as has not been equaled by any illustrated journal in years. It will be entitled " A Day at Edgewood with Ik. Marvel." Our special artist made some delightful sketches, and the author of "Dream Life" and "The Reveries of a Bachelor" chatted delightfully. Do you follow us? NOTHING is so healthful during the heated term as frequent bathing. THERE is a fair probability of four national tickets in the field. The more the merrier. Everybody will be suited, then, and the era of universal suffrage will dawn. THE cable announces that the first edition of ZOLA'S new novel, "Debacle," consists of one hundred and sixty thousand copies. ONCE A WEEK LIBRARY beats that record every week. POOR WALT WHITMAN! You can almost see him die as you read the record of his last days so carefully kept by the loving hands that ministered to his hourly wants. We shall print extracts from this diary next week. EMPEROR WILLIAM'S youngest sister, Princess MARGARETHE, is engaged to marry Prince FREDERICK CHARLES, eldest son of the Landgrave of Hesse. The bride is in her twenty-first year. Though resembling her imperial brother in many respects, the princess is ONCE A WEEK. THE GOOD, GRAY POET'S LAST VERSES. AUTOGRAPHIC FAC-SIMILE OF THE POEM WRITTEN ON HIS DEATH-BED IN FEBRUARY AND MARCH, 1892. (Copyrighted, 1892, by ONCE A WEEK.) A thought of Columbus Imprompter for 1892 A thought of Columbus' [???] brought to 1892 the magetery of mafflerees the bubble and the huge A breath of deity as these [??????] cycles from their precedent mentes the [??] of [???] inceplacing in an Happy hour the widest farthest [????] of the world and on and # [*see notes Mar 16 1892*] Columbus Walt Whitman, Esq 328 [138], Mickle st. Camden N.J. [*MS sent to Chambers June 10 1892*]A thought of Columbus [Mrprompter for 1892] A the [of] thought of [great] Columbus [self] thought to 1892 [[?] twentyfive 1892] crude and carreless The mystery of mysteries they hurried coapeless concrete flame, Spontaneous bearing on itself! The bubble and the [great] huge round [world] orb! A breath of Deity as bulging these [a] the bulging universe unfolding! [Cycles] The many unstrung bycles [Then sending of years] [and] from their preced[ing]ent minute! The [cycle] eras, of the soul [inspiring] incept[ed]ing in an hour. Haplly the wildest farthest ambulary of the world and man. # Thousands and thousands of miles heufer and nearer our centuries back. [*[A hurried flame, crude, quick, shontanears bearing on itself.]*] [the] A mortal impulse thrilling its brain cell Reck'd or unreck'd the birth can no longer be [?thdued]. A phantom of the moment, [when], mystic, stalking, sudden, only a silent thought, yet [bursting] toppling down of more than walls of brass or stone, (A flutter (at thudwrkney' eve as if old Time's and Space's secret to [one] near revealing,) [Recked or unreck'd the bait can no longer be postponed,] A thought! a' definite thought works [outs] out in shape. # Four hundred years roll on; [The armies and the fleets follow their [C?er]] -[the camps are pitch'd] The rapid cumulus - [the voyagers], trade, navigation, war, peace, democracy, roll on, The restless armies and the fleets of time following their leader - the old camps [are] of ages pitch'd in near[er] larger areas, The tangled long deferr'd eclaircissement of human life and hope boldly begign untying, A here to-day up-grows the Western [Modern] [Western] World. # 3rd Song far (A word, yet to [my song] our song, Discoverer, If still thou hearest hear [us] me, as ne'er before sent back [by a g] to song of earth Voicing [for once] as [here] now - lands, races, arts, [Their] bravas [once] to thee O'er the long backward path to thee - one vast consensus, north, south, east, west, Soul, plandits ! [memores] acclamation ! reverent echoes! One manifold huge [acclamats] memory to thee ! oceans and lands ! The modern world to thee and thought of thee!) Walt Whitman r Walt Whit 328 Mick NEW YORK NOV 13 530PM 91 Mr. Walt Whitman Camden New Jersey CAMDEN.N.J. NOV14 6. M 91 REC'D New York Nov. 12th/91 Mr. Whitman Dear Sir, Will you kindly favor me with your "autograph" on enclosed card. I will prize it very highly among the rest of my collection, Hoping you will grant myThe mystery of mysteries! The bubble and the great round orb! [As of a b] A breath of Deity and thence a universe unfolding! [A] Thousands of years and their [its] preceding minute! The cycles of the soul, Inspiring, [compacting] in an hour, [to] [taking?] [????] [All the] [tribe?] Haply the [foremost?] evolutions of the orb and man. [*3*]Walt Whitman Camden New Jersey2 A Thought of Columbus or Thoughts of That all lay dark, unborn, untill'd, unreap'd, That freedom, wealth, activity, life That all lay folded in an unseen cell a Thought And how much further, wider? What to come? (To-day, great as it is, is nothing) When he thought, resolv'd (Was there no flutter in thee Nature? History?)