
Enclosed, you will find a few pages composed of selections from your work sandwiched with Col. Ingersoll's Summing up in his address at Phil'a of the 21st of Oct last. I thought that closing portion of it especially admirable. And, a few days ago I some how fell upon this way of testing the integrity of the orator's statements.
If I have not succeeded in verifying them, I have, at least, had a good deal of satisfaction in the attempt. Near the close of my effort it occured to me that it might possibly amuse you a little to look it over.
You will, doubtless, find the thing sufficiently fanciful, forced & artificial, & also, that I have presumed to take a little liberty with the text, for which, please pardon.
About thirty years ago I obtained a
copy of "Leaves of Grass" of the Edition of '60–61—I have counted myself in, as one its
its admirers ever since. &, to be frank, it is one of the few books that the reading of has led me, from the start, to entertain
a warm-hearted interest in its author.
Such sketches & likenesses of yourself & reviews of your works as have happened to fall in my way, I have attentively looked over & carefully treasured up—John Burroughs' "Walt Whitman" I own & am pleased with, also with the testimony of Emerson & Thoreau upon the same subject.
I well remember the latter person's mention in one of his letters, of being in Brooklyn with his friend Alcott & meeting you there years ago—& his remarks that followed.
I first read Ingersoll's oration in the N.Y. "Truth Seeker," but have since ordered it in book form. The occasion of that gathering has seemed to me, grand & unique. Nothing approaching it in history, as I remember, except what came near happening to the poet, Tasso at Rome in April of 1595—

Please accept my most cordial congratulations & best wishes for your health & happiness.
I suppose I saw daylight about two years before you, yet am still what might be called active (in body), & am enjoying life as much as ever, with a hopeful outlook toward the future.
Please excuse this long, rambling letter from a stranger to you, & if it has tired you, have the kindness to attribute it wholly to the proverbial garrulity of old age, and still believe me,
Yours Very Sincerely C. H. Greene

Ingersoll's Synopsis of "Leaves of Grass" Verified
As you read the marvelous book, or person, called "Leaves of Grass," This is no book, who touches this touches a man, I spring from the pages into your arms— you feel the freedom of the antique world; I heard what was said of the universe, Heard it, & heard it of several thousand years; Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me, . . . Afar down I see the huge first Nothing—I know I was even there. you hear the voices of the morning, of the first great singers— I hear in the distance the sounds of children, & of animals early in the day. I hear the Hebrew reading his records and psalms, I hear the rhythmic myths of the Greeks & the strong legends of the Romans. voices elemental as those of sea and storm. Elemental drifts! O I wish I could impress others as you & the waves have just been impressing me. As I ebbed with the ebb of the ocean of life, As I wended the shores I know. The horizon enlarges, the heavens grow ample, limitations are forgotton— O space boundless! O all, all inseperable—ages, ages, ages! O days bygone! Enthusiasts, Antecedents! O centuries, centuries yet ahead, O so amazing and so broad! up there resplendent, darting and burning. The realization of the will, the accomplishment of the ideal seems to be in your power. I do not doubt there are realizations I have no idea of, waiting for me through time & through the universes. Obstructions become petty and disappear. All parts away for the progress of Souls, All that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into nitches & cornersbefore the procession of Souls along the grand roads of the universe. The chains & bars are broken, & the distinctions of caste are lost. Liberated & the divine average—Freedom to every slave on the face of the Earth. He says indifferently & alike, How are you, friend? to the President at the levee, And he says Good-day, my brother! to Cudge that hoes in the sugar-field. The soul is in the open air, under the blue & Stars—the flag of Nature. I have read these leaves to myself in the open air—I have tried them by trees, Stars, rivers. I think heroic deeds were all conceived in the open air I think I could stop here myself, and do miracles. Creeds, theories & philosophies ask to be examined, contradicted, reconstructed. Now I reexamine philosophies and religions Alons! From all formulas! From your formulas, O bat-eyed & materialistic priests. The stale cadaver blocks up the passage—the burial waits no longer. Prejudices disappear, superstitions vanish and custom abdicates. The Soul travels, The body does not travel as much as the Soul. Of the progress of the Souls of men & women along the grand roads of universe,
all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance.






and insane, the oppressed & enslaved & even to the infamous. O Christ! This is mastering me! Through the conquered doors they crowd, I am possessed. The interminable hordes of the ignorant & wicked are not nothing,— Not till the sun excludes you do I exclude you, . . . my girl, Till then I salute you with a significant look, that you do not forget me. You hear the din of labor, all sounds of factory, field & forest, of all tools, instruments and machines. See the numberless factories! See, mechanics, busy at their benches with tools See the many cylindered steam printing-press—see the electric telegraph. See the pastures and forests in my poems. You become familiar with men & women of all employments, trades & professions. O workmen & workwomen forever for me! O farmers and sailors! O drivers of horses forever for me! O I will make the new bardic list of trades and tools. with birth & burial, with wedding feast & funeral chant. Not a day passes—not a minute or second without an accomplishment. Not a day passes—not a minute or second without a corpse,— The oath of the inseperableness of two together, (for I am the new husband) And the slow-moving, black lines that go ceaselessly over the earth.




