Walt Whitman in Mickle Street

by Elizabeth Leavitt Keller

XVII

"SHIFT, WARRY"

"Come, lovely and soothing death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later, delicate death."

—Walt Whitman.

"She was his loyal friend and nurse. She stood by him in life, and closed his eyes in death."—Thomas Donaldson.

IN January, when Mr. Whitman first rallied, wrote the few short letters and autographed the pictures, his friends were much encouraged; but subsequent sinking spells destroyed their hopes, and his extremely low condition led them to believe that he would wield his pen no more. In his poor days scarcely a word was spoken in the house, and his three nurses worked silently, almost mechanically, about him. Then with another temporary reaction, hopes were again renewed and a change in everything was manifest; even the dull little anteroom seemed brighter.

On February 5, he had so far regained his strength as to request writing materials. His old way of writing in bed was to be firmly propped up, with a pillow before him on which to rest a light smooth-covered book. Now he was too weak to hold the book, and although well supported at the back he found it an almost insurmountable task to indite even a few words. Mrs. Davis believed he could do much better were something devised on which the paper before him could rest firmly. She was equal to the occasion, for going to a young artist and teacher of painting (a young lady named Miss Button) next door she procured a drawing board, to which she had legs attached,—two short stationary ones in front, and two longer at the back, fastened with hinges—thus making it adjustable to almost any angle. The invention worked well, and the next day, when he again requested pen and ink, it was placed before him. He was surprised and pleased, and all he could say was, "Just the thing; just the thing"; then looking at the nurse he added: "That's Mary; that's Mary; just the right thing at the right time." Not Mary the efficient housekeeper or capable manager, but just the right woman in the right place.

It was on this board that Walt Whitman's last words were inscribed.

His book, which had been completed, was out of the press, and a few copies had been hurried through that he might see the work as it would go out into the world. Mr. D. McKay, his publisher, brought them over one evening, and the dying poet expressed to him the great satisfaction he felt at the manner in which the edition had been produced. He asked to have fifty copies bound at once in Manila paper covers, that he might give or send them to certain friends. This was done; he designated the people who were to receive them, and Mr. Traubel attended to the inscriptions. The last thing Walt wrote for printing was a notice in regard to this edition. His writing board was of the greatest service to him in accomplishing this task; without it, not only this notice, but his last written words to his friends at large, his farewell Greeting or Salutation, would never have been written.