As the greatest lessons of Nature through the universe are perhaps the lessons of variety and freedom,
the same present the greatest lessons also in New World politics and progress. If a man were ask'd, for
instance, the distinctive points contrasting modern European and American political and other life with
the old Asiatic cultus, as lingering-bequeath'd yet in China and Turkey, he might find the amount of them
in John Stuart Mill's profound essay on Liberty in the future, where he demands two main constituents, or
sub-strata, for a truly grand nationality -- 1st, a large variety of character -- and 2d, full play for human
nature to expand itself in numberless and even conflicting directions -- (seems to be for general humanity
much like the influences that make up, in their limitless field, that perennial health-action of the air we
call the weather -- an infinite number of currents and forces, and contributions, and temperatures, and
cross purposes, whose ceaseless play of counterpart upon counterpart brings constant restoration and
vitality.) With this thought -- and not for itself alone, but all it necessitates, and draws after it -- let me
begin my speculations.

America, filling the present with greatest deeds and problems, cheerfully accepting the past, including feu-
dalism, (as, indeed, the present is but the legitimate birth of the past, including feudalism,) counts, as I
reckon, for her justification and success, (for who, as yet, dare claim success?) almost entirely on the fu-
ture. Nor is that hope unwarranted. Today, ahead, though dimly yet, we see, in vistas, a copious, sane, gi-
gantic offspring. For our New World I consider far less important for what it has done, or what it is, than
for results to come. Sole among nationalities, these States have assumed the task to put in forms of last-
ing power and practicality, on areas of amplitude rivaling the operations of the physical kosmos, the moral
political speculations of ages, long, long deferr'd, the democratic republican principle, and the theory of de-
velopment and perfection by voluntary standards, and self-reliance. Who else, indeed, except the United
States, in history, so far, have accepted in unwitting faith, and, as we now see, stand, act upon, and go
security for, these things?

But preluding no longer, let me strike the key-note of the following strain. First premising that, though the
passages of it have been written at widely different times, (it is, in fact, a collection of memoranda, perhaps
for future designers, comprehenders,) and though it may be open to the charge of one part contradicting an-
other -- for there are opposite sides to the great question of democracy, as to every great question -- I
feel the parts harmoniously blended in my own realization and convictions, and present them to be read only
in such oneness, each page and each claim and assertion modified and temper'd by the others. Bear in mind,
too, that they are not the result of studying up in political economy, but of the ordinary sense, observing,
wandering among men, these States, these stirring years of war and peace. I will not gloss over the appaling
dangers of universal suffrage in the United States. In fact, it is to admit and face these dangers I am writing.
To him or her within whose thought rages the battle, advancing, retreating, between democracy's convictions,
aspirations, and the people's crudeness, vice, caprices, I mainly write this essay. I shall use the words America
and democracy as convertible terms. Not an ordinary one is the issue. The United States are destined either
to surmount the gorgeous history of feudalism, or else prove the most tremendous failure of time. Not the
least doubtful am I on any prospects of their material success. The triumphant future of their business, geo-
graphic and productive departments, on larger scales and in more varieties than ever, is certain. In those re-
spects the republic must soon (if she does not already) outstrip all examples hitherto afforded, and dominate
the world.*

Admitting all this, with the priceless value of our political institutions, general suffrage, (and fully acknowledg-
ing the latest, widest opening of the doors,) I say that, far deeper than these, what finally and only is to make
of our western world a nationality superior to any hither known, and outtopping the past, must be vigorous,
yet unsuspected Literatures, perfect personalities and sociologies, original, transcendental, and expressing
(what, in highest sense, are not yet express'd at all,) democracy and the modern. With these, and out of these,
I promulge new races of Teachers, and of perfect Women, indispensable to endow the birth-stock of a New
World. For feudalism, caste, the ecclesiastic traditions, though palpably retreating from political institutions,
still hold essentially, by their spirit, even in this country, entire possession of the more important fields, in-
deed the very subsoil, of education, and of social standards and literature.

I say that democracy can never prove itself beyond cavil, until it founds and luxuriantly grows its own forms
of art, poems, schools, theology, displacing all that exists, or that has been produced anywhere in the past,
under opposite influences. It is curious to me that while so many voices, pens, minds, in the press, lecture-
rooms, in our Congress, &c., are discussing intellectual topics, pecuniary dangers, legislative problems, the
suffrage, tariff and labor questions, and the various business and benevolent needs of America, with propo-
sitions, remedies, often worth deep attention, there is one need, a hiatus the profoundest, that no eye seems
to perceive, no voice to state. Our fundamental want to-day in the United States, with closest, amplest ref-
erence to present conditions, and to the future, is of a class, and the clear idea of a class, of native authors,
literatures, far different, far higher in grade than any yet known, sacerdotal, modern, fit to cope with our oc-
casions, lands, permeating the whole mass of American mentality, taste, belief, breathing into it a new breath
of life, giving it decision, affecting politics far more than the popular superficial suffrage, with results inside
and underneath the elections of Presidents or Congresses -- radiating, begetting appropriate teachers, schools,
manners, and, as its grandest result, accomplishing, (what neither the schools nor the churches and their
clergy have hitherto accomplish'd, and without which this nation will no more stand, permanently, soundly, than
a house will stand without a substratum,) a religious and moral character beneath the political and productive
and intellectual bases of the States. For know you not, dear, earnest reader, that the people of our land may
all read and write, and may all possess the right to vote -- and yet the main things may be entirely lacking?
-- (and this to suggest them.)

View'd, to-day, from a point of view sufficiently over-arching, the problem of humanity all over the civilized
world is social and religious, and is to be finally met and treated by literature. The priest departs, the divine
literatus comes. Never was anything more wanted than, to-day, and here in the States, the poet of the mo-
dern is wanted, or the great literatus of the modern. At all times, perhaps, the central point in any nation,
and that whence it is itself really sway'd the most, and whence it sways others, is its national literature,
especially its archetypal poems. Above all previous lands, a great original literature is surely to become the
justification and reliance, (in some respects the sole reliance,) of American democracy.

Few are aware how the great literature penetrates all, gives hue to all, shapes aggregates and individuals,
and, after subtle ways, with irresistible power, constructs, sustains, demolishes at will. Why tower, in remi-
niscence, above all the nations of the earth, two special lands, petty in themselves, yet inexpressibly gi-
gantic, beautiful, columnar? Immortal Judah lives, and Greece immortal lives, in a couple of poems.

Nearer than this. It is not generally realized, but it is true, as the genius of Greece, and all the sociology,
personality, politics and religion of those wonderful states, resided in their literature or esthetics, that
what was afterwards the main support of European chivalry, the feudal, ecclesiastical, dynastic world
over there -- forming its osseous structure, holding it together for hundreds, thousands of years, pre-
serving its flesh and bloom, giving it form, decision, rounding it out, and so saturating it in the conscious
and unconscious blood, breed, belief, and intuitions of men, that it still prevails powerful to this day, in
defiance of the mighty changes of time -- was its literature, permeating to the very marrow, especially
that major part, its enchanting songs, ballads, and poems.

To the ostent of the senses and eyes, I know, the influences which stamp the world's history are wars,
uprisings or downfalls of dynasties, changeful movements of trade, important inventions, navigation, military
or civil governments, advent of powerful personalities, conquerors, &c. These of course play their part; yet,
it may be, a single new thought, imagination, abstract principle, even literary style, fit for the time, put in
shape by some great Literatus, and projected among mankind, may duly cause changes, growths, removals,
greater than the longest and bloodiest war, or the most stupendous merely political, dynastic, or commercial
overturn.

In short, as, though it may not be realized, it is strictly true, that a few first-class poets, philosophs, and
authors, have substantially settled and given status to the entire religion, education, law, sociology, &c., of
the hitherto civilized world, by tinging and often creating the atmospheres out of which they have arisen,
such also must stamp, and more than ever stamp, the interior and real democratic construction of this
American continent, to-day, and days to come. Remember also this fact of difference, that, while through
the antique and through the mediaeval ages, highest thoughts and ideals realized themselves, and their
expression made its way by other arts, as much as, or even more than by, technical literature, (not open
to the mass of persons, or even to the majority of eminent persons,) such literature in our day and for
current purposes, is not only more eligible than all the other arts put together, but has become the only
general means of morally influencing the world. Painting, sculpture, and the dramatic theatre, it would
seem, no longer play an indispensable or even important part in the workings and mediumship of intellect,
utility, or even high esthetics. Architecture remains, doubtless with capacities, and a real future. Then
music, the combiner, nothing more spiritual, nothing more sensuous, a god, yet completely human, advan-
ces, prevails, holds highest place; supplying in certain wants and quarters what nothing else could supply.
Yet in the civilization of to-day it is undeniable that, over all the arts, literature dominates, serves beyond
all -- shapes the character of church and school -- or, at any rate, is capable of doing so. Including the
literature of science, its scope is indeed unparallel'd.

Before proceeding further, it were perhaps well to discriminate on certain points. Literature tills its crops
in many fields, and some may flourish, while others lag. What I say in these Vistas has its main bearing on
imaginative literature, especially poetry, the stock of all. In the department of science, and the specialty of
journalism, there appear, in these States, promises, perhaps fulfilments, of highest earnestness, reality, and
life. These, of course, are modern. But in the region of imaginative, spinal and essential attributes, some-
thing equivalent to creation is, for our age and lands, imperatively demanded. For not only is it not enough
that the new blood, new frame of democracy shall be vivified and held together merely by political means,
superficial suffrage, legislation, &c., but it is clear to me that, unless it goes deeper, gets at least as firm
and as warm a hold in men's hearts, emotions and belief, as, in their days, feudalism or ecclesiasticism, and
inaugurates its own perennial sources, welling from the centre forever, its strength will be defective, its
growth doubtful, and its main charm wanting. I suggest, therefore, the possibility, should some two or three
really original American poets, (perhaps artists or lecturers,) arise, mounting the horizon like planets, stars
of the first magnitude, that, from their eminence, fusing contributions, races, far localities, &c., together
they would give more compaction and more moral identity, (the quality to-day most needed,) to these States,
than all its Constitutions, legislative and judicial ties, and all its hitherto political, warlike, or materialistic
experiences. As, for instance, there could hardly happen anything that would more serve the States, with
all their variety of origins, their diverse climes, cities, standards, &c., than possessing an aggregate of he-
roes, characters, exploits, sufferings, prosperity or misfortune, glory or disgrace, common to all, typical of
all -- no less, but even greater would it be to possess the aggregation of a cluster of mighty poets, artists,
teachers, fit for us, national expressers, comprehending and effusing for the men and women of the States,
what is universal, native, common to all, inland and seaboard, northern and southern. The historians say of
ancient Greece, with her ever-jealous autonomies, cities, and states, that the only positive unity she ever
own'd or receiv'd, was the sad unity of a common subjection, at the last, to foreign conquerors. Subjection,
aggregation of that sort, is impossible to America; but the fear of conflicting and irreconcilable interiors, and
the lack of a common skeleton, knitting all close, continually haunts me. Or, if it does not, nothing is plainer
than the need, a long period to come, of a fusion of the States into the only reliable identity, the moral and
artistic one. For, I say, the true nationality of the States, the genuine union, when we come to a mortal crisis,
is, and is to be, after all, neither the written law, nor, (as is generally supposed,) either self-interest, or com-
mon pecuniary or material objects -- but the fervid and tremendous IDEA, melting everything else with resist-
less heat, and solving all lesser and definite distinctions in vast, indefinite, spiritual, emotional power.

It may be claim'd, (and I admit the weight of the claim,) that common and general worldly prosperity, and a pop-
ulace well-to-do, and with all life's material comforts, is the main thing, and is enough. It may be argued that
our republic is, in performance, really enacting to-day the grandest arts, poems, &c., by beating up the wilder-
ness into fertile farms, and in her railroads, ships, machinery, &c. And it may be ask'd, Are these not better,
indeed, for America, than any utterances even of greatest rhapsode, artist, or literatus?

I too hail those achievements with pride and joy: then answer that the soul of man will not with such only --
nay, not with such at all -- be finally satisfied; but needs what, (standing on these and on all things, as the feet
stand on the ground,) is address'd to the loftiest, to itself alone.

Out of such considerations, such truths, arises for treatment in these Vistas the important question of character,
of an American stock-personality, with literatures and arts for outlets and return-expressions, and, of course, to
correspond, within outlines common to all. To these, the main affair, the thinkers of the United States, in general
so acute, have either given feeblest attention, or have remain'd, and remain, in a state of somnolence.

For my part, I would alarm and caution even the political and business reader, and to the utmost extent, against
the prevailing delusion that the establishment of free political institutions, and plentiful intellectual smartness, with
general good order, physical plenty, industry, &c., (desirable and precious advantages as they all are,) do, of them-
selves, determine and yield to our experiment of democracy the fruitage of success. With such advantages at pre-
sent fully, or almost fully, possess'd -- the Union just issued, victorious, from the struggle with the only foes it
need ever fear, (namely, those within itself, the interior ones,) and with unprecedented materialistic advancement
-- society, in these States, is canker'd, crude, superstitious, and rotten. Political, or law-made society is, and pri-
vate, or voluntary society, is also. In any vigor, the element of the moral conscience, the most important, the ver-
teber to State or man, seems to me either entirely lacking, or seriously enfeebled or ungrown.

I say we had best look our times and lands searchingly in the face, like a physician diagnosing some deep disease.
Never was there, perhaps, more hollowness at heart than at present, and here in the United States. Genuine belief
seems to have left us. The underlying principles of the States are not honestly believ'd in, (for all this hectic glow,
and these melodramatic screamings,) nor is humanity itself believ'd in. What penetrating eye does not everywhere
see through the mask? The spectacle is appaling. We live in an atmosphere of hypocrisy throughout. The men be-
lieve not in the women, nor the women in the men. A scornful superciliousness rules in literature. The aim of all
the litterateurs is to find something to make fun of. A lot of churches, sects, &c., the most dismal phantasms I
know, usurp the name of religion. Conversation is a mass of badinage. From deceit in the spirit, the mother of all
false deeds, the offspring is already incalculable. An acute and candid person, in the revenue department in Wash-
ington, who is led by the course of his employment to regularly visit the cities, north, south and west, to investigate
frauds, has talk'd much with me about his discoveries. The depravity of the business classes of our country is not
less than has been supposed, but infinitely greater. The official services of America, national, state, and municipal,
in all their branches and departments, except the judiciary, are saturated in corruption, bribery, falsehood, mal-ad-
ministration; and the judiciary is tainted. The great cities reek with respectable as much as non-respectable robbery
and scoundrelism. In fashionable life, flippancy, tepid amours, weak infidelism, small aims, or no aims at all, only to
kill time. In business, (this all-devouring modern word, business,) the one sole object is, by any means, pecuniary
gain. The magician's serpent in the fable ate up all the other serpents; and money-making is our magician's serpent,
remaining to-day sole master of the field. The best class we show, is but a mob of fashionably dress'd speculators
and vulgarians. True, indeed, behind this fantastic farce, enacted on the visible stage of society, solid things and
stupendous labors are to be discover'd, existing crudely and going on in the background, to advance and tell them-
selves in time. Yet the truths are none the less terrible. I say that our New World democracy, however great a
success in uplifting the masses out of their sloughs, in materialistic development, products, and in a certain highly-
deceptive superficial popular intellectuality, is, so far, an almost complete failure in its social aspects, and in really
grand religious, moral, literary, and esthetic results. In vain do we march with unprecedented strides to empire so
colossal, outvying the antique, beyond Alexander's, beyond the proudest sway of Rome. In vain have we annex'd
Texas, California, Alaska, and reach north for Canada and south for Cuba. It is as if we were somehow being en-
dow'd with a vast and more and more thoroughly-appointed body, and then left with little or no soul.

Let me illustrate further, as I write, with current observations, localities, &c. The subject is important, and will bear
repetition. After an absence, I am now again (September, 1870) in New York city and Brooklyn, on a few weeks' va-
cation. The splendor, picturesqueness, and oceanic amplitude and rush of these great cities, the unsurpass'd situa-
tion, rivers and bay, sparkling sea-tides, costly and lofty new buildings, facades of marble and iron, of original grand-
eur and elegance of design, with the masses of gay color, the preponderance of white and blue, the flags flying, the
endless ships, the tumultuous streets, Broadway, the heavy, low, musical roar, hardly ever intermitted, even at night;
the jobbers' houses, the rich shops, the wharves, the great Central Park, and the Brooklyn Park of hills, (as I wander
among them this beautiful fall weather, musing, watching, absorbing) -- the assemblages of the citizens in their groups,
conversations, trades, evening amusements, or along the by-quarters -- these, I say, and the like of these, comple-
tely satisfy my senses of power, fulness, motion, &c., and give me, through such senses and appetites, and through
my esthetic conscience, a continued exaltation and absolute fulfilment. Always and more and more, as I cross the
East and North rivers, the ferries, or with the pilots in their pilot-houses, or pass an hour in Wall street, or the gold
exchange, I realize, (if we must admit such partialisms,) that not Nature alone is great in her fields of freedom and
the open air, in her storms, the shows of night and day, the mountains, forests, seas -- but in the artificial, the
work of man too is equally great -- in this profusion of teeming humanity -- in these ingenuities, streets, goods,
houses, ships -- these hurrying, feverish, electric crowds of men, their complicated business genius, (not least
among the geniuses,) and all this mighty, many-threaded wealth and industry concentrated here.

But sternly discarding, shutting our eyes to the glow and grandeur of the general superficial effect, coming down to
what is of the only real importance, Personalities, and examining minutely, we question, we ask, Are there, indeed,
men here worthy the name? Are there athletes? Are there perfect women, to match the generous material luxuri-
ance? Is there a pervading atmosphere of beautiful manners? Are there crops of fine youths, and majestic old per-
sons? Are there arts worthy freedom and a rich people? Is there a great moral and religious civilization -- the only
justification of a great material one? Confess that to severe eyes, using the moral microscope upon humanity, a
sort of dry and flat Sahara appears, these cities, crowded with petty grotesques, malformations, phantoms, playing
meaningless antics. Confess that everywhere, in shop, street, church, theatre, bar-room, official chair, are perva-
ding flippancy and vulgarity, low cunning, infidelity -- everywhere the youth puny, impudent, foppish, prematurely
ripe -- everywhere an abnormal libidinousness, unhealthy forms, male, female, painted, padded, dyed, chignon'd,
muddy complexions, bad blood, the capacity for good motherhood deceasing or deceas'd, shallow notions of beauty,
with a range of manners, or rather lack of manners, (considering the advantages enjoy'd,) probably the meanest to
be seen in the world.

Of all this, and these lamentable conditions, to breathe into them the breath recuperative of sane and heroic
life, I say a new founded literature, not merely to copy and reflect existing surfaces, or pander to what is
called taste -- not only to amuse, pass away time, celebrate the beautiful, the refined, the past, or exhibit
technical, rhythmic, or grammatical dexterity -- but a literature underlying life, religious, consistent with
science, handling the elements and forces with competent power, teaching and training men -- and, as perhaps
the most precious of its results, achieving the entire redemption of woman out of these incredible holds and
webs of silliness, millinery, and every kind of dyspeptic depletion -- and thus insuring to the States a
strong and sweet Female Race, a race of perfect Mothers -- is what is needed.

And now, in the full conception of these facts and points, and all that they infer, pro and con -- with yet
unshaken faith in the elements of the American masses, the composites, of both sexes, and even consider'd as
individuals -- and ever recognizing in them the broadest bases of the best literary and esthetic appreciation
-- I proceed with my speculations, Vistas.

First, let us see what we can make out of a brief, general, sentimental consideration of political democracy,
and whence it has arisen, with regard to some of its current features, as an aggregate, and as the basic
structure of our future literature and authorship. We shall, it is true, quickly and continually find the
origin-idea of the singleness of man, individualism, asserting itself, and cropping forth, even from the op-
posite ideas. But the mass, or lump character, for imperative reasons, is to be ever carefully weigh'd, borne
in mind, and provided for. Only from it, and from its proper regulation and potency, comes the other, comes
the chance of individualism. The two are contradictory, but our task is to reconcile them.

The political history of the past may be summ'd up as having grown out of what underlies the words, order,
safety, caste, and especially out of the need of some prompt deciding authority, and of cohesion at all cost.
Leaping time, we come to the period within the memory of people now living, when, as from some lair where
they had slumber'd long, accumulating wrath, sprang up and are yet active, (1790, and on even to the present,
1870,) those noisy eructations, destructive iconoclasms, a fierce sense of wrongs, amid which moves the form,
well known in modern history, in the old world, stain'd with much blood, and mark'd by savage reactionary
clamors and demands. These bear, mostly, as on one inclosing point of need.

For after the rest is said -- after the many time-honor'd and really true things for subordination, experience,
rights of property, &c., have been listen'd to and acquiesced in -- after the valuable and well-settled state-
ment of our duties and relations in society is thoroughly conn'd over and exhausted -- it remains to bring
forward and modify everything else with the idea of that Something a man is, (last precious consolation of
the drudging poor,) standing apart from all else, divine in his own right, and a woman in hers, sole and un-
touchable by any canons of authority, or any rule derived from precedent, state-safety, the acts of legisla-
tures, or even from what is called religion, modesty, or art. The radiation of this truth is the key of the
most significant doings of our immediately preceding three centuries, and has been the political genesis and
life of America. Advancing visibly, it still more advances invisibly. Underneath the fluctuations of the ex-
pressions of society, as well as the movements of the politics of the leading nations of the world, we see
steadily pressing ahead and strengthening itself, even in the midst of immense tendencies toward aggregation,
this image of completeness in separatism, of individual personal dignity, of a single person, either male or
female, characterized in the main, not from extrinsic acquirements or position, but in the pride of himself
or herself alone; and, as an eventual conclusion and summing up, (or else the entire scheme of things is
aimless, a cheat, a crash,) the simple idea that the last, best dependence is to be upon humanity itself,
and its own inherent, normal, full-grown qualities, without any superstitious support whatever. This idea
of perfect individualism it is indeed that deepest tinges and gives character to the idea of the aggregate.
For it is mainly or altogether to serve independent separatism that we favor a strong generalization, con-
solidation. As it is to give the best vitality and freedom to the rights of the States, (every bit as impor-
tant as the right of nationality, the union,) that we insist on the identity of the Union at all hazards.

The purpose of democracy -- supplanting old belief in the necessary absoluteness of establish'd dynastic
rulership, temporal, ecclesiastical, and scholastic, as furnishing the only security against chaos, crime,
and ignorance -- is, through many transmigrations, and amid endless ridicules, arguments, and ostensible
failures, to illustrate, at all hazards, this doctrine or theory that man, properly train'd in sanest,
highest freedom, may and must become a law, and series of laws, unto himself, surrounding and providing
for, not only his own personal control, but all his relations to other individuals, and to the State;
and that, while other theories, as in the past histories of nations, have proved wise enough, and indis-
pensable perhaps for their conditions, this, as matters now stand in our civilized world, is the only
scheme worth working from, as warranting results like those of Nature's laws, reliable, when once esta-
blish'd, to carry on themselves.

The argument of the matter is extensive, and, we admit, by no means all on one side. What we shall offer will
be far, far from sufficient. But while leaving unsaid much that should properly even prepare the way for the
treatment of this many-sided question of political liberty, equality, or republicanism -- leaving the whole
history and consideration of the feudal plan and its products, embodying humanity, its politics and civiliza-
tion, through the retrospect of past time, (which plan and products, indeed, make up all of the past, and a
large part of the present) -- leaving unanswer'd, at least by any specific and local answer, many a well-
wrought argument and instance, and many a conscientious declamatory cry and warning -- as, very lately, from
an eminent and venerable person abroad* -- things, problems, full of doubt, dread, suspense, (not new to me,
but old occupiers of many an anxious hour in city's din, or night's silence,) we still may give a page or so,
whose drift is opportune. Time alone can finally answer these things. But as a substitute in passing, let us,
even if fragmentarily, throw forth a short direct or indirect suggestion of the premises of that other plan,
in the new spirit, under the new forms, started here in our America.

As to the political section of Democracy, which introduces and breaks ground for further and vaster sections,
few probably are the minds, even in these republican States, that fully comprehend the aptness of that phrase,
"THE GOVERNMENT OF THE PEOPLE, BY THE PEOPLE, FOR THE PEOPLE," which we inherit from the lips of
Abraham Lincoln; a formula whose verbal shape is homely wit, but whose scope includes both the totality and
all minutiae of the lesson.

The People! Like our huge earth itself, which, to ordinary scansion, is full of vulgar contradictions and
offence, man, viewed in the lump, displeases, and is a constant puzzle and affront to the merely educated
classes. The rare, cosmical, artist-mind, lit with the Infinite, alone confronts his manifold and oceanic
qualities -- but taste, intelligence and culture, (so-called,) have been against the masses, and remain so.
There is plenty of glamour about the most damnable crimes and hoggish meannesses, special and general, of the
feudal and dynastic world over there, with its personnel of lords and queens and courts, so well-dress'd and
so handsome. But the People are ungrammatical, untidy, and their sins gaunt and ill-bred.

Literature, strictly consider'd, has never recognized the People, and, whatever may be said, does not today.
Speaking generally, the tendencies of literature, as hitherto pursued, have been to make mostly critical and
querulous men. It seems as if, so far, there were some natural repugnance between a literary and professional
life, and the rude rank spirit of the democracies. There is, in later literature, a treatment of benevolence,
a charity business, rife enough it is true; but I know nothing more rare, even in this country, than a fit
scientific estimate and reverent appreciation of the People -- of their measureless wealth of latent power
and capacity, their vast, artistic contrasts of lights and shades -- with, in America, their entire reliabil-
ity in emergencies, and a certain breadth of historic grandeur, of peace or war, far surpassing all the vaun-
ted samples of book-heroes, or any haut ton coteries, in all the records of the world.

The movements of the late Secession War, and their results, to any sense that studies well and comprehends
them, show that popular democracy, whatever its faults and dangers, practically justifies itself beyond the
proudest claims and wildest hopes of its enthusiasts. Probably no future age can know, but I well know, how
the gist of this fiercest and most resolute of the world's war-like contentions resided exclusively in the
unnamed, unknown rank and file; and how the brunt of its labor of death was, to all essential purposes, vol-
unteer'd. The People, of their own choice, fighting, dying for their own idea, insolently attack'd by the
secession-slave-power, and its very existence imperil'd. Descending to detail, entering any of the armies,
and mixing with the private soldiers, we see and have seen august spectacles. We have seen the alacrity with
which the American born populace, the peaceablest and most good-natured race in the world, and the most per-
sonally independent and intelligent, and the least fitted to submit to the irksomeness and exasperation of
regimental discipline, sprang, at the first tap of the drum, to arms -- not for gain, nor even glory, nor
to repel invasion -- but for an emblem, a mere abstraction -- for the life, the safety of the flag. We have
seen the unequal'd docility and obedience of these soldiers. We have seen them tried long and long by hope-
lessness, mismanagement, and by defeat; have seen the incredible slaughter toward or through which the armies,
(as at first Fredericksburg, and afterward at the Wilderness,) still unhesitatingly obey'd orders to advance.
We have seen them in trench, or crouching behind breastwork, or tramping in deep mud, or amid pouring rain
or thick-falling snow, or under forced marches in hottest summer (as on the road to get to Gettysburg) --
vast suffocating swarms, divisions, corps, with every single man so grimed and black with sweat and dust,
his own mother would not have known him -- his clothes all dirty, stain'd and torn, with sour, accumulated
sweat for perfume -- many a comrade, perhaps a brother, sun-struck, staggering out, dying, by the roadside,
of exhaustion -- yet the great bulk bearing steadily on, cheery enough, hollow-bellied from hunger, but
sinewy with unconquerable resolution.

We have seen this race proved by wholesale by drearier, yet more fearful tests -- the wound, the amputation,
the shatter'd face or limb, the slow hot fever, long impatient anchorage in bed, and all the forms of maiming,
operation and disease. Alas! America have we seen, though only in her early youth, already to hospital brought.
There have we watch'd these soldiers, many of them only boys in years -- mark'd their decorum, their religious
nature and fortitude, and their sweet affection. Wholesale, truly. For at the front, and through the camps, in
countless tents, stood the regimental, brigade and division hospitals; while everywhere amid the land, in or
near cities, rose clusters of huge, white-wash'd, crowded, one-story wooden barracks; and there ruled agony
with bitter scourge, yet seldom brought a cry; and there stalk'd death by day and night along the narrow aisles
between the rows of cots, or by the blankets on the ground, and touch'd lightly many a poor sufferer, often
with blessed, welcome touch.

I know not whether I shall be understood, but I realize that it is finally from what I learn'd personally
mixing in such scenes that I am now penning these pages. One night in the gloomiest period of the war, in the
Patent office hospital in Washington city, as I stood by the bedside of a Pennsylvania soldier, who lay, con-
scious of quick approaching death, yet perfectly calm, and with noble, spiritual manner, the veteran surgeon,
turning aside, said to me, that though he had witness'd many, many deaths of soldiers, and had been a worker
at Bull Run, Antietam, Fredericksburg, &c., he had not seen yet the first case of man or boy that met the ap-
proach of dissolution with cowardly qualms or terror. My own observation fully bears out the remark.

What have we here, if not, towering above all talk and argument, the plentifully-supplied, last-needed proof
of democracy, in its personalities? Curiously enough, too, the proof on this point comes, I should say, every
bit as much from the south, as from the north. Although I have spoken only of the latter, yet I deliberately
include all. Grand, common stock! to me the accomplish'd and convincing growth, prophetic of the future; proof
undeniable to sharpest sense, of perfect beauty, tenderness and pluck, that never feudal lord, nor Greek, nor
Roman breed, yet rival'd. Let no tongue ever speak in disparagement of the American races, north or south, to
one who has been through the war in the great army hospitals.

Meantime, general humanity, (for to that we return, as, for our purposes, what it really is, to bear in mind,)
has always, in every department, been full of perverse maleficence, and is so yet. In downcast hours the soul
thinks it always will be -- but soon recovers from such sickly moods. I myself see clearly enough the crude,
defective streaks in all the strata of the common people; the specimens and vast collections of the ignorant,
the credulous, the unfit and uncouth, the incapable, and the very low and poor. The eminent person just men-
tion'd sneeringly asks whether we expect to elevate and improve a nation's politics by absorbing such morbid
collections and qualities therein. The point is a formidable one, and there will doubtless always be numbers
of solid and reflective citizens who will never get over it. Our answer is general, and is involved in the
scope and letter of this essay. We believe the ulterior object of political and all other government, (having,
of course, provided for the police, the safety of life, property, and for the basic statute and common law,
and their administration, always first in order,) to be among the rest, not merely to rule, to repress dis-
order, &c., but to develop, to open up to cultivation, to encourage the possibilities of all beneficent and
manly outcroppage, and of that aspiration for independence, and the pride and self-respect latent in all char-
acters. (Or, if there be exceptions, we cannot, fixing our eyes on them alone, make theirs the rule for all.)

I say the mission of government, henceforth, in civilized lands, is not repression alone, and not authority
alone, not even of law, nor by that favorite standard of the eminent writer, the rule of the best men, the
born heroes and captains of the race, (as if such ever, or one time out of a hundred, get into the big places,
elective or dynastic) -- but higher than the highest arbitrary rule, to train communities through all their
grades, beginning with individuals and ending there again, to rule themselves. What Christ appear'd for in
the moral-spiritual field for human-kind, namely, that in respect to the absolute soul, there is in the pos-
session of such by each single individual, something so transcendent, so incapable of gradations, (like life,)
that, to that extent, it places all beings on a common level, utterly regardless of the distinctions of intel-
lect, virtue, station, or any height or lowliness whatever -- is tallied in like manner, in this other field,
by democracy's rule that men, the nation, as a common aggregate of living identities, affording in each a sep-
arate and complete subject for freedom, worldly thrift and happiness, and for a fair chance for growth, and
for protection in citizenship, &c., must, to the political extent of the suffrage or vote, if no further, be
placed, in each and in the whole, on one broad, primary, universal, common platform.

The purpose is not altogether direct; perhaps it is more indirect. For it is not that democracy is of exhaus-
tive account, in itself. Perhaps, indeed, it is, (like Nature,) of no account in itself. It is that, as we see, it
is the best, perhaps only, fit and full means, formulater, general caller-forth, trainer, for the million, not
for grand material personalities only, but for immortal souls. To be a voter with the rest is not so much; and
this, like every institute, will have its imperfections. But to become an enfranchised man, and now, impedi-
ments removed, to stand and start without humiliation, and equal with the rest; to commence, or have the
road clear'd to commence, the grand experiment of development, whose end, (perhaps requiring several
generations,) may be the forming of a full-grown man or woman -- that is something. To ballast the State
is also secured, and in our times is to be secured, in no other way.

We do not, (at any rate I do not,) put it either on the ground that the People, the masses, even the best of
them, are, in their latent or exhibited qualities, essentially sensible and good -- nor on the ground of their
rights; but that good or bad, rights or no rights, the democratic formula is the only safe and preservative one
for coming times. We endow the masses with the suffrage for their own sake, no doubt; then, perhaps still
more, from another point of view, for community's sake. Leaving the rest to the sentimentalists, we present
freedom as sufficient in its scientific aspect, cold as ice, reasoning, deductive, clear and passionless as
crystal.

Democracy too is law, and of the strictest, amplest kind. Many suppose, (and often in its own ranks the error,)
that it means a throwing aside of law, and running riot. But, briefly, it is the superior law, not alone that of
physical force, the body, which, adding to, it supersedes with that of the spirit. Law is the unshakable order
of the universe forever; and the law over all, and law of laws, is the law of successions; that of the superior
law, in time, gradually supplanting and overwhelming the inferior one. (While, for myself, I would cheerfully
agree -- first covenanting that the formative tendencies shall be administer'd in favor, or at least not against
it, and that this reservation be closely construed -- that until the individual or community show due signs, or
be so minor and fractional as not to endanger the State, the condition of authoritative tutelage may continue,
and self-government must abide its time.) Nor is the esthetic point, always an important one, without fascina-
tion for highest aiming souls. The common ambition strains for elevations, to become some privileged exclusive.
The master sees greatness and health in being part of the mass; nothing will do as well as common ground.
Would you have in yourself the divine, vast, general law? Then merge yourself in it.

And, topping democracy, this most alluring record, that it alone can bind, and ever seeks to bind, all nations,
all men, of however various and distant lands, into a brotherhood, a family. It is the old, yet ever-modern dream
of earth, out of her eldest and her youngest, her fond philosophers and poets. Not that half only, individualism,
which isolates. There is another half, which is adhesiveness or love, that fuses, ties and aggregates, making the
races comrades, and fraternizing all. Both are to be vitalized by religion, (sole worthiest elevator of man or
State,) breathing into the proud, material tissues, the breath of life. For I say at the core of democracy, fi-
nally, is the religious element. All the religions, old and new, are there. Nor may the scheme step forth, cloth-
ed in resplendent beauty and command, till these, bearing the best, the latest fruit, the spiritual, shall fully
appear.

A portion of our pages we might indite with reference toward Europe, especially the British part of it, more than
our own land, perhaps not absolutely needed for the home reader. But the whole question hangs together, and fast-
ens and links all peoples. The liberalist of to-day has this advantage over antique or medieval times, that his
doctrine seeks not only to individualize but to universalize. The great word Solidarity has arisen. Of all dan-
gers to a nation, as things exist in our day, there can be no greater one than having certain portions of the pe-
ople set off from the rest by a line drawn -- they not privileged as others, but degraded, humiliated, made of
no account. Much quackery teems, of course, even on democracy's side, yet does not really affect the orbic qual-
ity of the matter. To work in, if we may so term it, and justify God, his divine aggregate, the People, (or, the
veritable horn'd and sharp-tail'd Devil, his aggregate, if there be who convulsively insist upon it) -- this, I
say, is what democracy is for; and this is what our America means, and is doing -- may I not say, has done? If
not, she means nothing more, and does nothing more, than any other land. And as, by virtue of its cosmical, anti-
septic power, Nature's stomach is fully strong enough not only to digest the morbific matter always presented,
not to be turn'd aside, and perhaps, indeed, intuitively gravitating thither -- but even to change such contri-
butions into nutriment for highest use and life -- so American democracy's. That is the lesson we, these days,
send over to European lands by every western breeze.

And, truly, whatever may be said in the way of abstract argument, for or against the theory of a wider democra-
tizing of institutions in any civilized country, much trouble might well be saved to all European lands by re-
cognizing this palpable fact, (for a palpable fact it is,) that some form of such democratizing is about the
only resource now left. That, or chronic dissatisfaction continued, mutterings which grow annually louder and
louder, till, in due course, and pretty swiftly in most cases, the inevitable crisis, crash, dynastic ruin.
Anything worthy to be call'd statesmanship in the Old World, I should say, among the advanced students, adepts,
or men of any brains, does not debate today whether to hold on, attempting to lean back and monarchize, or to
look forward and democratize -- but how, and in what degree and part, most prudently to democratize.

The eager and often inconsiderate appeals of reformers and revolutionists are indispensable, to counterbalance
the inertness and fossilism making so large a part of human institutions. The latter will always take care of
themselves -- the danger being that they rapidly tend to ossify us. The former is to be treated with indulgence,
and even with respect. As circulation to air, so is agitation and a plentiful degree of speculative license to
political and moral sanity. Indirectly, but surely, goodness, virtue, law, (of the very best,) follow freedom.
These, to democracy, are what the keel is to the ship, or saltness to the ocean.

The true gravitation-hold of liberalism in the United States will be a more universal ownership of property,
general homesteads, general comfort -- a vast, intertwining reticulation of wealth. As the human frame, or,
indeed, any object in this manifold universe, is best kept together by the simple miracle of its own cohesion,
and the necessity, exercise and profit thereof, so a great and varied nationality, occupying millions of square
miles, were firmest held and knit by the principle of the safety and endurance of the aggregate of its middling
property owners. So that, from another point of view, ungracious as it may sound, and a paradox after what we
have been saying, democracy looks with suspicious, ill-satisfied eye upon the very poor, the ignorant, and on
those out of business. She asks for men and women with occupations, well-off, owners of houses and acres, and
with cash in the bank -- and with some cravings for literature, too; and must have them, and hastens to make
them. Luckily, the seed is alreadwell-sown, and has taken ineradicable root.

Huge and mighty are our days, our republican lands -- and most in their rapid shiftings, their changes, all in
the interest of the cause. As I write this particular passage, (November, 1868,) the din of disputation rages
around me. Acrid the temper of the parties, vital the pending questions. Congress convenes; the President sends
his message; reconstruction is still in abeyance; the nomination and the contest for the twenty-first President-
iad draw close, with loudest threat and bustle. Of these, and all the like of these, the eventuations I know not;
but well I know that behind them, and whatever their eventuations, the vital things remain safe and certain, and
all the needed work goes on. Time, with soon or later superciliousness, disposes of Presidents, Congressmen, par-
ty platforms, and such. Anon, it clears the stage of each and any mortal shred that thinks itself so potent to
its day; and at and after which, (with precious, golden exceptions once or twice in a century,) all that relates
to sir potency is flung to moulder in a burial-vault, and no one bothers himself the least bit about it afterward.
But the People ever remain, tendencies continue, and all the idiocratic transfers in unbroken chain go on.

In a few years the dominion-heart of America will be far inland, toward the West. Our future national capital may
not be where the present one is. It is possible, nay likely, that in less than fifty years, it will migrate a
thousand or two miles, will be re-founded, and every thing belonging to it made on a different plan, original,
far more superb. The main social, political, spine-character of the States will probably run along the Ohio, Mis-
souri and Mississippi rivers, and west and north of them, including Canada. Those regions, with the group of pow-
erful brothers toward the Pacific, (destined to the mastership of that sea and its countless paradises of islands,)
will compact and settle the traits of America, with all the old retain'd, but more expanded, grafted on newer, har-
dier, purely native stock. A giant growth, composite from the rest, getting their contribution, absorbing it, to
make it more illustrious. From the north, intellect, the sun of things, also the idea of unswayable justice, anchor
amid the last, the wildest tempests. From the south the living soul, the animus of good and bad, haughtily admit-
ting no demonstration but its own. While from the west itself comes solid personality, with blood and brawn, and
the deep quality of all-accepting fusion.

Political democracy, as it exists and practically works in America, with all its threatening evils, supplies a
training-school for making first-class men. It is life's gymnasium, not of good only, but of all. We try often,
though we fall back often. A brave delight, fit for freedom's athletes, fills these arenas, and fully satisfies,
out of the action in them, irrespective of success. Whatever we do not attain, we at any rate attain the experi-
ences of the fight, the hardening of the strong campaign, and throb with currents of attempt at least. Time is
ample. Let the victors come after us. Not for nothing does evil play its part among us. Judging from the main
portions of the history of the world, so far, justice is always in jeopardy, peace walks amid hourly pitfalls,
and of slavery, misery, meanness, the craft of tyrants and the credulity of the populace, in some of their pro-
tean forms, no voice can at any time say, They are not. The clouds break a little, and the sun shines out --
but soon and certain the lowering darkness falls again, as if to last forever. Yet is there an immortal courage
and prophecy in every sane soul that cannot, must not, under any circumstances, capitulate. Vive, the attack --
the perennial assault! Vive, the unpopular cause -- the spirit that audaciously aims -- the never-abandon'd ef-
forts, pursued the same amid opposing proofs and precedents.

Once, before the war, (Alas! I dare not say how many times the mood has come!) I, too, was fill'd with doubt
and gloom. A foreigner, an acute and good man, had impressively said to me, that day -- putting in form, indeed,
my own observations: "I have travel'd much in the United States, and watch'd their politicians, and listen'd to
the speeches of the candidates, and read the journals, and gone into the public houses, and heard the unguarded
talk of men. And I have found your vaunted America honeycomb'd from top to toe with infidelism, even to itself
and its own programme. I have mark'd the brazen hell-faces of secession and slavery gazing defiantly from all
the windows and doorways. I have everywhere found, primarily, thieves and scalliwags arranging the nominations
to offices, and sometimes filling the offices themselves. I have found the north just as full of bad stuff as
the south. Of the holders of public office in the Nation or the States or their municipalities, I have found
that not one in a hundred has been chosen by any spontaneous selection of the outsiders, the people, but all
have been nominated and put through by little or large caucuses of the politicians, and have got in by corrupt
rings and electioneering, not capacity or desert. I have noticed how the millions of sturdy farmers and mechan-
ics are thus the helpless supple-jacks of comparatively few politicians. And I have noticed more and more, the
alarming spectacle of parties usurping the government, and openly and shamelessly wielding it for party purposes."

Sad, serious, deep truths. Yet are there other, still deeper, amply confronting, dominating truths. Over those
politicians and great and little rings, and over all their insolence and wiles, and over the powerfulest parties,
looms a power, too sluggish may-be, but ever holding decisions and decrees in hand, ready, with stern process,
to execute them as soon as plainly needed -- and at times, indeed, summarily crushing to atoms the mightiest
parties, even in the hour of their pride.

In saner hours far different are the amounts of these things from what, at first sight, they appear. Though it
is no doubt important who is elected governor, mayor, or legislator, (and full of dismay when incompetent or
vile ones get elected, as they sometimes do,) there are other, quieter contingencies, infinitely more important.
Shams, &c., will always be the show, like ocean's scum; enough, if waters deep and clear make up the rest. Enough,
that while the piled embroider'd shoddy gaud and fraud spreads to the superficial eye, the hidden warp and weft
are genuine, and will wear forever. Enough, in short, that the race, the land which could raise such as the late
rebellion, could also put it down.

The average man of a land at last only is important. He, in these States, remains immortal owner and boss, deri-
ving good uses, somehow, out of any sort of servant in office, even the basest; (certain universal requisites,
and their settled regularity and protection, being first secured,) a nation like ours, in a sort of geological
formation state, trying continually new experiments, choosing new delegations, is not served by the best men
only, but sometimes more by those that provoke it -- by the combats they arouse. Thus national rage, fury, dis-
cussion, &c., better than content. Thus, also, the warning signals, invaluable for after times.

What is more dramatic than the spectacle we have seen repeated, and doubtless long shall see -- the popular
judgment taking the successful candidates on trial in the offices -- standing off, as it were, and observing
them and their doings for a while, and always giving, finally, the fit, exactly due reward? I think, after all,
the sublimest part of political history, and its culmination, is currently issuing from the American people. I
know nothing grander, better exercise, better digestion, more positive proof of the past, the triumphant result
of faith in human kind, than a well-contested American national election.

Then still the thought returns, (like the thread-passage in overtures,) giving the key and echo to these pages.
When I pass to and fro, different latitudes, different seasons, beholding the crowds of the great cities, New
York, Boston, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, Chicago, St. Louis, San Francisco, New Orleans, Baltimore -- when I mix
with these interminable swarms of alert, turbulent, good-natured, independent citizens, mechanics, clerks, young
persons -- at the idea of this mass of men, so fresh and free, so loving and so proud, a singular awe falls upon
me. I feel, with dejection and amazement, that among our geniuses and talented writers or speakers, few or none
have yet really spoken to this people, created a single image-making work for them, or absorb'd the central spi-
rit and the idiosyncrasies which are theirs -- and which, thus, in highest ranges, so far remain entirely uncel-
ebrated, unexpress'd.

Dominion strong is the body's; dominion stronger is the mind's. What has fill'd, and fills to-day our intellect,
our fancy, furnishing the standards therein, is yet foreign. The great poems, Shakspere included, are poisonous
to the idea of the pride and dignity of the common people, the life-blood of democracy. The models of our liter-
ature, as we get it from other lands, ultramarine, have had their birth in courts, and bask'd and grown in castle
sunshine; all smells of princes' favors. Of workers of a certain sort, we have, indeed, plenty, contributing after
their kind; many elegant, many learn'd, all complacent. But touch'd by the national test, or tried by the standards
of democratic personality, they wither to ashes. I say I have not seen a single writer, artist, lecturer, or what
not, that has confronted the voiceless but ever erect and active, pervading, underlying will and typic aspiration
of the land, in a spirit kindred to itself. Do you call those genteel little creatures American poets? Do you term
that perpetual, pistareen, paste-pot work, American art, American drama, taste, verse? I think I hear, echoed as
from some mountain-top afar in the west, the scornful laugh of the Genius of these States.

Democracy, in silence, biding its time, ponders its own ideals, not of literature and art only -- not of men only,
but of women. The idea of the women of America, (extricated from this daze, this fossil and unhealthy air which
hangs about the word lady,) develop'd, raised to become the robust equals, workers, and, it may be, even practical
and political deciders with the men -- greater than man, we may admit, through their divine maternity, always their
towering, emblematical attribute -- but great, at any rate, as man, in all departments; or, rather, capable of be-
ing so, soon as they realize it, and can bring themselves to give up toys and fictions, and launch forth, as men
do, amid real, independent, stormy life.

Then, as towards our thought's final?, (and, in that, overarching the true scholar's lesson,) we have to say there
can be no complete or epical presentation of democracy in the aggregate, or anything like it, at this day, because
its doctrines will only be effectually incarnated in any one branch, when, in all, their spirit is at the root and
centre. Far, far, indeed, stretch, in distance, our Vistas! How much is still to be disentangled, freed! How long
it takes to make this American world see that it is, in itself, the final authority and reliance!

Did you, too, O friend, suppose democracy was only for elections, for politics, and for a party name? I say demo-
cracy is only of use there that it may pass on and come to its flower and fruits in manners, in the highest forms
of interaction between men, and their beliefs -- in religion, literature, colleges, and schools -- democracy in all
public and private life, and in the army and navy. I have intimated that, as a paramount scheme, it has yet few or
no full realizers and believers. I do not see, either, that it owes any serious thanks to noted propagandists or
champions, or has been essentially help'd, though often harm'd, by them. It has been and is carried on by all the
moral forces, and by trade, finance, machinery, intercommunications, and, in fact, by all the developments of his-
tory, and can no more be stopp'd than the tides, or the earth in its orbit. Doubtless, also, it resides, crude and
latent, well down in the hearts of the fair average of the American-born people, mainly in the agricultural regions.
But it is not yet, there or anywhere, the fully-receiv'd, the fervid, the absolute faith.

I submit, therefore, that the fruition of democracy, on aught like a grand scale, resides altogether in the future.
As, under any profound and comprehensive view of the gorgeous-composite feudal world, we see in it, through the long
ages and cycles of ages, the results of a deep, integral, human and divine principle, or fountain, from which issued
laws, ecclesia, manners, institutes, costumes, personalities, poems, (hitherto unequall'd,) faithfully partaking of
their source, and indeed only arising either to betoken it, or to furnish parts of that varied-flowing display,
whose centre was one and absolute -- so, long ages hence, shall the due historian or critic make at least an equal
retrospect, an equal history for the democratic principle. It too must be adorn'd, credited with its results --
then, when it, with imperial power, through amplest time, has dominated mankind -- has been the source and test of
all the moral, esthetic, social, political, and religious expressions and institutes of the civilized world -- has
begotten them in spirit and in form, and has carried them to its own unprecedented heights -- has had, (it is poss-
ible,) monastics and ascetics, more numerous, more devout than the monks and priests of all previous creeds -- has
sway'd the ages with a breadth and rectitude tallying Nature's own -- has fashion'd, systematized, and triumphantly
finish'd and carried out, in its own interest, and with unparallel'd success, a new earth and a new man.

Thus we presume to write, as it were, upon things that exist not, and travel by maps yet unmade, and a blank. But
the throes of birth are upon us; and we have something of this advantage in seasons of strong formations, doubts,
suspense -- for then the afflatus of such themes haply may fall upon us, more or less; and then, hot from surround-
ing war and revolution, our speech, though without polish'd coherence, and a failure by the standard called criti-
cism, comes forth, real at least as the lightnings.

And maybe we, these days, have, too, our own reward -- (for there are yet some, in all lands, worthy to be so en-
couraged.) Though not for us the joy of entering at the last the conquer'd city -- not ours the chance ever to see
with our own eyes the peerless power and splendid eclat of the democratic principle, arriv'd at meridian, filling
the world with effulgence and majesty far beyond those of past history's kings, or all dynastic sway -- there is yet,
to whoever is eligible among us, the prophetic vision, the joy of being toss'd in the brave turmoil of these times --
the promulgation and the path, obedient, lowly reverent to the voice, the gesture of the god, or holy ghost, which
others see not, hear not -- with the proud consciousness that amid whatever clouds, seductions, or heart-wearying
postponements, we have never deserted, never despair'd, never abandon'd the faith.

So much contributed, to be conn'd well, to help prepare and brace our edifice, our plann'd Idea -- we still proceed
to give it in another of its aspects -- perhaps the main, the high facade of all. For to democracy, the leveler, the
unyielding principle of the average, is surely join'd another principle, equally unyielding, closely tracking the
first, indispensable to it, opposite, (as the sexes are opposite,) and whose existence, confronting and ever modi-
fying the other, often clashing, paradoxical, yet neither of highest avail without the other, plainly supplies to
these grand cosmic politics of ours, and to the launch'd forth mortal dangers of republicanism, to-day or any day,
the counterpart and offset whereby Nature restrains the deadly original relentlessness of all her first-class laws.
This second principle is individuality, the pride and centripetal isolation of a human being in himself -- identity
-- personalism. Whatever the name, its acceptance and thorough infusion through the organizations of political com-
monalty now shooting Aurora-like about the world, are of utmost importance, as the principle itself is needed for
very life's sake. It forms, in a sort, or is to form, the compensating balance-wheel of the successful working ma-
chinery of aggregate America.

And, if we think of it, what does civilization itself rest upon -- and what object has it, with its religions, arts,
schools, &c., but rich, luxuriant, varied personalism? To that, all bends; and it is because toward such result dem-
ocracy alone, on anything like Nature's scale, breaks up the limitless fallows of humankind, and plants the seed,
and gives fair play, that its claims now precede the rest. The literature, songs, esthetics, &c., of a country are
of importance principally because they furnish the materials and suggestions of personality for the women and men of
that country, and enforce them in a thousand effective ways. As the top-most claim of a strong consolidating of the
nationality of these States, is, that only by such powerful compaction can the separate States secure that full and
free swing within their spheres, which is becoming to them, each after its kind, so will individuality, with unim-
peded branchings, flourish best under imperial republican forms.

Assuming Democracy to be at present in its embryo condition, and that the only large and satisfactory justification
of it resides in the future, mainly through the copious production of perfect characters among the people, and
through the advent of a sane and pervading religiousness, it is with regard to the atmosphere and spaciousness fit
for such characters, and of certain nutriment and cartoon-draftings proper for them, and indicating them for New
World purposes, that I continue the present statement -- an exploration, as of new ground, wherein, like other prim-
itive surveyors, I must do the best I can, leaving it to those who come after me to do much better. (The service,
in fact, if any, must be to break a sort of first path or track, no matter how rude and ungeometrical.)

We have frequently printed the word Democracy. Yet I cannot too often repeat that it is a word the real gist of
which still sleeps, quite unawaken'd, notwithstanding the resonance and the many angry tempests out of which its
syllables have come, from pen or tongue. It is a great word, whose history, I suppose, remains unwritten, because
that history has yet to be enacted. It is, in some sort, younger brother of another great and often-used word,
Nature, whose history also waits unwritten. As I perceive, the tendencies of our day, in the States, (and I en-
tirely respect them,) are toward those vast and sweeping movements, influences, moral and physical, of humanity,
now and always current over the planet, on the scale of the impulses of the elements. Then it is also good to
reduce the whole matter to the consideration of a single self, a man, a woman, on permanent grounds. Even for
the treatment of the universal, in politics, metaphysics, or anything, sooner or later we come down to one sing-
le, solitary soul.

There is, in sanest hours, a consciousness, a thought that rises, independent, lifted out from all else, calm,
like the stars, shining eternal. This is the thought of identity -- yours for you, whoever you are, as mine for
me. Miracle of miracles, beyond statement, most spiritual and vaguest of earth's dreams, yet hardest basic fact,
and only entrance to all facts. In such devout hours, in the midst of the significant wonders of heaven and earth,
(significant only because of the Me in the centre,) creeds, conventions, fall away and become of no account before
this simple idea. Under the luminousness of real vision, it alone takes possession, takes value. Like the shadowy
dwarf in the fable, once liberated and look'd upon, it expands over the whole earth, and spreads to the roof of
heaven.

The quality of BEING, in the object's self, according to its own central idea and purpose, and of growing there-
from and thereto -- not criticism by other standards, and adjustments thereto -- is the lesson of Nature. True,
the full man wisely gathers, culls, absorbs; but if, engaged disproportionately in that, he slights or overlays
the precious idiocrasy and special nativity and intention that he is, the man's self, the main thing, is a fail-
ure, however wide his general cultivation. Thus, in our times, refinement and delicatesse are not only attended
to sufficiently, but threaten to eat us up, like a cancer. Already, the democratic genius watches, ill-pleased,
these tendencies. Provision for a little healthy rudeness, savage virtue, justification of what one has in one's
self, whatever it is, is demanded. Negative qualities, even deficiencies, would be a relief. Singleness and nor-
mal simplicity and separation, amid this more and more complex, more and more artificialized state of society --
how pensively we yearn for them! how we would welcome their return!

In some such direction, then -- at any rate enough to preserve the balance -- we feel called upon to throw what
weight we can, not for absolute reasons, but current ones. To prune, gather, trim, conform, and ever cram and
stuff, and be genteel and proper, is the pressure of our days. While aware that much can be said even in behalf
of all this, we perceive that we have not now to consider the question of what is demanded to serve a half-star-
ved and barbarous nation, or set of nations, but what is most applicable, most pertinent, for numerous congeries
of conventional, over-corpulent societies, already becoming stifled and rotten with flatulent, infidelistic lit-
erature, and polite conformity and art. In addition to establish'd sciences, we suggest a science as it were of
healthy average personalism, on original-universal grounds, the object of which should be to raise up and supply
through the States a copious race of superb American men and women, cheerful, religious, ahead of any yet known.

America has yet morally and artistically originated nothing. She seems singularly unaware that the models of per-
sons, books, manners, &c., appropriate for former conditions and for European lands, are but exiles and exotics
here. No current of her life, as shown on the surfaces of what is authoritatively called her society, accepts or
runs into social or esthetic democracy; but all the currents set squarely against it. Never, in the Old World,
was thoroughly upholster'd exterior appearance and show, mental and other, built entirely on the idea of caste,
and on the sufficiency of mere outside acquisition -- never were glibness, verbal intellect, more the test, the
emulation -- more loftily elevated as head and sample -- than they are on the surface of our republican States
this day. The writers of a time hint the mottoes of its gods. The word of the modern, say these voices, is the
word Culture.

We find ourselves abruptly in close quarters with the enemy. This word Culture, or what it has come to represent,
involves, by contrast, our whole theme, and has been, indeed, the spur, urging us to engagement. Certain quest-
ions arise. As now taught, accepted and carried out, are not the processes of culture rapidly creating a class
of supercilious infidels, who believe in nothing? Shall a man lose himself in countless masses of adjustments,
and be so shaped with reference to this, that, and the other, that the simply good and healthy and brave parts
of him are reduced and clipp'd away, like the bordering of box in a garden? You can cultivate corn and roses and
orchards -- but who shall cultivate the mountain peaks, the ocean, and the tumbling gorgeousness of the clouds?
Lastly -- is the readily-given reply that culture only seeks to help, systematize, and put in attitude, the el-
ements of fertility and power, a conclusive reply?

I do not so much object to the name, or word, but I should certainly insist, for the purposes of these States,
on a radical change of category, in the distribution of precedence. I should demand a programme of culture,
drawn out, not for a single class alone, or for the parlors or lecture-rooms, but with an eye to practical life,
the west, the working-men, the facts of farms and jack-planes and engineers, and of the broad range of the women
also of the middle and working strata, and with reference to the perfect equality of women, and of a grand and
powerful motherhood. I should demand of this programme or theory a scope generous enough to include the widest
human area. It must have for its spinal meaning the formation of a typical personality of character, eligible
to the uses of the high average of men -- and not restricted by conditions ineligible to the masses. The best
culture will always be that of the manly and courageous instincts, and loving perceptions, and of self-respect
-- aiming to form, over this continent, an idiocrasy of universalism, which, true child of America, will bring
joy to its mother, returning to her in her own spirit, recruiting myriads of offspring, able, natural, percep-
tive, tolerant, devout believers in her, America, and with some definite instinct why and for what she has ari-
sen, most vast, most formidable of historic births, and is, now and here, with wonderful step, journeying
through Time.

The problem, as it seems to me, presented to the New World, is, under permanent law and order, and after pre-
serving cohesion, (ensemble-Individuality,) at all hazards, to vitalize man's free play of special Personalism,
recognizing in it something that calls ever more to be consider'd, fed, and adopted as the substratum for the
best that belongs to us, (government indeed is for it,) including the new esthetics of our future.

To formulate beyond this present vagueness -- to help line and put before us the species, or a specimen of the
species, of the democratic ethnology of the future, is a work toward which the genius of our land, with peculiar
encouragement, invites her well-wishers. Already certain limnings, more or less grotesque, more or less fading
and watery, have appear'd. We too, (repressing doubts and qualms,) will try our hand.

Attempting, then, however crudely, a basic model or portrait of personality for general use for the manliness
of the States, (and doubtless that is most useful which is most simple and comprehensive for all, and toned low
enough,) we should prepare the canvas well beforehand. Parentage must consider itself in advance. (Will the
time hasten when fatherhood and motherhood shall become a science -- and the noblest science?) To our model,
a clear-blooded, strong-fibred physique, is indispensable; the questions of food, drink, air, exercise, assimila-
tion, digestion, can never be intermitted. Out of these we descry a well-begotten selfhood -- in youth, fresh,
ardent, emotional, aspiring, full of adventure; at maturity, brave, perceptive, under control, neither too talk-
ative nor too reticent, neither flippant nor sombre; of the bodily figure, the movements easy, the complexion
showing the best blood, somewhat flush'd, breast expanded, an erect attitude, a voice whose sound outvies music,
eyes of calm and steady gaze, yet capable also of flashing -- and a general presence that holds its own in the
company of the highest. (For it is native personality, and that alone, that endows a man to stand before presi-
dents or generals, or in any distinguish'd collection, with aplomb -- and not culture, or any knowledge or intel-
lect whatever.)

With regard to the mental-educational part of our model, enlargement of intellect, stores of cephalic knowledge,
&c., the concentration thitherward of all the customs of our age, especially in America, is so overweening, and
provides so fully for that part, that, important and necessary as it is, it really needs nothing from us here --
except, indeed, a phrase of warning and restraint. Manners, costumes, too, though important, we need not dwell
upon here. Like beauty, grace of motion, &c., they are results. Causes, original things, being attended to, the
right manners unerringly follow. Much is said, among artists, of "the grand style," as if it were a thing by it-
self. When a man, artist or whoever, has health, pride, acuteness, noble aspirations, he has the motive-elements
of the grandest style. The rest is but manipulation, (yet that is no small matter.)

Leaving still unspecified several sterling parts of any model fit for the future personality of America, I must
not fail, again and ever, to pronounce myself on one, probably the least attended to in modern times -- a hiatus,
indeed, threatening its gloomiest consequences after us. I mean the simple, unsophisticated Conscience, the pri-
mary moral element. If I were asked to specify in what quarter lie the grounds of darkest dread, respecting the
America of our hopes, I should have to point to this particular. I should demand the invariable application to
individuality, this day and any day, of that old, ever-true plumb-rule of persons, eras, nations. Our triumphant
modern civilizee, with his all-schooling and his wondrous appliances, will still show himself but an amputation
while this deficiency remains. Beyond, (assuming a more hopeful tone,) the vertebration of the manly and womanly
personalism of our western world, can only be, and is, indeed, to be, (I hope,) its all penetrating Religiousness.

The ripeness of Religion is doubtless to be looked for in this field of individuality, and is a result that no
organization or church can ever achieve. As history is poorly retain'd by what the technists call history, and is
not given out from their pages, except the learner has in himself the sense of the well-wrapt, never yet written,
perhaps impossible to be written, history -- so Religion, although casually arrested, and, after a fashion, pre-
serv'd in the churches and creeds, does not depend at all upon them, but is a part of the identified soul, which,
when greatest, knows not bibles in the old way, but in new ways -- the identified soul, which can really confront
Religion when it extricates itself entirely from the churches, and not before.

Personalism fuses this, and favors it. I should say, indeed, that only in the perfect uncontamination and solitar-
iness of individuality may the spirituality of religion positively come forth at all. Only here, and on such terms,
the meditation, the devout ecstasy, the soaring flight. Only here, communion with the mysteries, the eternal prob-
lems, whence? whither? Alone, and identity, and the mood -- and the soul emerges, and all statements, churches,
sermons, melt away like vapors. Alone, and silent thought and awe, and aspiration -- and then the interior consci-
ousness, like a hitherto unseen inscription, in magic ink, beams out its wondrous lines to the sense. Bibles may
convey, and priests expound, but it is exclusively for the noiseless operation of one's isolated Self, to enter
the pure ether of veneration, reach the divine levels, and commune with the unutterable.

To practically enter into politics is an important part of American personalism. To every young man, north and
south, earnestly studying these things, I should here, as an offset to what I have said in former pages, now also
say, that may-be to views of very largest scope, after all, perhaps the political, (perhaps the literary and soci-
ological,) America goes best about its development its own way -- sometimes, to temporary sight, appaling enough.
It is the fashion among dillettants and fops (perhaps I myself am not guiltless,) to decry the whole formulation
of the active politics of America, as beyond redemption, and to be carefully kept away from. See you that you do
not fall into this error. America, it may be, is doing very well upon the whole, notwithstanding these antics of
the parties and their leaders, these half-brain'd nominees, the many ignorant ballots, and many elected failures
and blatherers. It is the dillettants, and all who shirk their duty, who are not doing well. As for you, I advise
you to enter more strongly yet into politics. I advise every young man to do so. Always inform yourself; always
do the best you can; always vote. Disengage yourself from parties. They have been useful, and to some extent re-
main so; but the floating, uncommitted electors, farmers, clerks, mechanics, the masters of parties -- watching
aloof, inclining victory this side or that side -- such are the ones most needed, present and future. For America,
if eligible at all to downfall and ruin, is eligible within herself, not without; for I see clearly that the com-
bined foreign world could not beat her down. But these savage, wolfish parties alarm me. Owning no law but their
own will, more and more combative, less and less tolerant of the idea of ensemble and of equal brotherhood, the
perfect equality of the States, the ever-overarching American ideas, it behooves you to convey yourself implic-
itly to no party, nor submit blindly to their dictators, but steadily hold yourself judge and master over all of
them.

So much, (hastily toss'd together, and leaving far more unsaid,) for an ideal, or intimations of an ideal, toward
American manhood. But the other sex, in our land, requires at least a basis of suggestion.

I have seen a young American woman, one of a large family of daughters, who, some years since, migrated from her
meagre country home to one of the northern cities, to gain her own support. She soon became an expert seamstress,
but finding the employment too confining for health and comfort, she went boldly to work for others, to house-keep,
cook, clean, etc. After trying several places, she fell upon one where she was suited. She has told me that she
finds nothing degrading in her position; it is not inconsistent with personal dignity, self-respect, and the res-
pect of others. She confers benefits and receives them. She has good health; her presence itself is healthy and
bracing; her character is unstain'd; she has made herself understood, and preserves her independence, and has been
able to help her parents, and educate and get places for her sisters; and her course of life is not without oppor-
tunities for mental improvement, and of much quiet, uncosting happiness and love.

I have seen another woman who, from taste and necessity conjoin'd, has gone into practical affairs, carries on a
mechanical business, partly works at it herself, dashes out more and more into real hardy life, is not abash'd by
the coarseness of the contact, knows how to be firm and silent at the same time, holds her own with unvarying cool-
ness and decorum, and will compare, any day, with superior carpenters, farmers, and even boatmen and drivers. For
all that, she has not lost the charm of the womanly nature, but preserves and bears it fully, though through such
rugged presentation.

Then there is the wife of a mechanic, mother of two children, a woman of merely passable English education, but of
fine wit, with all her sex's grace and intuitions, who exhibits, indeed, such a noble female personality, that I am
fain to record it here. Never abnegating her own proper independence, but always genially preserving it, and what
belongs to it -- cooking, washing, child-nursing, house-tending -- she beams sunshine out of all these duties, and
makes them illustrious. Physiologically sweet and sound, loving work, practical, she yet knows that there are inter-
vals, however few, devoted to recreation, music, leisure, hospitality -- and affords such intervals. Whatever she
does, and wherever she is, that charm, that indescribable perfume of genuine womanhood attends her, goes with her,
exhales from her, which belongs of right to all the sex, and is, or ought to be, the invariable atmosphere and com-
mon aureola of old as well as young.

My dear mother once described to me a resplendent person, down on Long Island, whom she knew in early days. She was
known by the name of the Peacemaker. She was well toward eighty years old, of happy and sunny temperament, had al-
ways lived on a farm, and was very neighborly, sensible and discreet, an invariable and welcom'd favorite, especial-
ly with young married women. She had numerous children and grandchildren. She was uneducated, but possess'd a native
dignity. She had come to be a tacitly agreed upon domestic regulator, judge, settler of difficulties, shepherdess,
and reconciler in the land. She was a sight to draw near and look upon, with her large figure, her profuse snow-
white hair, (uncoif'd by any head-dress or cap,) dark eyes, clear complexion, sweet breath, and peculiar personal
magnetism.

The foregoing portraits, I admit, are frightfully out of line from these imported models of womanly personality --
the stock feminine characters of the current novelists, or of the foreign court poems, (Ophelias, Enids, princesses,
or ladies of one thing or another,) which fill the envying dreams of so many poor girls, and are accepted by our
men, too, as supreme ideals of feminine excellence to be sought after. But I present mine just for a change.

Then there are mutterings, (we will not now stop to heed them here, but they must be heeded,) of something more
revolutionary. The day is coming when the deep questions of woman's entrance amid the arenas of practical life,
politics, the suffrage, etc., will not only be argued all around us, but may be put to decision, and real experiment.

Of course, in these States, for both man and woman, we must entirely recast the types of highest personality from
what the oriental, feudal, ecclesiastical worlds bequeath us, and which yet possess the imaginative and esthetic
fields of the United States, pictorial and melodramatic, not without use as studies, but making sad work, and form-
ing a strange anachronism upon the scenes and exigencies around us. Of course, the old undying elements remain.
The task is, to successfully adjust them to new combinations, our own days. Nor is this so incredible. I can con-
ceive a community, to-day and here, in which, on a sufficient scale, the perfect personalities, without noise meet;
say in some pleasant western settlement or town, where a couple of hundred best men and women, of ordinary worldly
status, have by luck been drawn together, with nothing extra of genius or wealth, but virtuous, chaste, industrious,
cheerful, resolute, friendly and devout. I can conceive such a community organized in running order, powers judici-
ously delegated -- farming, building, trade, courts, mails, schools, elections, all attended to; and then the rest
of life, the main thing, freely branching and blossoming in each individual, and bearing golden fruit. I can see
there, in every young and old man, after his kind, and in every woman after hers, a true personality, develop'd,
exercised proportionately in body, mind, and spirit. I can imagine this case as one not necessarily rare or diffi-
cult, but in buoyant accordance with the municipal and general requirements of our times. And I can realize in it
the culmination of something better than any stereotyped eclat of history or poems. Perhaps, unsung, undramatized,
unput in essays or biographies -- perhaps even some such community already exists, in Ohio, Illinois, Missouri,
or somewhere, practically fulfilling itself, and thus outvying, in cheapest vulgar life, all that has been hither-
to shown in best ideal pictures.

In short, and to sum up, America, betaking herself to formative action, (as it is about time for more solid achiev-
ement, and less windy promise,) must, for her purposes, cease to recognize a theory of character grown of feudal
aristocracies, or form'd by merely literary standards, or from any ultramarine, full-dress formulas of culture,
polish, caste, &c., and must sternly promulgate her own new standard, yet old enough, and accepting the old, the
perennial elements, and combining them into groups, unities, appropriate to the modern, the democratic, the west,
and to the practical occasions and needs of our own cities, and of the agricultural regions. Ever the most precious
in the common. Ever the fresh breeze of field, or hill, or lake, is more than any palpitation of fans, though of
ivory, and redolent with perfume; and the air is more than the costliest perfumes.

And now, for fear of mistake, we may not intermit to beg our absolution from all that genuinely is, or goes along
with, even Culture. Pardon us, venerable shade! if we have seem'd to speak lightly of your office. The whole civil-
ization of the earth, we know, is yours, with all the glory and the light thereof. It is, indeed, in your own spirit,
and seeking to tally the loftiest teachings of it, that we aim these poor utterances. For you, too, mighty minister!
know that there is something greater than you, namely, the fresh, eternal qualities of Being. From them, and by them,
as you, at your best, we too evoke the last, the needed help, to vitalize our country and our days. Thus we pro-
nounce not so much against the principle of culture; we only supervise it, and promulge along with it, as deep, per-
haps a deeper, principle. As we have shown the New World including in itself the all-leveling aggregate of democracy,
we show it also including the all-varied, all-permitting, all-free theorem of individuality, and erecting therefor a
lofty and hitherto unoccupied framework or platform, broad enough for all, eligible to every farmer and mechanic --
to the female equally with the male -- a towering selfhood, not physically perfect only -- not satisfied with the
mere mind's and learning's stores, but religious, possessing the idea of the infinite, (rudder and compass sure amid
this troublous voyage, o'er darkest, wildest wave, through stormiest wind, of man's or nation's progress) -- realiz-
ing, above the rest, that known humanity, in deepest sense, is fair adhesion to itself, for purposes beyond -- and
that, finally, the personality of mortal life is most important with reference to the immortal, the unknown, the
spiritual, the only permanently real, which as the ocean waits for and receives the rivers, waits for us each and
all.

Much is there, yet, demanding line and outline in our Vistas, not only on these topics, but others quite unwritten.
Indeed, we could talk the matter, and expand it, through lifetime. But it is necessary to return to our original
premises. In view of them, we have again pointedly to confess that all the objective grandeurs of the world, for
highest purposes, yield themselves up, and depend on mentality alone. Here, and here only, all balances, all rests.
For the mind, which alone builds the permanent edifice, haughtily builds it to itself. By it, with what follows it,
are convey'd to mortal sense the culminations of the materialistic, the known, and a prophecy of the unknown. To
take expression, to incarnate, to endow a literature with grand and archetypal models -- to fill with pride and
love the utmost capacity, and to achieve spiritual meanings, and suggest the future -- these, and these only, sat-
isfy the soul. We must not say one word against real materials; but the wise know that they do not become real
till touched by emotions, the mind. Did we call the latter imponderable? Ah, let us rather proclaim that the
slightest song-tune, the countless ephemera of passions arous'd by orators and tale-tellers, are more dense, more
weighty than the engines there in the great factories, or the granite blocks in their foundations.

Approaching thus the momentous spaces, and considering with reference to a new and greater personalism, the needs
and possibilities of American imaginative literature, through the medium-light of what we have already broach'd,
it will at once be appreciated that a vast gulf of difference separates the present accepted condition of these
spaces, inclusive of what is floating in them, from any condition adjusted to, or fit for, the world, the America,
there sought to be indicated, and the copious races of complete men and women, along these Vistas crudely outlined.
It is, in some sort, no less a difference than lies between that long-continued nebular state and vagueness of the
astronomical worlds, compared with the subsequent state, the definitely-form'd worlds themselves, duly compacted,
clustering in systems, hung up there, chandeliers of the universe, beholding and mutually lit by each other's
lights, serving for ground of all substantial foothold, all vulgar uses -- yet serving still more as an undying
chain and echelon of spiritual proofs and shows. A boundless field to fill! A new creation, with needed orbic
works launch'd forth, to revolve in free and lawful circuits -- to move, self-poised, through the ether, and shine
like heaven's own suns! With such, and nothing less, we suggest that New World literature, fit to rise upon, co-
here, and signalize in time, these States.

What, however, do we more definitely mean by New World literature? Are we not doing well enough here already? Are
not the United States this day busily using, working, more printer's type, more presses, than any other country?
uttering and absorbing more publications than any other? Do not our publishers fatten quicker and deeper? (helping
themselves, under shelter of a delusive and sneaking law, or rather absence of law, to most of their forage, poet-
ical, pictorial, historical, romantic, even comic, without money and without price -- and fiercely resisting the
timidest proposal to pay for it.) Many will come under this delusion -- but my purpose is to dispel it. I say that
a nation may hold and circulate rivers and oceans of very readable print, journals, magazines, novels, library-
books, "poetry," etc. -- such as the States to-day possess and circulate -- of unquestionable aid and value -- hun-
dreds of new volumes annually composed and brought out here, respectable enough, indeed unsurpass'd in smartness
and erudition -- with further hundreds, or rather millions, (as by free forage or theft aforemention'd,) also
thrown into the market -- and yet, all the while, the said nation, land, strictly speaking, may possess no liter-
ature at all.

Repeating our inquiry, what, then, do we mean by real literature? especially the democratic literature of the
future? Hard questions to meet. The clues are inferential, and turn us to the past. At best, we can only offer
suggestions, comparisons, circuits.

It must still be reiterated, as, for the purpose of these memoranda, the deep lesson of history and time, that
all else in the contributions of a nation or age, through its politics, materials, heroic personalities, military
eclat, &c., remains crude, and defers, in any close and thorough-going estimate, until vitalized by national,
original archetypes in literature. They only put the nation in form, finally tell anything -- prove, complete
anything -- perpetuate anything. Without doubt, some of the richest and most powerful and populous communities
of the antique world, and some of the grandest personalities and events, have, to after and present times, left
themselves entirely unbequeath'd. Doubtless, greater than any that have come down to us, were among those lands,
heroisms, persons, that have not come down to us at all, even by name, date, or location. Others have arrived
safely, as from voyages over wide, century-stretching seas. The little ships, the miracles that have buoy'd them,
and by incredible chances safely convey'd them, (or the best of them, their meaning and essence,) over long
wastes, darkness, lethargy, ignorance, &c., have been a few inscriptions -- a few immortal compositions, small
in size, yet compassing what measureless values of reminiscence, contemporary portraitures, manners, idioms and
beliefs, with deepest inference, hint and thought, to tie and touch forever the old, new body, and the old, new
soul! These! and still these! bearing the freight so dear -- dearer than pride -- dearer than love. All the best
experience of humanity, folded, saved, freighted to us here. Some of these tiny ships we call Old and New Test-
ament, Homer, Aeschylus, Plato, Juvenal, etc Precious minims! I think, if we were forced to choose, rather than
have you, and the likes of you, and what belongs to, and has grown of you, blotted out and gone, we could better
afford, appaling as that would be, to lose all actual ships, this day fasten'd by wharf, or floating on wave,
and see them, with all their cargoes, scuttled and sent to the bottom.

Gather'd by geniuses of city, race or age, and put by them in highest of art's forms, namely, the literary form,
the peculiar combinations and the outshows of that city, age, or race, its particular modes of the universal at-
tributes and passions, its faiths, heroes, lovers and gods, wars, traditions, struggles, crimes, emotions, joys,
(or the subtle spirit of these,) having been pass'd on to us to illumine our own selfhood, and its experiences --
what they supply, indispensable and highest, if taken away, nothing else in all the world's boundless storehouses
could make up to us, or ever again return.

For us, along the great highways of time, those monuments stand -- those forms of majesty and beauty. For us
those beacons burn through all the nights. Unknown Egyptians, graving hieroglyphs; Hindus, with hymn and apothegm
and endless epic; Hebrew prophet, with spirituality, as in flashes of lightning, conscience like red-hot iron,
plaintive songs and screams of vengeance for tyrannies and enslavement; Christ, with bent head, brooding love and
peace, like a dove; Greek, creating eternal shapes of physical and esthetic proportion; Roman, lord of satire,
the sword, and the codex; -- of the figures, some far off and veil'd, others nearer and visible; Dante, stalking
with lean form, nothing but fibre, not a grain of superfluous flesh; Angelo, and the great painters, architects,
musicians; rich Shakspere, luxuriant as the sun, artist and singer of feudalism in its sunset, with all the gor-
geous colors, owner thereof, and using them at will; and so to such as German Kant and Hegel, where they, though
near us, leaping over the ages, sit again, impassive, imperturbable, like the Egyptian gods. Of these, and the
like of these, is it too much, indeed, to return to our favorite figure, and view them as orbs and systems of
orbs, moving in free paths in the spaces of that other heaven, the kosmic intellect, the soul?

Ye powerful and resplendent ones! ye were, in your atmospheres, grown not for America, but rather for her foes,
the feudal and the old -- while our genius is democratic and modern. Yet could ye, indeed, but breathe your breath
of life into our New World's nostrils -- not to enslave us, as now, but, for our needs, to breed a spirit like
your own -- perhaps, (dare we to say it?) to dominate, even destroy, what you yourselves have left! On your plane,
and no less, but even higher and wider, must we mete and measure for to-day and here. I demand races of orbic
bards, with unconditional uncompromising sway. Come forth, sweet democratic despots of the west!

By points like these we, in reflection, token what we mean by any land's or people's genuine literature. And thus
compared and tested, judging amid the influence of loftiest products only, what do our current copious fields of
print, covering in manifold forms, the United States, better, for an analogy, present, than, as in certain regions
of the sea, those spreading, undulating masses of squid, through which the whale swimming, with head half out,
feeds?

Not but that doubtless our current so-called literature, (like an endless supply of small coin,) performs a cer-
tain service, and may-be, too, the service needed for the time, (the preparation-service, as children learn to
spell.) Everybody reads, and truly nearly everybody writes, either books, or for the magazines or journals. The
matter has magnitude, too, after a sort. But is it really advancing? or, has it advanced for a long while? There
is something impressive about the huge editions of the dailies and weeklies, the mountain stacks of white paper
piled in the press-vaults, and the proud, crashing, ten-cylinder presses, which I can stand and watch any time by
the half hour. Then, (though the States in the field of imagination present not a single first-class work, not a
single great literatus,) the main objects, to amuse, to titillate, to pass away time, to circulate the news, and
rumors of news, to rhyme and read rhyme, are yet attain'd, and on a scale of infinity. Today, in books, in the
rivalry of writers, especially novelists, success, (so-call'd,) is for him or her who strikes the mean flat av-
erage, the sensational appetite for stimulus, incident, persiflage, &c., and depicts, to the common calibre, sen-
sual, exterior life. To such, or the luckiest of them, as we see, the audiences are limitless and profitable; but
they cease presently. While this day, or any day, to workmen portraying interior or spiritual life, the audiences
were limited, and often laggard -- but they last forever.

Compared with the past, our modern science soars, and our journals serve -- but ideal and even ordinary romantic
literature, does not, I think, substantially advance. Behold the prolific brood of the contemporary novel, maga-
zine-tale, theatre-play, etc. The same endless thread of tangled and superlative love-story, inherited, apparently
from the Amadises and Palmerins of the 13th, 14th, and 15th centuries over there in Europe. The costumes and asso-
ciations brought down to date, the seasoning hotter and more varied, the dragons and ogres left out -- but the
thing, I should say, has not advanced -- is just as sensational, just as strain'd -- remains about the same, nor
more, nor less.

What is the reason our time, our lands, that we see no fresh local courage, sanity, of our own -- the Mississippi,
stalwart Western men, real mental and physical facts, Southerners, &c., in the body of our literature? especially
the poetic part of it. But always, instead, a parcel of dandies and ennuyees, dapper little gentlemen from abroad,
who flood us with their thin sentiment of parlors, parasols, piano-songs, tinkling rhymes, the five-hundredth im-
portation -- or whimpering and crying about something, chasing one aborted conceit after another, and forever oc-
cupied in dyspeptic amours with dyspeptic women. While, current and novel, the grandest events and revolutions,
and stormiest passions of history, are crossing today with unparallel'd rapidity and magnificence over the stages
of our own and all the continents, offering new materials, opening new vistas, with largest needs, inviting the
daring launching forth of conceptions in literature, inspired by them, soaring in highest regions, serving art in
its highest, (which is only the other name for serving God, and serving humanity,) where is the man of letters,
where is the book, with any nobler aim than to follow in the old track, repeat what has been said before -- and,
as its utmost triumph, sell well, and be erudite or elegant?

Mark the roads, the processes, through which these States have arrived, standing easy, henceforth ever-equal, ever-
compact, in their range to-day. European adventures? the most antique? Asiatic or African? old history -- miracles
-- romances? Rather, our own unquestion'd facts. They hasten, incredible, blazing bright as fire. From the deeds
and days of Columbus down to the present, and including the present -- and especially the late Secession war --
when I con them, I feel, every leaf, like stopping to see if I have not made a mistake, and fall'n on the splendid
figments of some dream. But it is no dream. We stand, live, move, in the huge flow of our age's materialism -- in
its spirituality. We have had founded for us the most positive of lands. The founders have pass'd to other spheres
-- but what are these terrible duties they have left us?

Their politics the United States have, in my opinion, with all their faults, already substantially establish'd, for
good, on their own native, sound, long-vista'd principles, never to be overturn'd, offering a sure basis for all
the rest. With that, their future religious forms, sociology, literature, teachers, schools, costumes, &c., are of
course to make a compact whole, uniform, on tallying principles. For how can we remain, divided, contradicting our-
selves, this way? I say we can only attain harmony and stability by consulting ensemble and the ethic purports,
and faithfully building upon them. For the New World, indeed, after two grand stages of preparation-strata, I per-
ceive that now a third stage, being ready for, (and without which the other two were useless,) with unmistakable
signs appears. The First stage was the planning and putting on record the political foundation rights of immense
masses of people -- indeed all people -- in the organization of republican National, State, and municipal govern-
ments, all constructed with reference to each, and each to all. This is the American programme, not for classes,
but for universal man, and is embodied in the compacts of the Declaration of Independence, and, as it began and
has now grown, with its amendments, the Federal Constitution -- and in the State governments, with all their inter-
iors, and with general suffrage; those having the sense not only of what is in themselves, but that their certain
several things started, planted, hundreds of others in the same direction duly arise and follow. The Second stage
relates to material prosperity, wealth, produce, labor-saving machines, iron, cotton, local, State and continental
railways, intercommunication and trade with all lands, steamships, mining, general employment, organization of
great cities, cheap appliances for comfort, numberless technical schools, books, newspapers, a currency for money
circulation, &c. The Third stage, rising out of the previous ones, to make them and all illustrious, I, now, for
one, promulge, announcing a native expression-spirit, getting into form, adult, and through mentality, for these
States, self-contain'd, different from others, more expansive, more rich and free, to be evidenced by original
authors and poets to come, by American personalities, plenty of them, male and female, traversing the States, none
excepted -- and by native superber tableaux and growths of language, songs, operas, orations, lectures, architec-
ture -- and by a sublime and serious Religious Democracy sternly taking command, dissolving the old, sloughing off
surfaces, and from its own interior and vital principles, reconstructing, democratizing society.

For America, type of progress, and of essential faith in man, above all his errors and wickedness -- few suspect
how deep, how deep it really strikes. The world evidently supposes, and we have evidently supposed so too, that
the States are merely to achieve the equal franchise, an elective government -- to inaugurate the respectability
of labor, and become a nation of practical operatives, law-abiding, orderly and well off. Yes, those are indeed
parts of the task of America; but they not only do not exhaust the progressive conception, but rather arise, teem-
ing with it, as the mediums of deeper, higher progress. Daughter of a physical revolution -- other of the true
revolutions, which are of the interior life, and of the arts. For so long as the spirit is not changed, any change
of appearance is of no avail.

The old men, I remember as a boy, were always talking of American independence. What is independence? Freedom from
all laws or bonds except those of one's own being, control'd by the universal ones. To lands, to man, to woman,
what is there at last to each, but the inherent soul, nativity, idiocrasy, free, highest-poised, soaring its own
flight, following out itself?

At present, these States, in their theology and social standards, (of greater importance than their political in-
stitutions,) are entirely held possession of by foreign lands. We see the sons and daughters of the New World,
ignorant of its genius, not yet inaugurating the native, the universal, and the near, still importing the distant,
the partial, and the dead. We see London, Paris, Italy -- not original, superb, as where they belong -- but second-
hand here, where they do not belong. We see the shreds of Hebrews, Romans, Greeks; but where, on her own soil, do
we see, in any faithful, highest, proud expression, America herself? I sometimes question whether she has a corner
in her own house.

Not but that in one sense, and a very grand one, good theology, good art, or good literature, has certain features
shared in common. The combination fraternizes, ties the races -- is, in many particulars, under laws applicable
indifferently to all, irrespective of climate or date, and, from whatever source, appeals to emotions, pride, love,
spirituality, common to humankind. Nevertheless, they touch a man closest, (perhaps only actually touch him,) even
in these, in their expression through autochthonic lights and shades, flavors, fondnesses, aversions, specific in-
cidents, illustrations, out of his own nationality, geography, surroundings, antecedents, etc. The spirit and the
form are one, and depend far more on association, identity and place, than is supposed. Subtly interwoven with the
materiality and personality of a land, a race -- Teuton, Turk, Californian, or what not -- there is always something
-- I can hardly tell what it is -- history but describes the results of it -- it is the same as the untellable look
of some human faces. Nature, too, in her stolid forms, is full of it -- but to most it is there a secret. This some-
thing is rooted in the invisible roots, the profoundest meanings of that place, race, or nationality; and to absorb
and again effuse it, uttering words and products as from its midst, and carrying it into highest regions, is the
work, or a main part of the work, of any country's true author, poet, historian, lecturer, and perhaps even priest
and philosoph. Here, and here only, are the foundations for our really valuable and permanent verse, drama, &c.

But at present, (judged by any higher scale than that which finds the chief ends of existence to be to feverishly
make money during one-half of it, and by some "amusement," or perhaps foreign travel, flippantly kill time, the other
half,) and consider'd with reference to purposes of patriotism, health, a noble personality, religion, and the demo-
cratic adjustments, all these swarms of poems, literary magazines, dramatic plays, resultant so far from American
intellect, and the formation of our best ideas, are useless and a mockery. They strengthen and nourish no one, ex-
press nothing characteristic, give decision and purpose to no one, and suffice only the lowest level of vacant minds.

Of what is called the drama, or dramatic presentation in the United States, as now put forth at the theatres, I
should say it deserves to be treated with the same gravity, and on a par with the questions of ornamental confect-
ionery at public dinners, or the arrangement of curtains and hangings in a ball-room -- nor more, nor less. Of the
other, I will not insult the reader's intelligence, (once really entering into the atmosphere of these Vistas,) by
supposing it necessary to show, in detail, why the copious dribble, either of our little or well-known rhymesters,
does not fulfil, in any respect, the needs and august occasions of this land. America demands a poetry that is bold,
modern, and all-surrounding and kosmical, as she is herself. It must in no respect ignore science or the modern, but
inspire itself with science and the modern. It must bend its vision toward the future, more than the past. Like Am-
erica, it must extricate itself from even the greatest models of the past, and, while courteous to them, must have
entire faith in itself, and the products of its own democratic spirit only. Like her, it must place in the van, and
hold up at all hazards, the banner of the divine pride of man in himself, (the radical foundation of the new relig-
ion.) Long enough have the People been listening to poems in which common humanity, deferential, bends low, humili-
ated, acknowledging superiors. But America listens to no such poems. Erect, inflated, and fully self-esteeming be
the chant; and then America will listen with pleased ears.

Nor may the genuine gold, the gems, when brought to light at last, be probably usher'd forth from any of the quar-
ters currently counted on. To-day, doubtless, the infant genius of American poetic expression, (eluding those highly-
refined imported and gilt-edged themes, and sentimental and butterfly flights, pleasant to orthodox publishers --
causing tender spasms in the coteries, and warranted not to chafe the sensitive cuticle of the most exquisitely ar-
tificial gossamer delicacy,) lies sleeping far away, happily unrecognized and uninjur'd by the coteries, the art-
writers, the talkers and critics of the saloons, or the lecturers in the colleges -- lies sleeping, aside, unreck-
ing itself, in some western idiom, or native Michigan or Tennessee repartee, or stump-speech -- or in Kentucky or
Georgia, or the Carolinas -- or in some slang or local song or allusion of the Manhattan, Boston, Philadelphia or
Baltimore mechanic -- or up in the Maine woods -- or off in the hut of the California miner, or crossing the Rocky
mountains, or along the Pacific railroad -- or on the breasts of the young farmers of the northwest, or Canada, or
boatmen of the lakes. Rude and coarse nursing-beds, these; but only from such beginnings and stocks, indigenous
here, may haply arrive, be grafted, and sprout, in time, flowers of genuine American aroma, and fruits truly and
fully our own.

I say it were a standing disgrace to these States -- I say it were a disgrace to any nation, distinguish'd above
others by the variety and vastness of its territories, its materials, its inventive activity, and the splendid
practicality of its people, not to rise and soar above others also in its original styles in literature and art,
and its own supply of intellectual and esthetic masterpieces, archetypal, and consistent with itself. I know not
a land except ours that has not, to some extent, however small, made its title clear. The Scotch have their born
ballads, subtly expressing their past and present, and expressing character. The Irish have theirs. England, Italy,
France, Spain, theirs. What has America? With exhaustless mines of the richest ore of epic, lyric, tale, tune,
picture, &c., in the Four Years' War; with, indeed, I sometimes think, the richest masses of material ever affor-
ded a nation, more variegated, and on a larger scale -- the first sign of proportionate, native, imaginative Soul,
and first-class works to match, is, (I cannot too often repeat), so far wanting.

Long ere the second centennial arrives, there will be some forty to fifty great States, among them Canada and Cuba.
When the present century closes, our population will be sixty or seventy millions. The Pacific will be ours, and
the Atlantic mainly ours. There will be daily electric communication with every part of the globe. What an age!
What a land! Where, elsewhere, one so great? The individuality of one nation must then, as always, lead the world.
Can there be any doubt who the leader ought to be? Bear in mind, though, that nothing less than the mightiest or-
iginal non-subordinated SOUL has ever really, gloriously led, or ever can lead. (This Soul -- its other name, in
these Vistas, is LITERATURE.)

In fond fancy leaping those hundred years ahead, let us survey America's works, poems, philosophies, fulfilling
prophecies, and giving form and decision to best ideals. Much that is now undream'd of, we might then perhaps see
establish'd, luxuriantly cropping forth, richness, vigor of letters and of artistic expression, in whose products
character will be a main requirement, and not merely erudition or elegance.

Intense and loving comradeship, the personal and passionate attachment of man to man -- which, hard to define,
underlies the lessons and ideals of the profound saviours of every land and age, and which seems to promise, when
thoroughly develop'd, cultivated and recognized in manners and literature, the most substantial hope and safety
of the future of these States, will then be fully express'd.*

A strong-fibred joyousness and faith, and the sense of health al fresco, may well enter into the preparation of
future noble American authorship. Part of the test of a great literatus shall be the absence in him of the idea
of the covert, the lurid, the maleficent, the devil, the grim estimates inherited from the Puritans, hell, natural
depravity, and the like. The great literatus will be known, among the rest, by his cheerful simplicity, his adher-
ence to natural standards, his limitless faith in God, his reverence, and by the absence in him of doubt, ennui,
burlesque, persiflage, or any strain'd and temporary fashion.

Nor must I fail, again and yet again, to clinch, reiterate more plainly still, (O that indeed such survey as we
fancy, may show in time this part completed also!) the lofty aim, surely the proudest and the purest, in whose
service the future literatus, of whatever field, may gladly labor. As we have intimated, offsetting the material
civilization of our race, our nationality, its wealth, territories, factories, population, products, trade, and
military and naval strength, and breathing breath of life into all these, and more, must be its moral civiliza-
tion -- the formulation, expression, and aidancy whereof, is the very highest height of literature. The climax
of this loftiest range of civilization, rising above all the gorgeous shows and results of wealth, intellect,
power, and art, as such -- above even theology and religious fervor -- is to be its development, from the eter-
nal bases, and the fit expression, of absolute Conscience, moral soundness, Justice. Even in religious fervor
there is a touch of animal heat. But moral conscientiousness, crystalline, without flaw, not Godlike only, en-
tirely human, awes and enchants forever. Great is emotional love, even in the order of the rational universe.
But, if we must make gradations, I am clear there is something greater. Power, love, veneration, products,
genius, esthetics, tried by subtlest comparisons, analyses, and in serenest moods, somewhere fail, somehow be-
come vain. Then noiseless, with flowing steps, the lord, the sun, the last ideal comes. By the names right,
justice, truth, we suggest, but do not describe it. To the world of men it remains a dream, an idea as they
call it. But no dream is it to the wise -- but the proudest, almost only solid lasting thing of all. Its ana-
logy in the material universe is what holds together this world, and every object upon it, and carries its
dynamics on forever sure and safe. Its lack, and the persistent shirking of it, as in life, sociology, liter-
ature, politics, business, and even sermonizing, these times, or any times, still leaves the abysm, the mortal
flaw and smutch, mocking civilization to-day, with all its unquestion'd triumphs, and all the civilization so
far known.

Present literature, while magnificently fulfilling certain popular demands, with plenteous knowledge and verbal
smartness, is profoundly sophisticated, insane, and its very joy is morbid. It needs tally and express Nature,
and the spirit of Nature, and to know and obey the standards. I say the question of Nature, largely consider'd,
involves the questions of the esthetic, the emotional, and the religious -- and involves happiness. A fitly
born and bred race, growing up in right conditions of out-door as much as in-door harmony, activity and devel-
opment, would probably, from and in those conditions, find it enough merely to live -- and would, in their re-
lations to the sky, air, water, trees, &c., and to the countless common shows, and in the fact of life itself,
discover and achieve happiness -- with Being suffused night and day by wholesome extasy, surpassing all the
pleasures that wealth, amusement, and even gratified intellect, erudition, or the sense of art, can give.

In the prophetic literature of these States (the reader of my speculations will miss their principal stress
unless he allows well for the point that a new Literature, perhaps a new Metaphysics, certainly a new Poetry,
are to be, in my opinion, the only sure and worthy supports and expressions of the American Democracy,) Nature,
true Nature, and the true idea of Nature, long absent, must, above all, become fully restored, enlarged, and
must furnish the pervading atmosphere to poems, and the test of all high literary and esthetic compositions.
I do not mean the smooth walks, trimm'd hedges, poseys and nightingales of the English poets, but the whole
orb, with its geologic history, the kosmos, carrying fire and snow, that rolls through the illimitable areas,
light as a feather, though weighing billions of tons. Furthermore, as by what we now partially call Nature is
intended, at most, only what is entertainable by the physical conscience, the sense of matter, and of good
animal health -- on these it must be distinctly accumulated, incorporated, that man, comprehending these, has,
in towering superaddition, the moral and spiritual consciences, indicating his destination beyond the osten-
sible, the mortal.

To the heights of such estimate of Nature indeed ascending, we proceed to make observations for our Vistas,
breathing rarest air. What is I believe called Idealism seems to me to suggest, (guarding against extravagance,
and ever modified even by its opposite,) the course of inquiry and desert of favor for our New World metaphy-
sics, their foundation of and in literature, giving hue to all.

The elevating and etherealizing ideas of the unknown and of unreality must be brought forward with authority,
as they are the legitimate heirs of the known, and of reality, and at least as great as their parents. Fear-
less of scoffing, and of the ostent, let us take our stand, our ground, and never desert it, to confront the
growing excess and arrogance of realism. To the cry, now victorious -- the cry of sense, science, flesh, in-
comes, farms, merchandise, logic, intellect, demonstrations, solid perpetuities, buildings of brick and iron,
or even the facts of the shows of trees, earth, rocks, &c., fear not, my brethren, my sisters, to sound out
with equally determin'd voice, that conviction brooding within the recesses of every envision'd soul -- illu-
sions! apparitions! figments all! True, we must not condemn the show, neither absolutely deny it, for the
indispensability of its meanings; but how clearly we see that, migrate in soul to what we can already con-
ceive of superior and spiritual points of view, and, palpable as it seems under present relations, it all
and several might, nay certainly would, fall apart and vanish.

I hail with joy the oceanic, variegated, intense practical energy, the demand for facts, even the business
materialism of the current age, our States. But woe to the age or land in which these things, movements,
stopping at themselves, do not tend to ideas. As fuel to flame, and flame to the heavens, so must wealth,
science, materialism -- even this democracy of which we make so much -- unerringly feed the highest mind,
the soul. Infinitude the flight: fathomless the mystery. Man, so diminutive, dilates beyond the sensible
universe, competes with, outcopes space and time, meditating even one great idea. Thus, and thus only, does
a human being, his spirit, ascend above, and justify, objective Nature, which, probably nothing in itself,
is incredibly and divinely serviceable, indispensable, real, here. And as the purport of objective Nature
is doubtless folded, hidden, somewhere here -- as somewhere here is what this globe and its manifold forms,
and the light of day, and night's darkness, and life itself, with all its experiences, are for -- it is
here the great literature, especially verse, must get its inspiration and throbbing blood. Then may we at-
tain to a poetry worthy the immortal soul of man, and which, while absorbing materials, and, in their own
sense, the shows of Nature, will, above all, have, both directly and indirectly, a freeing, fluidizing,
expanding, religious character, exulting with science, fructifying the moral elements, and stimulating as-
pirations, and meditations on the unknown.

The process, so far, is indirect and peculiar, and though it may be suggested, cannot be defined. Observing,
rapport, and with intuition, the shows and forms presented by Nature, the sensuous luxuriance, the beautiful
in living men and women, the actual play of passions, in history and life -- and, above all, from those de-
velopments either in Nature or human personality in which power, (dearest of all to the sense of the art-
ist,) transacts itself -- out of these, and seizing what is in them, the poet, the aesthetic worker in any
field, by the divine magic of his genius, projects them, their analogies, by curious removes, indirections,
in literature and art. (No useless attempt to repeat the material creation, by daguerreotyping the exact
likeness by mortal mental means.) This is the image-making faculty, coping with material creation, and ri-
valing, almost triumphing over it. This alone, when all the other parts of a specimen of literature or art
are ready and waiting, can breathe into it the breath of life, and endow it with identity.

"The true question to ask," says the librarian of Congress in a paper read before the Social Science Con-
vention at New York, October, 1869, "The true question to ask respecting a book, is, has it help'd any hu-
man soul?" This is the hint, statement, not only of the great literatus, his book, but of every great art-
ist. It may be that all works of art are to be first tried by their art qualities, their image-forming tal-
ent, and their dramatic, pictorial, plot-constructing, euphonious and other talents. Then, whenever claim-
ing to be first-class works, they are to be strictly and sternly tried by their foundation in, and radia-
tion, in the highest sense, and always indirectly, of the ethic principles, and eligibility to free, arouse,
dilate.

As, within the purposes of the Kosmos, and vivifying all meteorology, and all the congeries of the mineral,
vegetable and animal worlds -- all the physical growth and development of man, and all the history of the
race in politics, religions, wars, etc., there is a moral purpose, a visible or invisible intention, certain-
ly underlying all -- its results and proof needing to be patiently waited for -- needing intuition, faith,
idiosyncrasy, to its realization, which many, and especially the intellectual, do not have -- so in the pro-
duct, or congeries of the product, of the greatest literatus. This is the last, profoundest measure and test
of a first-class literary or esthetic achievement, and when understood and put in force must fain, I say,
lead to works, books, nobler than any hitherto known. Lo! Nature, (the only complete, actual poem,) exist-
ing calmly in the divine scheme, containing all, content, careless of the criticisms of a day, or these
endless and wordy chatterers. And lo! to the consciousness of the soul, the permanent identity, the thought,
the something, before which the magnitude even of democracy, art, literature, &c., dwindles, becomes partial,
measurable -- something that fully satisfies, (which those do not.) That something is the All, and the idea
of All, with the accompanying idea of eternity, and of itself, the soul, buoyant, indestructible, sailing
space forever, visiting every region, as a ship the sea. And again lo! the pulsations in all matter, all
spirit, throbbing forever -- the eternal beats, eternal systole and diastole of life in things -- wherefrom
I feel and know that death is not the ending, as was thought, but rather the real beginning -- and that no-
thing ever is or can be lost, nor ever die, nor soul, nor matter.

In the future of these States must arise poets immenser far, and make great poems of death. The poems of
life are great, but there must be the poems of the purports of life, not only in itself, but beyond itself.
I have eulogized Homer, the sacred bards of Jewry, Aeschylus, Juvenal, Shakspere, &c., and acknowledged their
inestimable value. But, (with perhaps the exception, in some, not all respects, of the second-mention'd,) I
say there must, for future and democratic purposes, appear poets, (dare I to say so?) of higher class even
than any of those -- poets not only possess'd of the religious fire and abandon of Isaiah, luxuriant in the
epic talent of Homer, or for proud characters as in Shakspere, but consistent with the Hegelian formulas,
and consistent with modern science. America needs, and the world needs, a class of bards who will, now and
ever, so link and tally the rational physical being of man, with the ensembles of time and space, and with
this vast and multiform show, Nature, surrounding him, ever tantalizing him, equally a part, and yet not a
part of him, as to essentially harmonize, satisfy, and put at rest. Faith, very old, now scared away by
science, must be restored, brought back by the same power that caused her departure -- restored with new
sway, deeper, wider, higher than ever. Surely, this universal ennui, this coward fear, this shuddering at
death, these low, degrading views, are not always to rule the spirit pervading future society, as it has
the past, and does the present. What the Roman Lucretius sought most nobly, yet all too blindly, negatively
to do for his age and its successors, must be done positively by some great coming literatus, especially
poet, who, -- while remaining fully poet, will absorb whatever science indicates, with spiritualism, and
out of them, and out of his own genius, will compose the great poem of death. Then will man indeed confront
Nature, and confront time and space, both with science, and con amore, and take his right place, prepared
for life, master of fortune and misfortune. And then that which was long wanted will be supplied, and the
ship that had it not before in all her voyages, will have an anchor.

There are still other standards, suggestions, for products of high literatuses. That which really balances
and conserves the social and political world is not so much legislation, police, treaties, and dread of pun-
ishment, as the latent eternal intuitional sense, in humanity, of fairness, manliness, decorum, &c. Indeed,
this perennial regulation, control, and oversight, by self-suppliance, is sine qua non to democracy; and a
highest widest aim of democratic literature may well be to bring forth, cultivate, brace, and strengthen
this sense, in individuals and society. A strong mastership of the general inferior self by the superior
self, is to be aided, secured, indirectly, but surely, by the literatus, in his works, shaping, for indivi-
dual or aggregate democracy, a great passionate body, in and along with which goes a great masterful spirit.

And still, providing for contingencies, I fain confront the fact, the need of powerful native philosophs
and orators and bards, these States, as rallying points to come, in times of danger, and to fend off ruin
and defection. For history is long, long, long. Shift and turn the combinations of the statement as we may,
the problem of the future of America is in certain respects as dark as it is vast. Pride, competition, seg-
regation, vicious wilfulness, and license beyond example, brood already upon us. Unwieldy and immense, who
shall hold in behemoth? who bridle leviathan? Flaunt it as we choose, athwart and over the roads of our pro-
gress loom huge uncertainty, and dreadful, threatening gloom. It is useless to deny it: Democracy grows
rankly up the thickest, noxious, deadliest plants and fruits of all -- brings worse and worse invaders --
needs newer, larger, stronger, keener compensations and compellers.

Our lands, embracing so much, (embracing indeed the whole, rejecting none,) hold in their breast that
flame also, capable of consuming themselves, consuming us all. Short as the span of our national life has
been, already have death and downfall crowded close upon us -- and will again crowd close, no doubt, even
if warded off. Ages to come may never know, but I know, how narrowly during the late secession war -- and
more than once, and more than twice or thrice -- our Nationality, (wherein bound up, as in a ship in a
storm, depended, and yet depend, all our best life, all hope, all value,) just grazed, just by a hair es-
caped destruction. Alas! to think of them! the agony and bloody sweat of certain of those hours! those
cruel, sharp, suspended crises!

Even to-day, amid these whirls, incredible flippancy, and blind fury of parties, infidelity, entire lack
of first-class captains and leaders, added to the plentiful meanness and vulgarity of the ostensible masses
-- that problem, the labor question, beginning to open like a yawning gulf, rapidly widening every year --
what prospect have we? We sail a dangerous sea of seething currents, cross and under-currents, vortices --
all so dark, untried -- and whither shall we turn? It seems as if the Almighty had spread before this nation
charts of imperial destinies, dazzling as the sun, yet with many a deep intestine difficulty, and human ag-
gregate of cankerous imperfection, -- saying, lo! the roads, the only plans of development, long and varied
with all terrible balks and ebullitions. You said in your soul, I will be empire of empires, overshadowing
all else, past and present, putting the history of old-world dynasties, conquests behind me, as of no ac-
count -- making a new history, a history of democracy, making old history a dwarf -- I alone inaugurating
largeness, culminating time. If these, O lands of America, are indeed the prizes, the determinations of
your soul, be it so. But behold the cost, and already specimens of the cost. Thought you greatness was to
ripen for you like a pear? If you would have greatness, know that you must conquer it through ages, centu-
ries -- must pay for it with a proportionate price. For you too, as for all lands, the struggle, the trai-
tor, the wily person in office, scrofulous wealth, the surfeit of prosperity, the demonism of greed, the
hell of passion, the decay of faith, the long postponement, the fossil-like lethargy, the ceaseless need
of revolutions, prophets, thunderstorms, deaths, births, new projections and invigorations of ideas and
men.

Yet I have dream'd, merged in that hidden-tangled problem of our fate, whose long unraveling stretches
mysteriously through time -- dream'd out, portray'd, hinted already -- a little or a larger band -- a band
of brave and true, unprecedented yet -- arm'd and equipt at every point -- the members separated, it may
be, by different dates and States, or south, or north, or east, or west -- Pacific, Atlantic, Southern,
Canadian -- a year, a century here, and other centuries there -- but always one, compact in soul, consci-
ence-conserving, God-inculcating, inspired achievers, not only in literature, the greatest art, but achie-
vers in all art -- a new, undying order, dynasty, from age to age transmitted -- a band, a class, at least
as fit to cope with current years, our dangers, needs, as those who, for their times, so long, so well, in
armor or in cowl, upheld and made illustrious, that far-back feudal, priestly world. To offset chivalry,
indeed, those vanish'd countless knights, old altars, abbeys, priests, ages and strings of ages, a knight-
lier and more sacred cause to-day demands, and shall supply, in a New World, to larger, grander work, more
than the counterpart and tally of them.

Arrived now, definitely, at an apex for these Vistas, I confess that the promulgation and belief in such
a class or institution -- a new and greater literatus order -- its possibility, (nay certainty,) underlies
these entire speculations -- and that the rest, the other parts, as superstructures, are all founded upon
it. It really seems to me the condition, not only of our future national and democratic development, but of
our perpetuation. In the highly artificial and materialistic bases of modern civilization, with the corre-
sponding arrangements and methods of living, the force-infusion of intellect alone, the depraving influences
of riches just as much as poverty, the absence of all high ideals in character -- with the long series of
tendencies, shapings, which few are strong enough to resist, and which now seem, with steam-engine speed,
to be everywhere turning out the generations of humanity like uniform iron castings -- all of which, as
compared with the feudal ages, we can yet do nothing better than accept, make the best of, and even wel-
come, upon the whole, for their oceanic practical grandeur, and their restless wholesale kneading of the
masses -- I say of all this tremendous and dominant play of solely materialistic bearings upon current
life in the United States, with the results as already seen, accumulating, and reaching far into the fu-
ture, that they must either be confronted and met by at least an equally subtle and tremendous force-in-
fusion for purposes of spiritualization, for the pure conscience, for genuine esthetics, and for absolute
and primal manliness and womanliness -- or else our modern civilization, with all its improvements, is
in vain, and we are on the road to a destiny, a status, equivalent, in its real world, to that of the fa-
bled damned.

Prospecting thus the coming unsped days, and that new order in them -- marking the endless train of exer-
cise, development, unwind, in nation as in man, which life is for -- we see, fore-indicated, amid these
prospects and hopes, new law-forces of spoken and written language -- not merely the pedagogue-forms, cor-
rect, regular, familiar with precedents, made for matters of outside propriety, fine words, thoughts de-
finitely told out -- but a language fann'd by the breath of Nature, which leaps overhead, cares mostly for
impetus and effects, and for what it plants and invigorates to grow -- tallies life and character, and
seldomer tells a thing than suggests or necessitates it. In fact, a new theory of literary composition
for imaginative works of the very first class, and especially for highest poems, is the sole course open
to these States. Books are to be call'd for, and supplied, on the assumption that the process of reading
is not a half sleep, but, in highest sense, an exercise, a gymnast's struggle; that the reader is to do
something for himself, must be on the alert, must himself or herself construct indeed the poem, argument,
history, metaphysical essay -- the text furnishing the hints, the clue, the start or frame-work. Not the
book needs so much to be the complete thing, but the reader of the book does. That were to make a nation
of supple and athletic minds, well-train'd, intuitive, used to depend on themselves, and not on a few co-
teries of writers.

Investigating here, we see, not that it is a little thing we have, in having the bequeath'd libraries,
countless shelves of volumes, records, &c.; yet how serious the danger, depending entirely on them, of
the bloodless vein, the nerveless arm, the false application, at second or third hand. We see that the
real interest of this people of ours in the theology, history, poetry, politics, and personal models of
the past, (the British islands, for instance, and indeed all the past,) is not necessarily to mould our-
selves or our literature upon them, but to attain fuller, more definite comparisons, warnings, and the
insight to ourselves, our own present, and our own far grander, different, future history, religion, so-
cial customs, &c. We see that almost everything that has been written, sung, or stated, of old, with ref-
erence to humanity under the feudal and oriental institutes, religions, and for other lands, needs to be
re-written, re-sung, re-stated, in terms consistent with the institution of these States, and to come in
range and obedient uniformity with them.

We see, as in the universes of the material cosmos, after meteorological, vegetable, and animal cycles,
man at last arises, born through them, to prove them, concentrate them, to turn upon them with wonder and
love -- to command them, adorn them, and carry them upward into superior realms -- so, out of the series
of the preceding social and political universes, now arise these States. We see that while many were sup-
posing things established and completed, really the grandest things always remain; and discover that the
work of the New World is not ended, but only fairly begun.

We see our land, America, her literature, esthetics, &c., as, substantially, the getting in form, or ef-
fusement and statement, of deepest basic elements and loftiest final meanings, of history and man -- and
the portrayal, (under the eternal laws and conditions of beauty,) of our own physiognomy, the subjective
tie and expression of the objective, as from our own combination, continuation, and points of view -- and
the deposit and record of the national mentality, character, appeals, heroism, wars, and even liberties --
where these, and all, culminate in native literary and artistic formulation, to be perpetuated; and not
having which native, first-class formulation, she will flounder about, and her other, however imposing,
eminent greatness, prove merely a passing gleam; but truly having which, she will understand herself, live
nobly, nobly contribute, emanate, and, swinging, poised safely on herself, illumin'd and illuming, become
a full-form'd world, and divine Mother not only of material but spiritual worlds, in ceaseless succession
through time -- the main thing being the average, the bodily, the concrete, the democratic, the popular,
on which all the superstructures of the future are to permanently rest.

(1871)