I met him, which was in Washington, in
the fall of 1863. I was impressed by the fine grain and clean, fresh
quality of the man. Some passages in his poems had led me to expect
something different. He always had the look of a man who had just taken a
bath. The skin was light and clear, and the blood well to the surface. His
body, as I once noticed when we were bathing in the surf, had a peculiar
fresh bloom and fineness and delicacy of texture. His physiology was
undoubtedly remarkable, unique. The full beauty of his face and head did
not appear till he was past sixty. After that, I have little doubt, it was
the finest head this age or country has seen. Every artist who saw him
was instantly filled with a keen desire to sketch him. The lines were so
simple, so free, and so strong. High, arching brows; straight, clear-cut
nose; heavy-lidded blue-gray eyes; forehead not thrust out and emphasized,
but a vital part of a symmetrical, dome-shaped head; ear large, and the
most delicately carved I have ever seen; the mouth and chin hidden by a
soft, long, white beard. It seems to me his face steadily refined and
strengthened with age. Time depleted him in just the right way,--softened
his beard and took away the too florid look; subdued the carnal man, and
brought out more fully the spiritual man. When I last saw him (December
26, 1891), though he had been very near death for many days, I am sure I
had never seen his face so beautiful. There was no breaking-down of the
features, or the least sign of decrepitude, such as we usually note in old
men. The expression was full of pathos, but it was as grand as that of a
god. I could not think of him as near death, he looked so unconquered.

In Washington I knew Whitman intimately from the fall of 1863 to the time
he left in 1873. In Camden I visited him yearly after that date, usually
in the late summer or fall. I will give one glimpse of him from my diary,
under date of August 18, 1887. I reached his house in the morning, before
he was up. Presently he came slowly down stairs and greeted me. "Find him
pretty well,--looking better than last year. With his light-gray suit,
and white hair, and fresh pink face, he made a fine picture. Among other
things, we talked of the Swinburne attack (then recently published). W.
did not show the least feeling on the subject, and, I clearly saw, was
absolutely undisturbed by the article. I told him I had always been more
disturbed by S.'s admiration f