this socialization of
the intelligence and the conscience, or they will be no longer
representative of the true America.

Literary illustrations of this spirit of fraternalism lie close at
hand. They are to be found here and there even in the rebellious,
well-nigh anarchic, individualism of the Concord men. They are to be
found throughout the prose and verse of Whittier. No one has preached a
truer or more effective gospel of fellowship than Longfellow, whose
poetry has been one of the pervasive influences in American democracy,
although Longfellow had but little to say about politics and never
posed in a slouch hat and with his trousers tucked into his boots.
Fellowship is taught in the _Biglow Papers_ of Lowell and the stories
of Mrs. Stowe. It is wholly absent from the prose and verse of Poe, and
it imparts but a feeble warmth to the delicately written pages of
Hawthorne. But in the books written for the great common audience of
American men and women, like the novels of Winston Churchill; and in
the plays which have scored the greatest popular successes, like those
of Denman Thompson, Bronson Howard, Gillette, Augustus Thomas, the
doctrine of fellowship is everywhere to be traced. It is in the poems
of James Whitcomb Riley and of Sam Walter Foss; in the work of hundreds
of lesser known writers of verse and prose who have echoed Foss's
sentiment about living in a "house by the side of the road" and being a
"friend of man."

To many readers the supreme literary example of the gospel of American
fellowship is to be found in Walt Whitman. One will look long before
one finds a more consistent or a nobler doctrine of fellowship than is
chanted in _Leaves of Grass_. It is based upon individualism; the
strong body and the possessed soul, sure of itself amid the whirling of
the "quicksand years"; but it sets these strong persons upon the "open
road" in comradeship; it is the sentiment of comradeship which creates
the indissoluble union of "these States"; and the States, in turn, in
spite of every "alarmist," "partialist," or "infidel," are to stretch
out unsuspicious and friendly hands of fellowship to the whole world.
Anybody has the right to call _Leaves of Grass_ poor poetry, if he
pleases; but nobody has the right to deny its magnificent Americanism.

It is not merely in literature that this message of fellowship is
brought to our generation. Let me quote a few sentences from the recent
address of George Gray Barnard,