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Whitman, Walt, 1819-1892

"Complete Prose Works Specimen Days and Collect, November Boughs and Goodbye My Fancy"

As if any farce could be funnier,
for instance, than the scenes of the crowds, winter nights, meandering
around our Presidents and their wives, cabinet officers, western or
other Senators, Representatives, &c.; born of good laboring mechanic
or farmer stock and antecedents, attempting those full-dress
receptions, finesse of parlors, foreign ceremonies, etiquettes, &c.
Indeed, consider'd with any sense of propriety, or any sense at all,
the whole of this illy-play'd fashionable play and display, with their
absorption of the best part of our wealthier citizens' time, money,
energies, &c., is ridiculously out of place in the United States.
As if our proper man and woman, (far, far greater words than
"gentleman" and "lady,") could still fail to see, and presently
achieve, not this spectral business, but something truly noble,
active, sane, American--by modes, perfections of character, manners,
costumes, social relations, &c., adjusted to standards, far, far
different from those.
Eminent and liberal foreigners, British or continental, must at times
have their faith fearfully tried by what they see of our New World
personalities. The shallowest and least American persons seem surest
to push abroad, and call without fail on well-known foreigners, who
are doubtless affected with indescribable qualms by these queer ones.
Then, more than half of our authors and writers evidently think it a
great thing to be "aristocratic," and sneer at progress, democracy,
revolution, etc.


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