In Memory of Thomas Paine
Walt Whitman
[Spoken at Lincoln Hall, Philadelphia, Sunday, Jan.
28, 1877,
for the 140th anniversary of Thomas Paine's birthday.]
SOME thirty-five years ago, in New York city, at Tammany hall, of
which place I was then a frequenter, I happen'd to become quite well
acquainted with Thomas Paine's perhaps most intimate chum, and
certainly his later years' very frequent companion, a remarkably
fine old man, Col. Fellows, who may yet be remember'd by some stray
relics of that period and spot. If you will allow me, I will first
give a description of the Colonel himself. He was tall, of military
bearing, aged about 78 I should think, hair white as snow,
clean-shaved on the face, dress'd very neatly, a tail-coat of blue
cloth with metal buttons, buff vest, pantaloons of drab color, and
his neck, breast and wrists showing the whitest of linen. Under all
circumstances, fine manners; a good but not profuse talker, his wits
still fully about him, balanced and live and undimm'd as ever. He
kept pretty fair health, though so old. For employment-for he was
poor-he had a post as constable of some of the upper courts. I used
to think him very picturesque on the fringe of a crowd holding a
tall staff, with his erect form, and his superb, bare, thickhair'd,
closely-cropt white head. The judges and young lawyers, with whom he
was ever a favorite, and the subject of respect, used to call him
Aristides. It was the general opinion among them that if manly
rectitude and the instincts of absolute justice remain'd vital
anywhere about New York City Hall, or Tammany, they were to be found
in Col. Fellows. He liked young men, and enjoy'd to leisurely talk
with them over a social glass of toddy, after his day's work, (he on
these occasions never drank but one glass,) and it was at reiterated
meetings of this kind in old Tammany's back parlor of those days,
that he told me much about Thomas Paine. At one of our interviews he
gave me a minute account of Paine's sickness and death. In short,
from those talks, I was and am satisfied that my old friend, with
his mark'd advantages, had mentally, morally and emotionally gauged
the author of "Common Sense," and besides giving me a good
portrait of his appearance and manners, had taken the true measure
of his interior character.
Paine's practical demeanor, and much of his theoretical belief, was
a mixture of the French and English schools of a century ago, and
the best of both. Like most old-fashion'd people, he drank a glass
or two every day, but was no tippler, nor intemperate, let alone
being a drunkard. He lived simply and economically, but quite
well-was always cheery and courteous, perhaps occasionally a little
blunt, having very positive opinions upon politics, religion, and so
forth. That he labor'd well and wisely for the States in the trying
period of their parturition, and in the seeds of their character,
there seems to me no question. I dare not say how much of what our
Union is owning and enjoying to day-its independence-its ardent
belief in, and substantial practice of, radical human rights-and the
severance of its government from all ecclesiastical and
superstitious dominion-I dare not say how much of all this is owing
to Thomas Paine, but I am inclined to think a good portion of it
decidedly is.
But I was not going either into an analysis or eulogium of the man.
I wanted to carry you back a generation or two, and give you by
indirection a moment's glance-and also to ventilate a very earnest
and I believe authentic opinion, nay conviction, of that time, the
fruit of the interviews I have mention'd, and of questioning and
cross-questioning, clench'd by my best information since, that
Thomas Paine had a noble personality, as exhibited in presence,
face, voice, dress, manner, and what may be call'd his atmosphere
and magnetism, especially the later years of his life. I am sure of
it. Of the foul and foolish fictions yet told about the
circumstances of his decease, the absolute fact is that as he lived
a good life, after its kind, he died calmly and philosophically, as
became him. He served the embryo Union with most precious service-a
service that every man, woman and child in our thirty-eight States
is to some extent receiving the benefit of to day-and I for one here
cheerfully, reverently throw my pebble on the cairn of his memory.
As we all know, the season demands-or rather, will it ever be out of
season?-that America learn to better dwell on her choicest
possession, the legacy of her good and faithful men-that she well
preserve their fame, if unquestion'd-or, if need be, that she fail
not to dissipate what clouds have intruded on that fame, and burnish
it newer, truer and brighter, continually.
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