In only one thing was he disappointed. The men had seemed, to his searching gaze, fit sons of that new land of possibility; but in the women he had failed to find the qualifications he was seeking.[599] Physically and mentally, he saw them still in bondage to old-world traditions; instead of originating nobler and more generous manners, they were imitating the foolish gentility of the East. Whitman was very exacting in his ideal of womanhood; and perhaps it was mainly upon the ladies of the shops and streets that his strictures were passed; for there are others in that Western world, who are not far from her whom he has described in the "Song of the Broad-axe"--the best-beloved, possessed of herself, who is strong in her beauty as are the laws of nature.[600] * * * * * After six months at home among his books and his friends--to whom at this time he added, at least by correspondence, Colonel Robert Ingersoll, afterwards a member of the inner circle--Whitman set out upon another journey, in length almost equal to that of the preceding autumn. Early in June,[601] he crossed the bridge over Niagara on his way to London, Ontario; and now at his second sight, the significance of that majestic scene, which thirty years before he would seem to have missed, was discovered to him. Staying with Dr. Bucke, he made frequent visits to the great asylum, with its thousand patients, under the wise doctor's care. Walt's own family life, with the tragedy of his youngest brother's incapacity, had made the melancholy brotherhood of those whom he has beautifully described as the "sacred idiots"[602] especially interesting to him. He attended the religious services held in the asylum; joining with those wrecked minds in a common worship, and seeing the storms of their lives strangely quieted, as though a Divine love, brooding over all, had hushed them.[603] With many of the patients he became personally acquainted, and years afterwards recalled them by name, inquiring affectionately after their welfare. Whitman was in better health than usual, and in excellent spirits. He loved the doctor, was happy and at home in his household, and on the best of terms with its younger members. Among the latter, his presence never checked the natural flow of high spirits, as does the presence of most grown-up persons: he was always one of themselves. This, indeed, was a characteristic of Whitman in whatever company he was found, from a kindergarten to a company of "publicans and sinners". The spirit of comradeship identified him with the others, and he was so profoundly himself that such identification took nothing away from his own identity. Among the young people of Dr. Bucke's household his fun and humour had free and natural expression; as when, for example, one moonlit evening, he undertook the burial of an empty wine-bottle, addressing a magniloquent oration over its last resting-place to the goddess Semele.