"_The President is there in the White House for you, it is not you who are here for him, The Secretaries act in their bureaus for you, not you here for them. Doctrines, politics and civilization exurge from you, Sculpture and monuments and any thing inscribed anywhere are tallied in you_." He describes the ideal American citizen--the one who "_Says indifferently and alike 'How are you, friend?' to the President at his levee, And he says 'Good-day, my brother,' to Cudge that hoes in the sugar-field_." Long ago, when the politicians were wrong, when the judges were subservient, when the pulpit was a coward, Walt Whitman shouted: "_Man shall not hold property in man._" "_The least develop'd person on earth is just as important and sacred to himself or herself as the most develop'd person is to himself or herself._" This is the very soul of true democracy. Beauty is not all there is of poetry. It must contain the truth. It is not simply an oak, rude and grand, neither is it simply a vine. It is both. Around the oak of truth runs the vine of beauty. Walt Whitman utters the elemental truths and is the poet of democracy. He is also the poet of individuality. V. INDIVIDUALITY. IN order to protect the liberties of a nation, we must protect the individual. A democracy is a nation of free individuals. The individuals are not to be sacrificed to the nation. The nation exists only for the purpose of guarding and protecting the individuality of men and women. Walt Whitman has told us that: "The whole theory of the universe is directed unerringly to one single individual--namely to You." And he has also told us that the greatest city--the greatest nation--is "where the citizen is always the head and ideal." And that "_A great city is that which has the greatest men and women, If it be a few ragged huts it is still the greatest city in the whole world._" By this test maybe the greatest city on the continent to-night is Camden. This poet has asked of us this question: "_What do you suppose will satisfy the soul, except to walk free and own no superior?_" The man who asks this question has left no impress of his lips in the dust, and has no dirt upon his knees. He was great enough to say: "_The soul has that measureless pride which revolts from every lesson but its own._" He carries the idea of individuality to its utmost height: "_What do you suppose I would intimate to you in a hundred ways, but that man or woman is as good as God? And that there is no God any more divine than Yourself?_" Glorying in individuality, in the freedom of the soul, he cries out: "O to struggle against great odds, to meet enemies undaunted! To be entirely alone with them, to find how much one can stand! To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, face to face! To mount the scaffold, to advance to the muzzles of guns with perfect nonchalance! To be indeed a God!" And again: