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In this second edition of his best-selling book, Data Structures
and Algorithm Analysis in C, Mark Allen Weiss, continues to refine
and enhance his innovative approach to algorithms and data
structures. Using a C implementation, he highlights conceptual
topics, focusing on ADTs and the analysis of algorithms for
efficiency as well as performance and running time. Dr. Weiss
also distinguishes Data Structures and Algorithm Analysis in C
with the extensive use of figures and examples showing the
successive stages of an algorithm, his engaging writing style, and
a logical organization of topics.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.

From the Inside Flap:

Purpose/Goals

This book describes data structures, methods of organizing large amounts of data, and algorithm
analysis, the estimation of the running time of algorithms. As computers become faster and faster,
the need for programs that can handle large amounts of input becomes more acute. Paradoxically,
this requires more careful attention to efficiency, since inefficiencies in programs become most
obvious when input sizes are large. By analyzing an algorithm before it is actually coded, students
can decide if a particular solution will be feasible. For example, in this text students look at specific
problems and see how careful implementations can reduce the time constraint for large amounts of
data from 16 years to less than a second. Therefore, no algorithm or data structure is presented
without an explanation of its running time. In some cases, minute details that affect the running time
of the implementation are explored.

Once a solution method is determined, a program must still be written. As computers have become
more powerful, the problems they must solve have become larger and more complex, requiring
development of more intricate programs. The goal of this text is to teach students good programming
and algorithm analysis skills simultaneously so that they can develop such programs with the
maximum amount of efficiency.

This book is suitable for either an advanced data structures (CS7) course or a first-year graduate
course in algorithm analysis. Students should have some knowledge of intermediate programming,
including such topics as pointers and recursion, and some background in discrete math. Approach

I believe it is important for students to learn how to program for themselves, not how to copy
programs from a book. On the other hand, it is virtually impossible to discuss realistic programming
issues without including sample code. For this reason, the book usually provides about one-half to
three-quarters of an implementation, and the student is encouraged to supply the rest. Chapter 12,
which is new to this edition, discusses additional data structures with an emphasis on
implementation details.

The algorithms in this book are presented in ANSI C, which, despite some flaws, is arguably the
most popular systems programming language. The use of C instead of Pascal allows the use of
dynamically allocated arrays (see, for instance, rehashing in Chapter 5). It also produces simplified
code in several places, usually because the and (&&) operations is short-circuited.

Most criticisms of C center on the fact that it is easy to write code that is barely readable. Some of
the more standard tricks, such as the simultaneous assignment and testing against 0 via

if (x=y)

are generally not used in the text, since the loss of clarity is compensated by only a few keystrokes
and no increased speed. I believe that this books demonstrates that unreadable code can be
avoided by exercising reasonable care.

Overview

Chapter 1 contains review material on discrete math and recursion. I believe the only way to be
comfortable with recursion is to see good uses over and over. Therefore, recursion is prevalent in
this text, with examples in every chapter except Chapter 5.

Chapter 2 deals with algorithm analysis. This chapter explains asymptotic analysis and its major
weaknesses. Many examples are provided, including an in-depth explanation of logarithms running
time. Simple recursive programs are analyzed by intuitively converting them into iterative programs.
More complicated divide-and-conquer programs are introduced, but some of the analysis (solving
recurrence relations) is implicitly delayed until Chapter 7, where it is performed in detail.
Chapter 3 covers lists, stacks, and queues. The emphasis here is on coding these data structures
using ADTs, fast implementation of these data structures, and an exposition of some of their uses.
There are almost no programs (just routines), but the exercises contain plenty of ideas for
programming assignments.

Chapter 4 covers trees, with an emphasis on search trees, including external search trees (B-trees).
The UNIX file system and expression trees are used as examples. AVL trees and splay trees are
introduced but not analyzed. Seventy-five percent of the code is written, leaving similar cases to be
completed by the student. More careful treatment of search tree implementation details is found in
Chapter 12. Additional coverage of trees, such as file compression and game trees, is deferred until
Chapter 10. Data structures for an external medium are considered as the final topic in several
chapters.

Chapter 5 is relatively short chapter concerning hash tables. Some analysis is performed, and
extendible hashing is covered at the end of the chapter.

Chapter 6 is about priority queues. Binary heaps are covered, and there is additional material on
some of the theoretically interesting implementations of priority queues. The Fibonacci heap is
discussed in Chapter 11, and the pairing heap is discussed in Chapter 12.

Chapter 7 covers sorting. It is very specific with respect to coding details and analysis. All the
important general-purpose sorting algorithms are covered and compared. Four algorithms are
analyzed in detail: insertion sort, Shellsort, heapsort, and quicksort. The analysis of the average-
case running time of heapsort is new to this edition. External sorting is covered at the end of the
chapter.

Chapter 8 discusses the disjoint set algorithm with proof of the running time. This is a short and
specific chapter that can be skipped if Kruskal's algorithm is not discussed.

Chapter 9 covers graph algorithms. Algorithms on graphs are interesting, not only because they
frequently occur in practice but also because their running time is so heavily dependent on the
proper use of data structures. Virtually all of the standard algorithms are presented along with
appropriate data structures, pseudocode, and analysis of running time. To place these problems in a
proper context, a short discussion on complexity theory (including NP-completeness and
undecidability) is provided.

Chapter 10 covers algorithm design by examining common problem-solving techniques. This

chapter is heavily fortified with examples. Pseudocode is used in these later chapters so that the
student's appreciation of an example algorithm is not obscured by implementation details.
Chapter 11 deals with amortized analysis. Three data structures from Chapters 4 and 6 and the
Fibonacci heap, introduced in this chapter, are analyzed.

Chapter 12 is new to this edition. It covers search tree algorithms, the k-d tree, and the pairing heap.
This chapter departs from the rest of the text by providing complete and careful implementations for
the search trees and pairing heap. The material is structured so that the instructor can integrate
sections into discussions from other chapters. For example, the top-down red black tree in Chapter
12 can be discussed under AVL trees (in Chapter 4).

Chapters 1-9 provide enough material for most one-semester data structures courses. If time
permits, then Chapter 10 can be covered. A graduate course on algorithm analysis could cover
Chapters 7-11. The advanced data structures analyzed in Chapter 11 can easily be referred to in the
earlier chapters. The discussion of NP-completeness in Chapter 9 is far too brief to be used in such
a course. Garey and Johnson's book on NP-completeness can be used to augment this text.

Exercises

Exercises, provided at the end of each chapter, match the order in which material is presented. The
last exercises may address the chapter as a whole rather than a specific section. Difficult exercises
are marked with an asterisk, and more challenging exercises have two asterisks.

A solutions manual containing solutions to almost all the exercises is available to instructors from the
Addison-Wesley Publishing Company.

References

References are placed at the end of each chapter. Generally the references either are historical,
representing the original source of the material, or they represent extensions and improvements to
the results given in the text. Some references represent solutions to exercises.

Code Availability

The example program code in this book is available via anonymous ftp at aw. It is also accessible
through the World Wide Web; the URL is aw/cseng/authors/weiss/dsaac2/dsaac2e.sup.html (follow
the links from there). The exact location of this material may change.

Acknowledgments

Many, many people have helped me in the preparation of books in this series. Some are listed in
other versions of the book; thanks to all.
For this edition, I would like to thank my editors at Addison-Wesley, Carter Shanklin and Susan
Hartman. Teri Hyde did another wonderful job with the production, and Matthew Harris and his staff
at Publication Services did their usual fine work putting the final pieces together.

M.A.W.
Miami, Florida
July, 1996

0201498405P04062001

About the Author:

Mark Allen Weiss is a Professor in the School of Computer Science at Florida International
University. He received his Ph.D. in Computer Science from Princeton University where he studied
under Robert Sedgewick. Dr.Weiss has received FIU's Excellence in Research Award, as well as the
Teaching Incentive Program Award, which was established by the Florida Legislature to recognize
teaching excellence. Mark Allen Weiss is on the Advanced Placement Computer Science
Development Committee. He is the successful author of Algorithms, Data Structures, and Problem
Solving with C++ and the series Data Structures and Algorithm Ana
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
She had never solicited his confidence, and yet while they were
strangers, or comparative strangers,—long before she had
entertained the slightest thought that she should one day exchange
her home for his,—he had talked freely, even confidentially, to her;
had voluntarily spoken of his money matters, his past
disappointments and future expectations. But since she had come
into the Mickle Street house he had never renewed these subjects,
and his way of passing them over was inexplicable to her.
When the first repairs had been made in the house, she had taken
the bill to him for approval and payment. He had simply glanced at
it, and returned it with the words: "I think it must be all right." She
had remained standing in the doorway until, silent, seemingly
absorbed in his reading and oblivious of her presence, he had made
her feel so uncomfortable that she had quietly glided away to pay
the carpenter out of her own purse. This happened so early in their
housekeeping together that she, so charitable by nature, had
excused him on the ground that, having no money, he had disliked
to talk further about the bill. But a year had passed, she understood
his position better, and she could not excuse him again on this plea.
She had mentioned the urgent need of further repairs (and when
were they not needed in this little rookery?) and he had promptly
replied: "Have it done; certainly, certainly; have everything done that
is required." The result was still the same; although ordering the
work, he was just as indifferent as before in regard to settling for it.
And so it had gone on in all cases where money had been needed,
until Mrs. Davis, who was neither dull nor obtuse, saw that it was
merely a matter of choice with him whether he paid for things
promptly or not. The receipted bills she had carefully filed away, but
what proof had she that they had been met with her own money?
At the expiration of the second year, Mr. Whitman at his own
expense had the water carried upstairs and a bathtub put in. This
was a blessing to both of them, and Mrs. Davis ungrudgingly saw a
portion of her own room—the one little back chamber—sacrificed
that it might be made possible.
Up to the time of the sunstroke she had made a number of futile
attempts to introduce the subject of finances, but he had simply
uttered "Ah!" (what a world of meaning he could put into that
monosyllable!) and had silenced her with a look.
An observer says: "I found Whitman sitting on the front stoop
talking with a negative pugnacious reformer. The poet entertained
his ideas without a trace of impatience or severity of judgment, and
yet he was capable of quietly chloroforming him if he became too
disagreeable." Another writes: "This leading trait of his character
lasted until life glimmered faintly." It was this "leading trait" that
prevented Mrs. Davis from introducing any subject not pleasing to
him. Again: "He has his stern as well as sad moods; in the former
there is a look of power in his face that almost makes one tremble."
Mrs. Davis had no fear of Mr. Whitman; he never gave her cause to
tremble, but he quietly chloroformed her times without number.
The expenses of the house were not light; amongst other things,
two coal fires in winter, and a wood fire much of the time. Wood was
a luxury to him, but it was an expensive item to his housekeeper,
and the little stove in his sleeping room devoured it like an insatiate
monster. "He enjoyed a wood fire." Then she supplied his table and
entertained his guests—his many guests. She never bothered him;
was always on hand and ready to help him to mature his plans,
however inexpedient or impracticable they might appear to her.
VIII
 VISITING AND VISITORS
"His haunt on 'Timber Creek' is one of the loveliest spots
imaginable; no element lacking to make it an ideal ground
for a poet, or study place for a lover of nature."—William
Sloane Kennedy.

"April 11, 1887. I expect to go to New York to speak my

'Death of Lincoln' piece Thursday afternoon next. Probably
the shake up will do me good....
"Stood it well in New York. It was a good break from my
monotonous days here, but if I had stayed longer, I should
have been killed with kindness and attentions."—Walt
Whitman.

I T was decided that Mr. Whitman should make one of his delightful
visits to his friends, the Staffords, in their beautiful country home,
"Timber Creek," just as soon as he was sufficiently recovered to take
the trip, and Mrs. Davis thought best to defer talking with him or
considering any definite step regarding home matters until he
returned. She took pains to get him ready, and, as she had done
before, persuaded him to purchase some new clothing and look his
best. This visit, like previous ones, was charming to the poet, and he
came home much benefited. While he was away Mrs. Davis rested
and paid a short visit to the aged parents of Mrs. Fritzinger in
Doylstown, Pennsylvania. In this breathing spell she had thought
home matters over and had planned her mode of procedure; but
alas! when the poet appeared upon the spot and she had welcomed
him, the courage she had summoned up when he was out of sight
deserted her. She threw out hints, then made attempts to speak, but
to no avail; an understanding was not brought about and things
went on in the old fashion.
Much as Mr. Whitman enjoyed his visits and jaunts, coming back to
his own home was the one great joy of his life, and meeting his
housekeeper after even a brief absence was always a pleasure to
him.
It was quite late in the fall when he returned. He resumed his work
at once, and the winter was not an unpleasant one to him; only
somewhat tedious, because he was so closely confined to the house.
In other ways it was made cheerful with social events and agreeable
company, and it was brightened with anticipations of the delightful
drives to be enjoyed in the spring. (It was about this time that
Horace Traubel commenced to come to the house.)
Each season had added to his popularity, until he had attained the
zenith of his most sanguine imaginations; his most potent
daydreams had truly materialized; he was fully on the crest of the
wave! His housekeeping had surpassed his fondest expectations, for
to him his home was ideal. Deprivation was a thing of the past;
there was no lack of means, as private contributions were sent to
him amounting to many hundreds of dollars. That he was poor and
needy, and "was supported in his final infirmities by the kind interest
of his friends, who subscribed each his mite that the little old frame
house in Camden might shelter the snowy head of the bard to the
end," was the universal belief, and a kindly feeling was manifested
towards him in his own home and in England. It is to be regretted
that he was not better fitted physically to enjoy all his later
blessings.
Out-of-doors life seemed essential to him, and after a number of
outings he was able, as early as April 6, 1887, to read his Lincoln
lecture—the last he gave in his own city. It was well attended, and
listened to with deep attention. On the 12th of the same month he
went to New York for the purpose of reading his lecture there. He
was accompanied by William Duckett, a young friend who acted as
valet and nurse, and it was on his arm the old man leaned as he
came forward on the stage and stood a few minutes to acknowledge
the applause of the audience. When the tumult had subsided, the
poet sat down beside a stand, laid his cane on the floor, put on his
glasses and proceeded to read from a little book, upon whose pages
the manuscript and printed fragments were pasted.
"The lecturer was dressed in a dark sack coat, with dark gray
waistcoat and trousers, low shoes, and gray woollen socks. The
spotless linen of his ample cuffs and rolling collar was trimmed with
a narrow band of edging, and the cuffs were turned up over the
ends of his sleeves." Thus says the New York Tribune of the next
day, and it cannot be denied that his appearance did credit to his
housekeeper's attention at this time, as it did on all other public
occasions. The "spotless linen," however, was unbleached cotton,
one of the six new shirts Mrs. Davis had made for him.
The lecture was very successful. At the close, a little girl, Laura
Stedman, the five year old granddaughter of the "banker poet,"
walked out upon the stage and presented Mr. Whitman with a basket
of lilac blossoms. The New York Times had this account of the event
the next morning:
"Forth on the stage came a beautiful basket of lilac
blossoms, and behind it was a little bit of a maiden in a
white Normandy cap and a little suit of Quaker gray, her
eyes beaming, and her face deeply impressed with the
gravity of the occasion. She walked to where he sat and
held out her gift without a word. He started, took it and
then took her.
"It was December frost and May-time blossom at their
prettiest contrast, as the little pink cheek shone against
the snow-white beard, for the old man told his
appreciation mutely by kissing her and kissing her again,
the audience meanwhile applauding sympathetically."
Mr. Whitman then recited his poem "O Captain!" and the curtain fell
—fell to shut him from the sight of a New York audience forever.
Mrs. Davis always dreaded Mr. Whitman's New York visits, and this
episode caused her extra anxiety. She knew that his many and
influential friends would give him a warm welcome and a great
reception, and she also knew how prone the poet was to go beyond
the bounds of prudence. He could stand only a little fatigue and
excitement now. He returned in good condition, however, and she
flattered herself that a quiet summer was before them. He had told
her that this lecture (which increased his bank account by six
hundred dollars) was to be his last public function, but she had no
knowledge of something else he had in near view; something he had
already arranged for.
IX
 A BUST AND A PAINTING
"Sidney Morse has made a second big head (bust), an
improvement, if I dare to say so, on the first. The second
is the Modern Spirit Awake and Alert as well as Calm—
contrasted with the antique and Egyptian calmness of the
first."—Walt Whitman.

"Oh, that awful summer of 1887!"—Mary Davis.

E ARLY in the summer, when he had fully recovered from his

exertions in New York, Mr. Whitman received a letter from a
sculptor, Mr. Sidney Morse, requesting the privilege of coming to
Camden at once, to make a plaster bust of him. The promise had
been given to Mr. Morse for the summer, but the actual date had not
been fixed upon.
Eleven years before this artist had made a very unsatisfactory bust
of Walt, one he had always wished to improve upon. On the first
occasion Walt had not entertained the thought of such an
undertaking in his brother's house, but had gone to Philadelphia for
the sittings. This time, as before, the choice of location had been left
to him; and it seemed almost incredible that he, who had been
initiated in this line of art, should have imposed upon his
housekeeper to the extent of giving his own stuffy little house the
preference over a more suitable place.
He had answered Mr. Morse's letter, telling him he would cheerfully
put himself at his disposal; the summer was before them, and
nothing else impending. In short, he would engage himself to him
for the summer, and he was confident the result would be better this
time.
About two weeks elapsed, and nothing had been said to Mrs. Davis
on the subject when one morning to her surprise the artist arrived,
prepared to go to work without delay. Had she been consulted, she
could have made preliminary preparations; had she been better
informed she would have persuaded Mr. Whitman to select a
different place, and had she been fully enlightened she would have
insisted upon it.
Mr. Morse writes: "I found Mr. Whitman more crippled and quieter in
manner than when we met before. Eleven years had wrought their
changes. He was however in a less perturbed frame of mind."
Naturally so; in his own home, contradicted in nothing, with his own
carriage, and a devoted woman to wait upon him,—one who never
intimated that there existed such exigencies as living expenses or
household entanglements. It was left to the artist to tell Mrs. Davis
the purpose for which he had come. He said that he was desirous of
beginning his work as soon as was compatible with Mr. Whitman's
convenience, and the poet seeing no obstacle in the way of an
immediate commencement, it was decided that the first sitting
should take place the following afternoon. Mrs. Davis was somewhat
enlightened as to what the making of a bust implied when a load of
mysterious and cumbersome articles drove up to the door in the
morning. Puzzled both as to their use and where they could be
housed, she had them delivered at the back gate and piled up in the
yard.
Mr. Morse kept his appointment with promptitude, and after a few
minutes' conversation with his subject, he summoned the
housekeeper, and then, "the litter of everything under heaven was
poked aside" to make a clearing by the window. Mrs. Davis assisted
him in bringing some of the articles from the yard, such as boards
and boxes upon which to fashion the clay; then when the necessity
came for something in which to mix it, her wash tubs were at once
appropriated, and as smaller vessels were from time to time
required, many of her dishes and kitchen utensils were one by one
pressed into service.
During the first afternoon the work was put well in progress, and
what a time was thus inaugurated! Before the week ended there was
clay and plaster on all sides. The two men, interested in the bust
alone, were oblivious to everything else, and passed the time
chatting in a lively strain. The artist was satisfied with his work and
delighted with the prospect of being undisturbed until its completion.
He writes: "My deep satisfaction overflowed to the housekeeper, who
admonished me that there was an element of uncertainty in Mr.
Whitman's programme nowadays"—and sooner than he had counted
upon, her words were verified, for on the morning following her mild
warning a telegram came and "the damper fell," as Mr. Morse says.
This was the telegram: "Am in New York and may arrive in Camden
at any moment. Herbert Gilchrist."
"He's coming to paint me," said Mr. Whitman on reading the
message; "I had forgotten about him. We will put him over there
somewhere; I don't see what I can do to stop it; he has come all the
way from England—from England, Sidney, to paint me. Make the
best of it, share the crust with him." "The damper fell" for Mrs. Davis
as well, when Mr. Whitman in his usual off-hand manner announced
the news to her. Another artist coming! a portrait painter! And Mr.
Whitman who had known of this for an indefinite time had given her
no warning, had taken her unaware. She was completely overcome,
and not a little indignant. Had he really forgotten it, or had he
thought it a matter of too little importance to mention? It was not
often that Mrs. Davis shed tears in self-pity, but now they were her
only relief. It was not the extra work and expense that troubled her
most; it was Mr. Whitman's indifference towards her.
Mr. Morse was also touched, and confesses that in his
disappointment he was half inclined to pack his traps and go. For a
moment the housekeeper's mind tended in the same direction.
"But," continues Mr. Morse, "when the young man appeared on the
scene in person, I was calm once more and ready to be pacified."
Mrs. Davis also calmed herself and, as was her disposition,
concealed her feelings and roused herself to meet the emergency.
"The litter of everything under heaven" was poked still further aside,
the stove was taken down and put into the cellar, things heaped and
packed higher in the corners or carried out of the room, and a place
made for the newcomer.
Mr. Gilchrist proved to be an agreeable, enthusiastic young man, and
one never to get into another's way. Mr. Morse could keep his place
at the window, and Mr. Gilchrist could place his easel a little way
back, so that the sitter didn't need to change his position to be in a
good light for both. But what of Mrs. Davis when paint and oil were
added to plaster and the other refuse pervading the parlors? Had the
confusion been confined to these rooms alone it could have been
held in check, but for lack of room the kitchen soon became an
auxiliary to the improvised studio. Again quoting Mr. Morse: "For a
week we kept it up, working some, talking more, Mr. Whitman's
wistful eye on us both."
This favorable state of affairs was, however, of short duration, for
after the first week the progress of the artists was unsatisfactory;
they were hindered by constant interruptions, and as company
began to pour in upon them, some days would pass and find little
accomplished by either. It seemed a fatality that so many people
should have chosen this very time to make their visits, especially
people from abroad. Before long the strain of it told visibly on Mr.
Whitman. Mr. Morse observed not only this, but the anxious look on
Mrs. Davis's face as well, and on consulting her found she was much
alarmed, and feared that their subject would give out unless some
change could be made. The change was made when early the next
morning the sculptor betook himself with his effects to the yard. This
arrangement not merely gave additional space in the parlors where
two or three spectators could sit or stand, but it also removed from
them their chief attraction.
Some of Mr. Whitman's friends called daily, several twice or even
three times in a single day.
Mr. Morse was satisfied with the new order of things and says: "In
the cool shadow of the house, under a propitious sky (when it was
propitious), with high boarded fence, and a grape vine wreathing
itself into a pear tree for a background, my work proceeded.
Occasional excursions to the studio in front for memory sketches
seemed to be serving me all right."
Up to this time Mrs. Davis had had undisputed possession of the
yard, and this constant running back and forth was almost
unendurable to her. For the excursions were not confined to the
sculptor; all comers, casual or constant visitors, old friends and
strangers, even ordinary passers-by—following the lead of others—
deliberately took the right of way through the hall and kitchen, until
it might as well have been a public passage from street to yard.
Then in unfavorable weather, when the work could not go on, came
another complication, as the unwieldy appurtenances had to be
brought into the little canvas-covered alcove, shed and kitchen,
obstructing everything. It was worse still in case of a sudden shower,
when the things had to be hustled in anywhere and anyhow. But the
front of the house! It was vacation time, and the "plaster man" and
"painter man" at Whitman's were the great source of entertainment
in the neighborhood. Children thronged the cellar doors from early
morning until late at night; babies were held up to look in, and there
was a general scramble for the best point of view. Pedestrians,
market people and others passing the house were attracted by this
manifest excitement, and there was scarcely one of them who did
not pause to satisfy his or her inquisitiveness with a peep. From a
distance it was difficult to discern what could be taking place at the
poet's, and everybody, old and young, even the halt and the lame,
seemed to have time to walk an extra block or two to ascertain.
However, as there was no alternative, Mrs. Davis was willing to bear
it all patiently for a few weeks at most, as she supposed.
Mr. Morse, pressed by his host, fell into the habit of remaining to
lunch; Mr. Gilchrist often joined them; and as in the course of
conversation interesting subjects would come up, the day's work for
both frequently ended at noon. Should incidental visitors arrive
during meal time, they were invited without ceremony or apology to
the kitchen, and Mr. Whitman always pressed them to eat
something, regardless of the time of day or what might be upon the
table. His talk was animated and arresting. He would usually begin
with current events, then run into discussions on various themes,
often intricate, and the two artists felt themselves extremely
fortunate to be the privileged recipients of some of his most striking
thoughts and phrases.
It was at this juncture that one day an English gentleman
accompanied by two ladies rang at the open door. Mr. Whitman had
never met them, but seeing them from his seat at the table he
welcomed them with these words: "Oh, darlings, come right this
way, come right this way." On their complying he continued:
"Herbert, Sidney, move a little. Mary, lay the plates and bring the
chairs." (The extra ones hanging in the shed.) Then came a hitching
and shuffling of chairs, and a crowding together. At first the party
looked a little annoyed, but when they were fairly seated they soon
became so absorbed in the poet's talk and in his associates that,
unconsciously to everyone except the housekeeper, lunch merged
into dinner. But this was no unusual occurrence. Indeed there were
days when Mr. Whitman would remain at the table from lunch until a
very late hour, company coming and leaving in relays. This summer,
and for some time previous, he had dispensed with the regular
breakfast, taking an early cup of coffee and a piece of toast in his
own room. But the other meals certainly involved plenty of work and
patience. Well might he say: "Mrs. Davis has a knack of anticipating
what I want, and in case of emergency at the dinner table knows
right well how to make the best of it. She has rare intelligence and
her tact is great." She indeed had tact. "Jolly dinners you have
here," quoth one distinguished visitor, notwithstanding they were
served in the little heated kitchen.
Mrs. Davis always waited upon the guests in a pleasant genial
manner, and few knew to whom it was due that the "jolly dinners"
ran so agreeably along. Her watchful eye detected when any article
of food was getting low, either for present company or when their
places were about to be taken by newcomers. A thousand times she
slipped out quietly to the little side gutter and ran (she always ran)
to procure a loaf of bread, an extra supply of butter, crackers or
cheese. The home-made supplies rarely gave out, as she provided
bountifully for all. Mr. Whitman had good reason for going on to say,
as he did: "I am well pleased with my housekeeper. She does better
for me than a whole retinue of pompous bothering waiters. I detest
the critters; bowing and watching"—and probably expecting their
just remuneration—for to complete his appreciation of her virtues he
could have added: "And she furnishes the means."
Yes; the lingering lunches and "jolly dinners" were paid for out of
her fast decreasing bank account, as was everything else. It was
doubtful if Mr. Whitman realized in how many ways he was indebted
to her, or if the idea ever occurred to him that he could ask too
much of her. So confident was he of her always making "the best of
it" that nothing agitated or worried him. Yet this entertaining anyone
and everyone in the kitchen often placed her in unpleasant and
embarrassing predicaments. Of these he seemed to have no
knowledge, as he never made an attempt to extricate her from one.
Visitors were often more observing, and no doubt most of them saw
under what disadvantages she was placed. Some of them kindly
helped her over difficulties, and others just as kindly passed
awkward little occurrences by apparently unnoticed.
Although Mr. Whitman did not mind what people said or thought
about him, Mrs. Davis was sensitive and criticism hurt her feelings.
She knew full well that she was sometimes blamed, by visitors who
did not understand the conditions, for things for which she was not
at all responsible. She knew that to her charge was laid the air of
negligence that pervaded the house, and even Mr. Whitman's
bluntness towards certain people.
"There were grim and repellent traits in Walt Whitman. He was
naked of manners and suave apologies as the scarred crag of the
Matterhorn of verdure."
That physical suffering was many times the key to the old man's
roughness Mrs. Davis understood, and she had a mild way of
smoothing it over and putting other people at ease. She always
spoke highly of both the artists, and in many ways they were more
considerate of her than was their host. With things going on as they
did, both were retarded in their work, and each in turn became
discouraged. Mr. Whitman would sometimes be out of humor for
sitting, or so worn out and ill that he could not come downstairs until
late in the day; or again, when all looked promising he would order
his carriage, drive off and leave them in the lurch.
Consequently each work of art required more time for its completion
than had been calculated. Mrs. Davis did her best to encourage both
the sculptor and the painter, and in every way she could devise,
endeavored to forward their work. She removed obstacles; she
influenced their sitter, and persuaded him to be quieter, to avoid
over-exertion and excitement, to see less company and to lie down
during the heat of the day.
At length both bust and picture were finished. Each proved to be
highly satisfactory, and by many they are thought to be the most
lifelike representations of the original. Of the bust Mr. Whitman
himself said: "I am quite clear this is the typical one; modern,
reaching out, looking ahead, democratic, more touch of animation,
unsettledness, etc., etc. Not intended to be polished off, left
purposely a little in the rough."
X
 REST—AND ROUTINE
"Heat, heat, heat, day and night!... I am still getting along
through the hot season—have things pretty favorable here
in my shanty, with ventilation (night and day), frequent
bathing, light meals, all of which makes it better for me in
my shattered helpless condition to tug it out here in Mickle
Street, than to transfer myself somewhere, to seashore or
mountains. It is not for a long time, anyway."—Walt
Whitman.

M R. Whitman had reached the limit of endurance when the

artists bid him and Camden adieu, while Mrs. Davis, with the
constant demands upon her time and strength, the condition of the
house, unlimited entertaining and lengthened working hours, had
completely succumbed. Another thing that had been to their
disadvantage was the extreme heat, for it had been and still was an
extremely hot summer—a Jersey summer. Each was prostrated, and
for awhile rest and relaxation alone could be thought of. A short lull
that followed the recent turmoil, however, and succeeding cool
weather, did much towards their recuperation; but unfortunately
sick-headaches, which had been occasional with Mrs. Davis, now
became persistent; her vitality was gone, and her courage was on
the wane. In fact she never fully recovered, nor did she ever forget
"that awful summer of 1887."
But while she was so miserable and ill she was not forgotten by her
old friends, who rallied at once to her assistance, and it was through
their thoughtfulness and kind attentions that a general and final
collapse was avoided. None of them had been willing to give her up
altogether when she moved into the Mickle Street house. She for her
part had never willingly neglected them; one or another,
understanding this, had run in the back way at odd times, and if by
chance they had found the kitchen in her undisputed possession,
had gladly remained to lend her a helping hand.
Nor with her multiplicity of new duties and in her new surroundings
had she been unmindful of her habit of protectiveness, and this
house became, as her own had been, the temporary shelter for
some orphan girl or boy, some friendless woman or stranded young
man. Crowded as it was, the little Whitman home could make room
for an emergency case.
As the owner was just now confined for some weeks to his sleeping
apartment, Mrs. Davis could lie upon the kitchen lounge when the
kind ministrations of her friends relieved her of immediate household
duties; then in turn rouse herself, drag herself upstairs and attend to
the wants of the sick man there. Her helpers were glad to prove
their friendship for her, but it didn't reach the extent of waiting upon
the disabled poet; this rested with her alone. Not that they were
afraid of him, or that he had ever been rude or impolite to them, but
not one of them was exactly at ease in his presence.
By good fortune, at this opportune time a gentleman and his wife
invited Mrs. Davis to accompany them upon an excursion to
Southern California. At first she declined the invitation; the distance
seemed so great, and Mr. Whitman was so poorly, there was no
telling what might happen during her absence. But she was still
pressed to go, and unknown to her the project was broached to Mr.
Whitman, who highly approved of it. Finally she accepted the
proffered kindness; her friends assisted her in her preparations, and
she set off with pleasurable anticipations. This journey was the one
great delight of her life, and she returned much benefited. But how
about the good little woman who had strongly urged her going, who
had added her earnest persuasions to those of the others, and who
had offered her own and her daughter's services in place of hers?
Poor little woman, she did her best willingly and uncomplainingly;
but she did openly avow at the expiration of the three weeks that
had Mary stayed another day, she would have gone insane.
During his housekeeper's brief absence, Mr. Whitman had found how
truly his home was not home without her. He frankly told her this,
and acknowledged to her that no one living could fill her place to
him; that others around him irritated him—unconsciously, he knew—
while she instinctively soothed and quieted him, overwrought and
impatient as he might sometimes feel. Furthermore, he presented
her with a nice gold ring.
Soon after her return, Walt, who was quite himself once more, paid
another visit to the Staffords, and getting him ready for this trip was
her first work on reaching home. "Timber Creek" was his favorite
resort, a haunt he so thoroughly enjoyed that it flashed across the
mind of a friend while sauntering about with him there, that it would
be a capital idea to raise a "Walt Whitman Cottage Fund," and build
him a little summer home there. On cautiously sounding Walt upon
the subject, he eagerly responded: "Oh, how often I have thought of
it!"
So it was decided to build a cottage here, or by the seaside
somewhere, where he could spend part of the year with nature and
away from the noise and turmoil of the city. Eight hundred dollars
were quickly raised towards the fund; the site for building, tiles for
the chimney and plan by the architect were donated; but alas, it was
seen that it was too late in his life for the scheme to be feasible, and
the money was cheerfully given to him by the contributors to be
used as he thought best.
On this particular occasion Mrs. Davis was more than glad to be
alone. The parlors were much as the artists had left them, and a
general housecleaning was instituted. And such a cleaning!
Everything had to be handled and looked over, discarded or packed
away. It was a disheartening task. Dried paint and plaster were on
every side and resisted all attempts at removal, as though they had
learned the lesson of persistency from the late sitter; besides, some
repairs had to be made against the coming winter, and the stove had
rusted in the cellar.
In good time all was accomplished and order again restored. Mr.
Whitman returned refreshed, and oh, so glad to get back to his own
home once more. But as a matter of course he acted as though
beside himself for awhile, and the old act of hunting for lost or
missing articles was repeated. Mrs. Davis, however, who had taken
more than one lesson from him, passed his perturbation by without
apparent notice. She knew the time was not far in the future when
rapidly failing health would altogether prevent his leaving home; he
would probably be confined to the upper part of the house, perhaps
to his bed; and she thought it wise to be in readiness for whatever
was in store.
Although he had been situated so auspiciously for his comfort, and
in a way to attain the great object he desired, Mr. Whitman's past
four years had not been all sunshine. He had had spells of deep
depression, days when he felt no inclination to come downstairs, or
even to speak; and during the winter of this year the dark cloud
hovered more persistently above him than ever before. For one
thing, there were weeks when extremely cold or stormy weather
prevented his going out of doors. Mrs. Davis had much sympathy for
him while the dreary mood lasted, and in many ways endeavored to
dispel it. During the inclement weather she found in her cheery
canary bird a valued assistant, and knowing the old man's fondness
for the little fellow, she would at times stealthily place the cage in his
room, "and let the sun shine out for a moment, this bird would flood
the room with trills of melody." (The canary outlived Mr. Whitman,
and through his long sickness, lasting from the summer of 1888 to
the spring of 1892, it was always a welcome visitor in his room.) This
would act as an inspiration, and Mr. Whitman would often take this
time to write to some friend, always mentioning the singing of the
bird and the shining of the sun.
"Pleasant weather as I write seated here by the window, my little
canary singing like mad."
"Sunny and summery weather here, and my canary is singing like a
house on fire."
"Dull weather, the ground covered with snow, but my little bird is
singing as I write."
Good cheer may have been another comforting agent, for he writes:
"We have (Mrs. Davis has) just had a baking. Oh! how I do wish I
could send the dear frau one of our nice pumpkin pies, a very little
ginger, no other spice."
"A cold freezing day. Have had my dinner of rare stewed oysters,
some toasted Graham bread, and a cup of tea."
"Have had a bad spell of illness again, but am better to-day. Have
just eaten a bit of dinner for the first time in over a week—stewed
rabbit with a piece of splendid home-made bread, covered with
stew-gravy."
"Have just had my dinner—a great piece of toasted Graham bread,
salted and well buttered with fresh country butter, and then a lot of
panned oysters dumped over it, with hot broth; then a nice cup
custard, and a cup of coffee. So if you see in the paper that I am
starving (as I saw the other day), understand how."
In speaking of Mrs. Davis in a letter of the previous summer, he
writes: "Very hot weather here continued. I am feeling badly, yet not
so badly as you might fancy. I am careful and Mrs. Davis is very
good and cute."
"Am idle and monotonous enough in my weeks and life here; but on
the whole am thankful it is no worse. My buying this shanty and
settling down here on half, or one-fourth pay, and getting Mrs. Davis
to cook for me, might have been bettered by my disposing some
other way, but I am satisfied it is all as well as it is."
Through the winter Mr. Whitman plodded on with his literary work,
and by spring the parlors were once more transformed into a regular
printing and mailing establishment. To these over-filled rooms he
had added an oil portrait of an ancestor, a life-size bust of Elias
Hicks, and a seated statuette of himself. He was very careful of the
two latter works of art, and to protect them from dust kept them
partially encased in newspapers. When a caller once slyly lifted the
paper from the statuette, he found a colony of ants had made the
lap of it their home. The bust of Hicks was very conspicuous, and
looked spectral in its paper headgear. Mrs. Davis would occasionally
remove the yellow and time-worn papers, and replace them with
clean ones. The owner no doubt noticed this, but he had ceased to
be too observant of some things, and had become more lenient
where "Mary" was the offender. And Mary had learned just how far
she could go with impunity. In a way their lives had merged
together.
It was a custom with Mr. Whitman to have his manuscripts set up in
type before sending them away—even his "little bits" of newspaper
contributions. This was done in a "quaint little printing office" in
town, the proprietor of which was "an old fellow acquaintance" of
Walt's. In this matter, as in all others, he was very impatient, for the
moment anything was ready for the press he would summon Mrs.
Davis, regardless of time, weather or her own occupations, saying:
"Take this to the printer's, Mary, and tell him I want it immediately";
and although most of this work was done gratuitously, the "old
fellow acquaintance" was decidedly accommodating to his honored
patron, and often laid other jobs aside for his "odd bits." He was as
well always courteous to Mrs. Davis. It may be that he could not
withstand her appeals for haste, and was willing to incommode
himself to save her from fruitless trips to the office; for he knew that
in an unreasonably short time the poet would demand his printed
bit. In fact, so impatient would the writer often become, that to
pacify him his good housekeeper would make half a dozen trips to
the office. Frequently he would correct the proof and return it for a
second, perhaps a third or fourth printing, and frequently he would
say: "Don't come back without it, Mary; wait for it."
It would have been inconsistent with Mrs. Davis's natural activity for
her to remain sitting in a printing office for an unlimited time,
therefore she usually took advantage of these opportunities to do a
little shopping, make a friendly call, or even a hasty run to
Philadelphia. The corrected copies were never destroyed, but, like
everything else, were dropped on the floor. It was no wonder that
"to some Walt Whitman's house was a sort of conglomerated dime
museum." Strangers who called drew their own inferences and
reported accordingly, and in this way contradictory stories were told
and sent out into the world. Much that was false was believed, until
the prevailing impression was that "he was living in poverty and
neglect."
He was extremely non-committal, and his housekeeper never
intruded her knowledge upon anyone, so it was natural that errors
as to his home life should creep in. It was certainly difficult to credit
that from sheer preference any human being could live in and enjoy
the state of disorder that was found in the Whitman house, thanks
to the poet's peculiarities. But this manner of living suited him, and
in it he found true comfort. It must be confessed that things were
outwardly so indicative of neglect that mistakes were bound to be
made, while little of the actual life was known or understood, except
by intimate friends. "The junk shop jumble of those lonesome
rooms," writes one; and again: "I found the venerable poet in his
garret, living in neglect and want, cooking soup in a yellow bowl on
a sheet-iron stove nearby." (S. T. Packard in a magazine article.)
(The bowl merely contained clean water for the purpose of
moistening the overheated atmosphere of the room.) Still further he
writes: "Whenever his strength permitted he rose from his armchair
with the rough bear-robe thrown over the back." It was really a
white wolf-skin robe, a present to Mr. Whitman and of great service
to him.
In truth the elucidation, explanation and straightening out of the
various stories concerning the life of Walt Whitman in Mickle Street
would require a volume in itself. No fancifulness, however, on the
part of more or less observant visitors could rival that of their
subject, for "His imagination could and did convert the narrow walls
of the house in Camden into boundaries of nations, seas, oceans,
mountain-chains, vistas of Eden, forests, cities, palaces, landscapes,
hovels, homes of the rich, and art galleries, so that Whitman was
thus of the great world while out of it."
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