The Sunday tatler and Jersey City express. (Jersey City, N.J.) 1883-1886, 1886-09-12

"a
In a large and luxuriously furnished
apartment in a four-story 6rown-stone
house on State street, in the city of Albany.
and almost within stones throw of the
great Capitol, sits, or walks, or reclInes
throughout the day man of seventy years
of age. With hair that is silvery white,
a full beard that is gray-white. form that
is bent and emacated, step that is slow
and tottering, aud a cheek that is pallid
and shrunken-his blue eyes yet full and
lustrous alone Indicate the strength and
pride of other dsys This man is John
Godfrey SAKE. the poet.
The old poet is now much changed in
form aud feature, being merely shadow
of his former self. During the first three
years of his residence in Albany he spent
some hours each pleasant day in strollIng
about the beautiful park near by. or tran
gully sitting there in shady arbor,
Watching the children at their play. But
duung the past two years no public eye
has seen him, for in that long interval he
has of his own choice been carefully
secluded in his room. He neither rides
nor walks abroad. The apartment 10
which be spends his melancholy days
consists of suite of three rooms, located
ia the rear end of the house, on the third
floor, and overlooking the noble Hudson
to the south. Here by a window he whites
away much of his time in watching the
busy river craft, and in contemplating the
picturesque landscape. Of street attire
he no longer has need; in dressing-gown
and slippers be PAGES the floor with slow
and trembling steps, seldom or never
going beyond the confines of his own
rooms. He prefers to have perfect quiet
about him, aud ofteDtimes dislikes to be
disturbed even by member OF his own
family.
1t is a long time since he last consented
to receive stranger, or even friend, or
an acquaintance of former days
al cannot BEAR" he said. with pathos,
'.to be forcibly reminded of what once
was-of the DAYS of my hope and strength,
when the world had charms that now are
dead to me; before sickness had deprived
me of my health. and death had robbed
me of my loved ones
In 1881, on his first coming to Albany,
the eminent physicians whom his family
consulted in his behalf pred cted that be
would not survive for two years longer.
He goes to bed between the hours of 8
and 10 o'clock in the evening, and rises
about haif-past 6 IN the morning He
complains much of insomnia, and during
the day is often very restless, suffering
from neuralgia in the head. When not
sitting in an easy-chair or moving leis-
urely about his room. re reclines upon a
couch. He eats often, but very spariDgly,
and partakes of the plainest of food, indi-
gestion being one of his principal bodily
ills. OF his valet, middle-aged colored
man (who, by reason of prior service with
eminent people at Washington and other
places, is more than ordinarily intelligent
and entertaining), the poet is very fond,
chatting with him now aud again with
more than usual degree of interest and
Animation.
Until quite recently he devoted good
share of his time to the peiusal of the
standard poets and the leading magazines,
those of the latter to whose pages he was
once valued contributor being still sent
him regularly and unsolicited, by the pub
fishers thereof, in kindly remembrance of
past services. For some years he has not
read the daily papers, and eyinces little or
no interest in current events.
1T pains me" he said, ito meet with
the details of SO much crime and so many
casualties"
His thoughts often revert to his irrepar-
able loss of wife and children, speaking
of each tenderly and regretfully. and
manifesting keen interest 10 the proper
care OF their grayes-ever dwelling on the
domestic Affections which have broken his
heart and enveloped his .once brilliant in
tellect ia a brooding and incurable melan-
choly. Brooklyn Magazine for Septem-
ber