St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1886-09-16
JOHN G. SAKE.

| Inc vermont poet, JOnn G. SAKE, is
slowly dying of melanchOlia, caused
by the shock of a railroad accident, in
which his life was saved by the merest
accident, and by the frequent deaths
in his family. The Brooklyn Maya
zine for September, says:
During the past two years no public
eye has seen him, for in that long in
terval he has of his own choice been
carefully secluded in his room. He
neither rides nor walks cut. The
apartment in which he spends his
melancholy days, consists of a suite of
three rooms, located in the rear end of
the house on the third floor, and over
looking the noble Hudson to the south.
Here, by 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 a
need; in dressing-gOwn and slippers
he PAGES the floor with slow and trem-
bling steps, seldom or never going be-
yOnd the confines of his own rooms.
He prefers to have perfect quiet about
him, and often times dislikes to be
disturbed even by a member of his
own family.
1t is long time since he last con-
sented to receive a stranger, or even a
friend, or an acquaintance of former
days.
az cannot BEAR" he said, with pa
thOs, "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 be-
fore sickness had deprived me of my
health, and death had robbed me of
my dear, loved ones"
He goes to bed between the hours of
nine and ten o'clock in the evening,
and rises at about half-past six in the
morning. He complains much of in
sOmnia, and during the day is often
very restless, suffering from neuralgia
in the head.
He eats often, but very sparingly,
and partakes of the plainest of food,
indigestion being one of his principal
bodily ills. OF his valet, a middle
aged colOred man, (whO by reason of
prior service with eminent people at
Washington, and other places, is more
than ordinarily intelligent and enter
taining,) the poet is very fond, chat
ting with him now and again with
more than usual degree of interest and
animation.
For some years he has not read the
daily papers, and evinces little or no
interest in current events.
at pains me-" he said ''to meet with
the details of so much crime and SO
many casualties"
Indeed, he reads comparatively lit |
tie of any kind, nOw-OccasiOnally a !
page or two maybe of one of his favor
lite prose authors, that mainly consist
of Hawthorne, Dickens and Thackeray,
judiciOusly selecting therefIom matter
of cheerful tone and subject. When
he is much given to mus
ing ; but at times will converse will
ingly and fiuently, displaying thereby
a power of memory, that, in view of
bis feeble physical condition, is quite
unlocked for, recently surprising his
son not little by repeating verbatim
one of Charles Lambs longest essays.
His thoughts often revert to his ir-
reparable loss of wife and children,
speaking of each tenderly and regret
fully, and manifesting keen interest
in the proper care of their graves
ever dwelling on the domestic Attic
ions which have broken his heart and
his once brilliant intellect
II a broOding and incurable melan-
;hOly.
In his room hangs a small portrait
IF Thomas Hood, which was given
Tim by the English humOrist's son, I
md to which he attaches more than
ordinary value. He sometimes re-
marks mOurnfully, while gazing at this
picture:
81 wonder if poor Tom Hood ever {
uttered in his latter years as keenIy
q I suffer now 81 |