The Palatka daily news. (Palatka, Fla.) 1884-1888, 1886-10-12
JOHN GODFREY SAKE.
AM EMACiATEO FORM, ToTTERING
STEPS AND SHRUNKEN CHEEK

Tho Old Poet a Mere Shadow of His
Former Self-He Seldom Goes Beyond
the Confines OF His Rooms-Eeads but
Little.
In large and luxuriously furnished apart
ment in a four-story brown 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 n man of 40 years of age. With hair
that is silvery white, full beard that is
gray white, a form that is bent and emaci-
ated, a step that is slow and tottering, and a
cheek that is pallid and shrunken-his blue
eyes, yet full and lustrous, alone indicate tho
strength and pride of other days. This man
is John Godfrey SAKE, the poet
The old poet is now much changed in form
and feature, being merely a 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 beau
tiful park near by, or TRANQUILITY sitting there
in a shady arbor, watching the children at
their play. But 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 abroad. The apartment in which he
suite Of three rooms, located in the rear end
of the house, on the third floor, and overlook
ing the noble Hudson to the south
WATCHING THE RIVER CRAFT.
Here by the window he whiles away much
of his time in watching the busy river craft
and in contemplating the picturesque land
scape. OF street attire he no longer has O
need; in dressing gown and slippers he PAGES
the floor with slow and trembling steps, sell
dom or never going beyond the confines of
his own rooms. He prefers to have perfect
quiet about him, and oftentimes dislikes to
be disturbed even by a member of his own
family.
1t is long time since he last consented to
receive stranger, or even a friend, or an ac-
quaintance of former days
Il 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 con-
suited in his behalf predicted that he would
not survive two years longer.
He goes to bed between the hours of 0 and
10 O'Clock in the evening, and rises ut about
$50 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
leisurely about his room, he reclines upon a
couch. He eats often but very sparingly,
and partakes of the plainest of food, indiges-
ton being one of his principal bodily ills. OF
his valet, a midde-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 and
again with more than usual degree of in
terest and animation.
READS COMPARATIVELY LITTLE
Until quite recently he devoted a good
share of his time to a perusal of the standard
poets and the leading magazines those of
the latter to whose pages he was once n val
ued contributor being still sent him regularly
and unsolicited by the publishers thereof, in
kindly remembrance of past services For
some years he has not read the daily papers,
and evinces little or no interest in current
events
1T pains me-" he said. ito meet with the
details of so much crime and so many casual
ties"
Indeed, he reads comparatively little of any
kind now-occasionally page or two, NAV
be, of one of his favorite prose authors, that
mainly consist of Hawthorne, Dickens and
Thackeray, judiciously selecting therefrom
matter of cheerful tone and subject. When
undisturbed he is much given to musing; but
at times will converse willingly and fiuently,
displaying thereby power of memory that,
in view of his feeble physical condition, is
quite unlocked for, recently surprising his
son not n little by reciting verbatim one of
Charles Lamb's longest essays.
His thoughts often revert to his irreparable
loss of wife and children, speaking of each
tenderly and regretfully, and manifesting
keen interest in the proper care of their
graves-ever dwelling on the domestic afilic-
tions which have broken his heart, and envel-
oped his once brilliant intellect in a brooding
and incurable melancholy.-Brooklyn Maga-