The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1886-09-15
JOHN c. SAKE.
Sorrowful Ending of a Brilliant
Poets Life.

4 Poets Life.
Up 10 the year 1873 John e. SAKE wa.
splendid and conspicuous specimen ol
virile manhood He stood six feet tive
inches tail, proudly erect and muscular
with large, round and finely poised
head set upon broad and stalwart shoul-
ders.
The beginning CT the end WAS the poets
dreadful experience and remarkable es-
cape from revolving death in a Western
railroad disaster in the spring Of 1873,
while on his return to Brooklyn at the
close of a lecture tour in the South. The
sleeping-car in which he had berth was
thrown down steep enbankment, and
he was rescued therefrom by the merest
chance As he lay wedged in between
the broken timbers, stunned and bruised.
a fellow passenger who had escaped be-
thought him of a sum of money which
I he had left behind him. On returning
to the car, he stumbled upon the insen-
sible poet The latter WAS thereby dis
covered from what would inevitably
have been death and destruction by fire,
as the sleeper in which he was found,
after short interval following his rescue,
became a mass of seething fame. His
flesh was bruised, but no bones were
broken. 0utwarily he appeared to have
escaped with slight bodily injuries.
Not 80. A grievous hurt was there
deep, insidous and lasting. though at the
time ii was unseen and unfelt The poets
nerve system had received a shock from
which it never rallied. Exhaustion set
in; SLOWLY but surely the consequent
weakness oyerspread and undermined
his whole physical being He began To
experience greater degree of bodily and
mental fatigue than had been usual with
him.
Other affections were yet in store. Dur
ing the year just prior TO that of the
daughter Laura in Greenwood Cemetery.
Five years later death aghn invaded his
Brooklyn home, the second victim being
his daughter Sarah. Barely another year
elapsed when the mother of his children,
a noble woman, was put tenderly away
(. in dreainless rest. Early in the year of
1861 the dark reaper for the fourth time
laid his cruel sickle at his door, this time
cutting down Hattie, the eoet's only re-
manning daughter He vet had two sons
living in Albany. Turning his mournful
steps thither in June. 1861. he sought rest
and refuge from his sorrows with his
eldest son, John Theodore Once again
the inexorable hand of fate was laid
heavily upon him death snatched away
the son ere the father had been a month
beneath his hospitable roof, The sons
wife had died nine weeks before. Here
was daughter and sons wife and the
son hinlseif-all three cut down within
the brief period of two months, Thus
for the second time Was broken mp the
poets home. Then he turned to his
youngest son and only remaining child,
with whom he has since lived. and who
with fiiial tenderness and solicitude min
isters to the poets simple daily wants.
apartment in q forr-story brown stone
house on State street, in the city of A.
bany, and almost within stones throw
of the great Capitol, sits, OF walks. or re-
clines throughout the day man of 20
years Of age. With hair that is silvery
white, a full beard that is gray-white.
form that Is bent and enlaciated, a step
that is slow and tottering, and cheek
that is pallid and shrunken-his blue
eyes vet full and lustrous alone indicate
the 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 mere shadow
of his former self During the first three
years of his residence in Albany he spent
some hours each pleasant day strolling
about the beautiful park near by, or
TRANQUILITY sitting there in shady arbor,
watching the children at their play. But
during the past two years no public eye
has seen him, for in that long interval he
has of his own choice been carefully Sc
eludel in his room. He neither rides
y.
which he spends his melancholy days
consists of suite of three rooms. located
in the rear end of the house ON the third
floor, and overlooking the noble Hudson
to the south. Here by window lie
whites away the most of his time in
watching the busy river craft, and IN con-
templating the pictur ,sque landscape
OF street attire he no longer has need;
in dressing-gown and slippers he PAGES
the floor with slow and trembling steps.
seldom or never going beyond the con-
fines Of his own ROOMS. He prefers to
have perfect quiet about him, and often
times dislikes TO be disturbed even by
member of his own family
IL is long time since he last consented
to receive u stranger. or even friend or
acquaintance of former days.
. | 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
consulte,. in his behalf predicted that he
would not survive for two years longer
He goes to bed between the hours of
. and 10 O'Clock in the evening. and rises
AT about half-past six in the morning.
He complains much of insomnia, and
during the day is often very restless,
suffering from neuralgia in the heal.
When not sitting in an easy-chair OF
moving leisureIy about his room, he re-
clines upon couch He eats offer 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 mose
than ordinarily intelligent and entertain
ing) the poet is very fond, chatting with
him now and again with 8 more than
usual degree of interest and animation.