The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1892-09-10
wHITTIRR.s LOVE STORY.
The Maiden Of His Heart Died and he
Remained True to Her Memory.

The Maiden OF His Heart Died and He
Remained True to Her Memory.
From the Ne,o York Recorder.
The death Of the poet Whittier brings 70
mind story Of his early youth. Whittier
never married, and any one who realizes the
deep, loving nature Of the poet, who ever
looked at the passion shining in his dark, in.
tense eyes, and the tenderness that showed
ltsen around the closely shut lips, could not
fail to ask himself what bitter memory made
him lead a single life.
The story runs that in his youth the posi
loved and suffered, and the painfulness Of
his experience shut up his heart and made
| him lived unwedded. When a boy at school
so 1t Is alleged, Whittier fell in love with a
oIushlng, brown-eyed maiden, and used "a
| carry spelling book and geography back
and forth for her from school. As the future
| poet grew older this feeling deepeued, but
the young girl, when just on the verge Of
| Womanhood. sank into a decline and died
1t is this love Of his early youth that years
afterward the poet immortalized in the fol-
lowing beautiful verses, that are known TO
boys and girls far and wide over this broad
country, and even across the seas:
Still sits, the school house by the road,
A ragged beggar summing,
Around 1t still the sumachs grow,
And blackberry vines are running.
Within the masters desk is seen,
Deep SCARED by raps Official;
The Warpng floor, the battered seats,
The Iack-knife's carved initial.
The charcoal frescoes on its wall;
Its doors worn sill, betraying
Ihe Feet that, creeping slow TO school,
Went storming out in playing
Long years ago winter sun
ShOne over it at setting,
Lit up its western window panes
And low caves icy fretting.
1t touched the tangled, golden curls
And brown eyes full of grievng,
or one who still her steps de ayed,
When all the school were leaving
For near her stood the little boy
Her childish favor singled
His cap pulled low upon face
Where pride and shame were mingled.
Pushing with restless feet the snow
To right and left, he fingered,
AS restlessy her tiny hands
The blue-checked apron fingered
He saw her lift her eyes; he felt
The soft hands light caressing,
And heard the tremble Of her voice,
AS if fault confessing:
I'm sorry that spelt the word,
hate to go above YOU
You see" the brown eyes lower fell,
You see, because love you"
Still memory to a gray haired man
That sweet child face is showngl
Dear GIRL the grasses on her grave
have forty years been growing.
He lives to learn in life's hard school
How few who pass above him
Lament their triumph and his loss
Like her, because they love him.
1t is a curious fact that Whittier who.
more than any other poet, Is the American
Burns, should have had his genius Weakened
into life by the poetry Of the Scottish bard.
While a mere boy Whittier heard an old
Scotch peddler, who stopped at his fathers
house over night, sing several Of Burns
simple, touching melodies. His heart
throbbed and burned with emotion, and he
began to hear similar strains rushing
through his own mind.
81 began to make rhymes myself and TO
imagine stories and adventures, !" he tells us.
He began to write verses everywhere
under the fences, in the attic, in the barn,
wherever he could do 30 unseen. When pen
and ink were not forthcoming, he used
chalk, and even charcoal. His family was
greatly surprised to discover one day
some verses of his hidden under a heap Of
rubbish In the Rarres.
One day whittier was busy helping his
father build a stone wall, when the postnan
flung a newspaper at him. he took it up
and, TO his amazement, his eye fell upon
poem of his own called 1.-THE Exile's Ds-
parturs."
What is the matter with theew ex-
claimed bis father, noticing his dazed ex-
preston. Whittier kept his own counsel
and resumed work on the wall, but could
not help stealing glance after glance at the
newspaper that lay on the ground before
him TO assure himself he was not dreaming.
The editor Of the paper thought 80 much
OF the poem and others that followed it
that he drove over to see the author. Whit
tier. then only is, was sun-browned from
the fields where he was hoeing, clad only in
shirt, trousers and straw hat. He slipped
into the kitchen, donned a coat and a pair
OF shoes and went into the parlor 10 greet
the editor, who proved to be William LLOYD
Garrison, then poor and unknown.
This was the beginning Of lifelong
friendship between two men, who. hand in
hand were to lead the fight against slavery
and gain themselves an immortal namn