New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1892-09-08
JOHN e.. WHITTIER.
energy.

At the notable dinner given to John Green-
leaf Whittier on his SEVENTEEN birthday by the
nublishers of 1.-THE Atlantic" Oliver Wendell
Holmes toasted him as " Holy George Herbert
escancd from the Church" 1t was a fclicitous
Characterization. Herberts dominant note was
a didactic one so was Winters. herbert
was a good deal more than poet constantly
bent upon pointing a moral and so was W MT
tier Herbert was serene and Spotless soul
and our Quaker bard commanded the love and
admiration of his countrymen as wen Tor MS
pure and sturdy character as Tor MS writings
1t has been sharply said that there Is nothing
poetc a0out some poets but theg poems. Inc
criticism did not apply to Whittier. lhere was
daily beauty in his life, sweet ana araess
simplicity, which was in perfect harmony win
the songs he sung The allusion TO The At
lantic, dinner given in his honor is reminder
of the impressive fact that. now that Whittier
has passed away, the only ono left OF the
brilliant group which first gave distinction to
our literature is the AIrocrat. Included IN the
company of that feast were Emerson Long
fellow and Holmes while lowell then our
Minister to Spain and George William curtis
were represented by gay and ailectionate con
gratulatory letters. OF all Of these well-be-
loved American authors of the first rank Holmes
is the sole survivor-long may he be spared to
the countless thousands upon both sides the
sea to whom he has endeared himself
This Nation owes great debt to Whittier
for his services in behalf of the cause OF free
dom. 1t was impossible that his soul, as daunt-
less as il was generous should not hate slavery
with perfect hatred and some of the most
flaming of his early lyrics were inspired by his
ardent sympathy for the bondsmen and his
intense yearnng for the coming in of right
eous day which would set them at liberty. lie
was the poet of the anti-slavery reformers,
serving tho cause without variableness or
shadow of turning, and so helping nightly TO
arouse the conscience Of the Nation to a keen
realization of its sin and disgrace. The series
of poems which he collected under the title OF
"Voices of Freedom" attest that in Whittier
his country had a son who was patriot OF
the best type consecrating 70 her welfare IN
an important and most trying epoch the best
energies Of his heart and soul. With the
promngation of the Emancipation Proclamation
it seemed 10 most, perhaps, that his vocation,
like that of Wendell Phillips and the rest, had
ceased. But though since then his Muse has
led him into the green pastures and beside the
still waters of song, his range has been widened
and he has done more creative work purely
for arts sake, or for the sake Of Nature in her
manifold forms. IL is too early as yet 10 de-
tcrmine whether his is to be great rs well rs
an enduring name in literature, but we may
be sure that, whatever may be the fate OF his
writings as whole, " Snow Bound " Maud
Muller" "In School Days" THE Eternal
Goodness " Barbara Frietchie" and Skipper
Ireson's Ride will die only when the English
language dies His days were long in the land
and were potent and most beneicent influence
from first TO last. Wherever there is respect
for stainless character and for the high achieve
ment which tends 10 charm and elevate man
kind Whittier will DO sincerely mourned. He
was valiant soldier of the True, a sincere
worshipper of the Beautiful, and served these
complementary forces as to add 10 the sum
of human goodness and human happiness.
Great men" said Sidney Smith, "hallow a
whole people and lift up all who live in their
time" The Quaker poet was great man, ac-
cording to this definition. To how many when
the news Of his death reaches them. will occur
the exquisite expression of his faith which is
to be found in Bound:
Yet Love will dream and Faith will trust
Since lie who knows our need Is JUST.
That somehow. somewhere. meet we must
Alas for him who sees
The stars shine through his cypress trees
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away,
Nor looks TO see the breaking day
Across the mournful marbles play
Who hath not learned In hours OF faith.
The truth TO flesh and sense unknown.
That Life Is ever lord OF Death
And Love never lose It's own