The Daily bulletin. [volume] (Honolulu [Hawaii]) 1882-1895, 1892-10-15
JOHN aREENLEAF WHITTIER
WRITTEN FOR THE BuLLETIN. |
Continued

different letter writer's and there is
notable example of one who des-
cended to absolute idiocy in letters
to the lady who later became his
wife, and though many censure her
for publishing that humiliating rec
ord Of her husbands folly, in
spirit of revenge, yet few can repress
smile at the thought of Bulwer
subscribing himself as "oor own itty
puppy doggie," after writing the OBJ
ject of his alteration pages of ridi-
culous baby talk, and perhaps Whit
tier may have dreaded some morti-
flying publicity that cannot now take
place.
Whittier's love for his kindred was
strong and true, and one might run
the whole gamut of literature and
find no more beautiful tribute of
brotherly regard than the allusion
to his sister Elizabeth, the poetess,
which occurs in "Snowbound':
80, heart sore tried, thou hast the best
That Heaven itself could give thee
rest;
Rest from all bitter thoughts and things
How many poor ones blessing went
With thee beneath the low green tent,
Whose curtain never outward swings"
With the exception of the poem en-
titled "My Namesake" one cannot
discover the slightest trace of ego
tism in his writings, and that is so
truthful picture of the poet that
the reader forgets the slight trans
gression of good taste:
"some blamed him. some believed him
The truth lay, doubtless, 'twixt the
He reconciled as best he could
Old faith and fancies new"
His innate modesty and sterling
good sense placed him above the
vulgar batteries of the multitude.
1t was impossible to lionize him; he
would not ''crook the pregnant
hinges of the knee that thrift might
follow fawning" before wealth nor
yet with demagogic subtleties des-
cend to vulgar fattery to win the
applause of the masses.
For him was no Countess of Bless
ington throned in chair of gold
hued satin, surrounded by brilliant
satellites, radiant, lovely, bewitch-
ing, scintillating with wit, from
whom he could by magnetic prompt
ing derive new inspiration. We can
not learn that he ever attended the
receptions of the Carey sisters in
New York, where, in emulation of
Gore House, the wit and wisdom of
the day congregated to exchange
ideas and to receive that adulation
SO dear to that strange mixture OF
egotistic vanity, the rhymster
Whittier's death, if we ignore AL
drich, has closed the most remark,
able era of literary activity that the
world has known. As Mr.. Castle
lately wrote, "The pigmies have fol
lowed the giants"
Yet what an age it was! Think
of the celebrities among whom he
lived. In addition to those pre-
viously mentioned, there was Poe,
welding his songs at white heat
the A4gef
Percy" Boxer, Maria Brooks, Brow
nell, John Brogant, Willis, Sage
Dana with his "Buccaneer" giving
promise of brilliant future that
did not materialize, Drake immort.
alizing the American flag, and Coate
Pinkney, singing like clear voiced
maestro. Why the world was bub
bling over with melody! And over
the Atlantic-but you all know
what host of immortals were sing
ing canzonets and rondeaus, and
heroic lays fit to make the attic
bards rise from their graves and
l,stn h~l l,o@ l.
Barent, just bursting into poetical
womanhood like magnolia, and
trying all of her arts of fascination
upon our Bryant across 1000 miles
of stormy ocean and finally mating
Browning so as to marry the same
letter!
And now they are all dead! Gail
all are gone, the old familiar faces
save England's laurel-crowned
laureate and T. B. Aldrich.
And where are the singers of the
Future? In America Eugene Field
and j. w. Riley among newspaper
versemongers bid fair to attain de
served popularity, and the latter
has coigne of vantage with Long
fellow s photographic letter: "Youl
lines have the true ring of lasting
verse; Although the strains of oul
human nightingales have beer
death-stilled there is no reason why
the linnets should not sing, anC
whenever occasion calls, "Some
future Lord Byron or sweet l.. E. L.
some "mute inglorious Milton" viii
gain voice, and, Pygmaleon like
mold the plastic clay of Opportunity
into songful form and breathe into
it the breath of genius.
One of the most noteworthy char
acteristics of Whittier's work is the
all pervading religious sentiment
yet free from all cant. And is there
not something sublime in the spec
tacle of the gray bard, the last o
his generation of singers, standing
on the border land of life, the I'm
known, vast, mysterious, abyssmal
of which neither priest nor sag
knows aught, stretching before him
and chanting, prophet-like, his mes
sage to the children of men almos
up to the hour of his dissolution
RALPH TURNER.