The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1893-12-10
new RELICS OF WHITTIER.
Unpublished Poems That Shed a Fresh
Illumination on His Inner Life.

Last Notes Of His Broken Lyre-His
Dying Hand Wrote Words That
None Can Read and His Last Lines
Though Undeeipherable are Now
Given to the World-A Puzzle for
Whittier Lovers.
Copyright 1881
Outside dreary rain was falling, from
grey November sky. The wind swept
the dead leaves against the rafting
panes, and went moaning everywhere.
1t was just such a day two Novembers be-
fore, that l had visited poor old Walt
Whitman, in his garrett at Camden,
where 1 found the venerable poet living
in neglect and want, cooking soup in a
yellow bowl, on sheetiron stove near by.
Whenever his strength permitted, he
rose from his armchair, with the rough
bears robe thrown over the back, fun
bling vainly here and there, in dark cor
ners, among masses of literary plumber,
books and papers unnumbered, seeking
the verses Tennyson wrote to him
on a recent birthday, that
might be permitted to know
of the friendship between
the two bards. Like Father Time ap-
peared the noble old writer with his
long, flowing snowy beard, his high, ma
jestic forehead. aud the marks of a great
age furrowed in his withered face At
parting, l could not but wonder what
might become of the poets literary re-
mains, for, in the junk shop Jungle of
those lonesome rooms there must be much
of value, which would be lost, simply be-
cause of the carelessness of the owner,
who considered not the nearnesS of
death
All this was brought forcibly back to
my memory, when, dripping from the
rain, ! entered the hoSpitable home of the
custodian of the literary fragments of
that other of Americas distinguished
poets, whose death has recently baen
mourned by the nation, whose tomb, by
the way, daily receives the Decorating
marks of relic-huuters, who despoil the
c dars and the hedges-John Greenleaf
Whittier. Whatever differences there
may be in the artistic value of the works
of Whittier and of Whitman, certain il is
that the widest distinction existed
between them in the ordi-
nary affairs of their lives. Whit
man was poor and needy to the last, and
was supported, have always unders TODD, ,
in his final inhrmities, by the kind inter
est of friends, who subscribed each his
mite that the little old frame house in
Camden might shelter the snowy head of
more, left his papers in such confusion, in
his garrett, where it was his custom to
pile them, helter-skelter, here and there,
that the availability of many Of them is
questionable, if not hopeless. But with
Whittier order and business-like care had
its part his whole life long. Instead of
being poor, his estate, Mr.. Packard tells
mo was n EIg0 nm E'o1. &c he hoo
anticipated the inevitable end of all hui
man life, and had prepared for it with
caution and with full Instructions as to
the disposition, value and wherea bouts of
his letters. writings and papers, and
when he died, yes, even before his death,
his literary custodian had already en-
tered fully and freely into his appointed
work.
Mr.. Pickard is one eminently fitted for
the delicate task assigned to him by John
Greenleaf Whittier. His years, expe-
rience in journalism, his literary tastes,
his ample fortune, which assures him of
leisure, and, above al, the companionship
of his wife, the niece of the poet, who, in
her turn, was for years the daily con-
fidant of her famous uncle, looking after
him in her tender, womanIy fashion; all
these circumstances have aided 5. I.
Pickard in the labor of compiling and
finally disposing of the Whittier literary
fragments.
l found Mr., and Mrs. Pickard in a
plain, 2-story house, in Portland, Me
on one of the pleasantest streets. near the
Longfellow statue. Everywhere in that
house, in the large, airy and unpreten-
tiously furnished rooms are the indefina-
BILE marks of the hand of woman of
taste and culture, which means much
when a New England woman is con
cerned, aud New England domestic ar
rancements are referred to. l might al
most say that this is another of the many
Whittier homes. In his life, it was hard
TO say where Mr.. Whittier lived. He had
houses all up aud down the murmurous
Merimac and up and down the coast He
voted in Amesbury, He frequently
dwelt with Judge Cade, where a room
was set apart for him, for he came and
went at whim. He had another house in
Haverhill. He had still another at DAN
vers, a spacious, old-fashioned home. set
on hill. He had still another home in
Newburyport, where he spent so much
time with DR.. Garland, that, ii has been
written, "you never would know who
owned the house, the doctor or the poet.
for both were equally at home there.
Mir. Pickard has created another Whit
tier home and has filled it with Whittier
relics, each of which is more interesting
than the last, from oil paintings of the
poet, to his famous cherry writing desk.
which stands in a coy corner. his homely
gold watch, his books, letters and papers.
After we had chatted while on the
life and purposes of the poet, Mr. Packard
excused himself for a moment and went
upstairs to his study, soon returning
with small black box, studded with
brass nails In a rear room Mrs. Pick
ard lighted a lamp, for evening was COM
ingon, and brought ink pen and paper.
The kindness of these people was to me
very touching. l wanted to take picture
of Whittiers writing desk, but there
was not light enough in the corner where
it stood.
Then I shall move it outdoors" said
Mr.. Pickard, without moments hesita-
tion.
Mrs. Packard ran for the stuffed
thrushes which had been presented to
Whittier by the Emperor of Brazil; also
for large vase, that was interesting by
reason of its associations.
you may take these, too, :" she said
smiling
1t was raining hard, but nothing
daunted, Mr.. Pickard protected the table
by an overcoat, and, taking one end,
while / took the other, together we car
ried the relic through this room and that
out to broad back veranda, where the
snap shot was quickly secured. | men
tiOn this incident to illustrate the char