Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1893-12-10
"AMERTCANISM'
Ills LAST WORD.
COW OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES is SPEND.
ING TIE CLOSING DAYS OF HIS LIFE.
Hs Nay Go at Any Time Though Es is as
Young as Evsr-His Homo Ard Manner Of
Lifs-Nsmuriss Of the Early Days Of the
Atlantic Nonthly-His Massage to the CON-
ing Generation, "BO American. The "lolmss
Football" Trick.
Al Rights Ressrvsd bv the wilson Press Syn
Hiar4

Az Rights Ressrrad bv the wilson Press Syn
dicdts.
The other day a Boston gentleman,
only less we'll known in literary circles
than DIR. Holmes himself, remarked,
Holmes is dying. don't mean there
is anything especial just now, for he is
one who will keep on his feet until he
steps into the grave. But advise
those who want to see him to make use
of their opportunities, for each occasion
MAY be the last" Only tho other Sat
urday DIR. Holmes read "DorothysQ,"
THE Chambered Nautilus" and the
Last Leaf" (his own peculiar poem) to
a company Of ladies in Boston, the
Women's College Club, and every day
he goes out for a walk OF ten minutes
or so, and a ride in a street car or cab.
1t is but a few days since, that Z lucky
photographer in taking g house on
Beacon Street was fortunate enough to
have included an instantaneous view OF
DR.. Holmes passing in the street, his
head down, his legs extended in a way
to show that age has not lessened his
stride. But tomorrow he will be gone.
The time cannot be long, and those who
wish TO hear his last message must be
asking it now.
That is why / went to see him the
other day. Twelve years ago when /
came first to Boston l thought Of Elmer
son and Longfellow and Holmes and
Whittier and Lowell, and looking out
OF the cab window as l passed through
the streets for the first time l wondered
if l should see one Of them walking by
Emerson with his bowed. thoughtful
head, or the placid LongfellOw, or the
| genial Autocrat, or the impetuous au-
thor OF "a Fable for Critics" But I
| saw them not, aud then Emerson was
| gone, aud next Longfellow, and Whit
tier, and Lowell, and only Holmes was
left to represent the giants who found
ed the true American literature.
/ found DR.. holmes about half after
nine in the morning when visitors are
| cnmmonly turned away, though | was
Fortunately at his beautiful house on
the water side OF Beacon Street. One
| enters a wide hail, finished in brownish
tints and as fresh as the most scrupulOus
| care can make it. On the left is d small
reception room approached by a double
glass door and this room Is white and
| gold, more appropriate for a bride than
an aged gentleman,-but IL shows how
young the good doctor is. But 1 was
not to be left here. Just as Il | had
been in the house q thousand times my
host pushed open the glass door and
said, without a wasted word OF prelimi-
nary, "Come up stairs to my den." He
tramped steadily ahead up the stair
case 10 a large, roomy study, with two
desks and a big bay window looking out
| oVer the water, and uShering me in he
Hospitality pulled a chair before the
open fire for me and another for him
self, as If he had been the young man,
not l, and then he began to talk in his
mellow, natural voice (though to be
sure it wheszos q little now and then. }
He explained that he did not usually
receive any callers in the morning, for
after breakfast his secretary comes
about ten, and for two hours he
works" There are dozens of letters
from all sorts Of curious people which
he scrupulously answers by dictation,
and after they are off his hands he die
tates his memories. Something has
been said about these publicly, as II
they were to form a regular volume;
but the fact is they are entirely discon-
nected bits of memories, or reflections
or fact about himself, which he has
written down as they came TO him day
by day, out Of which he says somebody,
sometime, may make q book. To-day
he thinks of q story OF his early youth,
which he puts down, and again a re-
membrance Of his association with