New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1894-12-02

terest!ng to note Whittier's opinion at thirty
concerning long poems Addressing the budding
vcrsiner, Miss Hooper, ne advises her to write
longer and more elaborate poem for a contem-
plated volume, II know" he adds, ut would re-
ouire a good deal OF patient perseverance and
severe intellectual toll; and for myself frankly
confess that l have not resolution to attempt
ANYTHING Of the kind. Besides. unless consecrated
to the sacred interests of religion and humanity
II would be a criminal waste Of life and abuse of
the powers which God has given for his own
glory and the welfare of the world. Mere intel
lectual renown Is valueess. This sentiment Of
moral responsibility guided the poet as well as
the man to the moment when the pen fell from
the dying hand.
Marvellous to record is his intellectual activity
under the strain Of continual -health-a deli
cacy Of constitution which he attributed to the
early New England methods Of hardening young
people to rigorous climate The Quaker boy
survived the winters Of no nannels and fireless
meeting houses; but It was with the penalty or
feebleness that hampered him to his last day. His
biographer notes that ''he could not write or read
continuously for half an hour in middle or later
life. without severe pain In the head THIS de-
barred him from lectures receptions and public
dinners. unless opportunity was given him to
retire without notice and without causing dis
turbance A continuous mental strain of two
hours was intolerabe to him. This accounted for
his frequent and adroitly managed disappear
ances during such festivities as those OF his
birthdays. This gave him reputation for shy
ness that did not really belong to him. lie was
a man to enjoy society and would have done his
full part Of the talking and listening In any COM
pany but for the dread Of the inevitable penalty.
The more highly priced and interesting the guest
he was entertaining. the greater the necessity Of
getting an occasional brief respite from his con-
versation. His intimate friends understood this.
and would leave him to himself al short inter-
vals and 1t interesting to see the ingenuity
with which he would escape from a. bore. who did
not appreciate or consider his infrmity. The trou
BILE with his heart became less annoying in later
years than in middle life All his life he was
seriously affected by his inability to secure sleep
when it was most needed. When he met Charles
Dickens. he told him that he read 'Pickwck' to
go to sleep by and 1t was literally true. This
kind of literature was improved by him as a
soporiic because it thoroughly enjoyed
that it banshed the thoughts that kept him
awake" The anxieies Of poverty which drove
him to undue toll did not leave him until the
publication OF Snow Bound which brought him
a competence small indeed nut surprising TO one
whose purse had often been empty and never ful
As the poets fame grew ne began to suffer
from the curiosity seekers whose intoerable self
ishness goes far in this country to make fame
curse. Mrs Child relates that In 1850 whittier
complained OF time wasted and strength ex-
hausted by people who came to see him out OF
mere curiosity. or to put up with him TO save a
penny His sister described some OF these IT.
ruptions amusngly in her slow. Quakerly fash
ion Thee has no idea she said. how much time
Greenleaf spends trying to lose these people In
ipes he
well, sister | had hard work to lose him. but
have lost him But can never lose her
said Whittier; the women are more pertinacious
than the men: don't thee find them so. Maria?
| told him did. How does thee manage to get
time to do anything" said he told him took
care to live away from the railroad and Kept a
bulldog and ptchfork and advised him 10 do
the same" Mr.. Pickard says that in Winters
old age the burden Of correspondence became a
serious matter with him. The autograph hunters
had no mercy upon him.
The hardent part OF his work was correspond
ence with poor souls who having tried every
other resource in vain effort TO make living
at last turned their attention 10 literature They
came for advice TO one who had been successful
His never-faing kindness OF heart and his quick
sympathes did not allow him 10 dismiss such
cases without helpful consideration. and he had
the merciful skill 10 bind up every wound II was
necessary to infict Whenever there was urgent
need OF pecuniary assistance even from strang-
ers at distance. as coon as he was satisfied OF
the need help was given. and his benefactions or
| this nature were numerous.
There are many amusing incidents In connec-
| ton with calls made upon him for autographs.
| and for criticism OF manuscripts sent him by
| those who had no claim upon his attention. his
| fear Of sighting any one who had Il genuine in
terest In him his work led him to err on what
| he considered the safe side in this matter. Ills
| first impulse was always KIND one-to grant
| whatever favor was asked OF him A great
| number Of young writer's submitted their first
| for MA
| he saw any sign OF talent he had some pleasant
| word for his correspondent even II he could not
| give much encouragement. His advice was In
variable, not 10 depend upon verse-makng for
| livelihood. He frequently received abusive let
| tiers because the demands made upon him were
| not answered in the way desired man In
| Arkansas sent back the autograph for which he
| had called. because poem rad not accompanied
1 1t. He named several poets who had thus accom-
| modated him, and his collection was too laua-
| bic 10 be cheapened by having a simple rame
| in 1t! He wished nothing at all II he could not
| have what he called for.
Mr.. Whittier was once called up at midnight
| by a large party OF students from the Phillips
| Exeter Academy who explained that they were
| belated by accident. They had started. each with
| an autograph book, with the expectation of meet
| ing him at more seasonable hour. He arose and
| dressed himself and received party OF young
| men who filled his house. and set about writing
| in all their books. As they were leaving. very
profuse In their thanks, one Of them looked ut his
| book and exclaimed: you have written only
| John In my book II am afraid some Of you
| have not got as much as that" he replied, he
! took up his candle and babe them goodnight
The calls upon him for letters that might be
| used to help the sale Of books and pictures were
| numerous. and whenever he could conscientI)usly
do So he ready to offer such assistance.
| In the last week Of his life his noble soren-
| ity was tested by a cruel instance of this lack
Of consideration for old and feeble
| There came to him from Western State a let
| ter from an author Of whom he had never before
| heard, who said he had sent him a volume Of his
| poems for which he had received no acknowledge
ment Then followed impudent lecture upon
| his duty In such a case "A letter OF acknowledge
| ment and volume OF his own works should have