The Norfolk Virginian. [volume] (Norfolk, Va.) 186?-189?, 1896-06-18

i Friends In full measure he had; ant
everything possible was done In hi
declining years by those who had thu
nearest right to minister to him. to give
him comfort. But his soilcitude wen
too deep for the surface relations of Iii,
TO fathom. Illness and deafness ant
the imperfect use of his eyes Increased
1t heavily. He could read but very liz
tie and could write less.
| His home at Danvers was a pleasant
one. full of creature comforts. and wo
manly kindness. but the New England
winter pressed heavily upon It.
How do you spend the days?" i ask
| ed once, upon q bitter afternoon when
Il had gone over from Andover to see
him for an hour. He glanced over my
head into the snowstorm. His face was
not dreary, but wore one OF It's gravest
looks.
oh" he said, patiently. II play with
the dogs, or 1 so out and see the horses.
And then talk to Phoe be-and | go into
my study and SIT awhile"
There Is always some one to talk to-"
he said in his gentle and grateful way;
he spoke as though this fact were an un-
usual privilege.
One must have spent more than one
Invalid winter in New England vii
lage to understand in the least what
such isolation was 10 Il man of his gifts
and social instincts. and in the deepen
Ing solitude of old age. Yet nothing
could stir the roots which he had grown
into the soil of his native pines.
To a friend who placed an empty cot
tage in Florida at his disposal one win
ter he replied:
II thank thee for thy kind offer OF
the Florida cottage: but l must live II
] can, and die il ! must, in Yankee land"
Whittier suffered from physical disa-
| biities-only those who knew him we'll
| ever suspected how much or how serl-
ously these affected the exercise of his
great powers. He was but wretched
sleeper: usually his biographies tell us,
awake before dawn, and accustomed to
sleep with his curtain raised, that he
might watch the movement of the sun
| rise. 1t will be remembered how touch
| ingly his old habit wrought upon him
on the day when he fell into his last
sleep; when the nurse would have drawn
the shade to darken the room and he
feebly waved his hand to order It raised
again that he might not lose the final
sunrise of his life.
| His love Of nature was always some
| thing exquisite and as fresh as a lads
to his last hour; find his letters TO me
full of such touches as these:
These November days Of Indian sum
mer make ME happy that l have lived
| to see them"
Il am glad to be permitted once more
to see the miracle of spring"
Again l find the page sprnkled with
magnolia buds. herpticas and volets,
aud when the golden dandelions comes
i, will be really spring. l would rather
see the flowers in the world beyond
than the golden streets we are told
Of"
But l am borrowing even these few
extracts from previous publ.ca lion OF
| if,l, T h,,,, ,I-t..
produce in any fullncss here.
| | have often heard him say that he
called five hours sleep fine nights rest;
anu that for weeks a, n time he would
be unable to write more than a few
stanzas, or a few lines. He worked un-
der severer physical limitatlo than any
other OF the great writers of our coun-
Try yet how wholesome, how genial,
how brave his work.
| He gave the people of his best
| His worst he kept, his best he gave"
| Like other solitary lives of the high
| er caste, his chief happiness was In ibis
friendship. OF these he had many
among the elect spirits; and he sustain
ed them with remarkable fidelity.
sometimes used to think that he found
Ps almost too hard to criticise any OF
his fr!neds or to give us friendly blame
| but If so, he atoned for that by the
stimulating, nOrthwcsterly courage
which lie was sure ito have in s,.ore for
us; always giving us faith in ourselves
and in our work.
| And. indeed, The could smite like the
| angel OF exile when he would or this
we need no other witness than his IA
| nous poem on Daniel Webster. "Icha-
bod Though II Is but just to saw that
! heard him during the last years of his
HE lament, If he did not quite repent
that poem.
Il am afraid I was too severe" he
would say; DO thee think ! was?"
In memorable contrast to that OF orr
great hermit ran the life OF the Beacon
Street poa:. Oliver Wendell Holmes.
Yet the two were friends in the gen
uine sense OF the word Whittier's Sc
clusion held many of his friendships off
by q scepter as delicate, bu. as definite
as the frosted fronds OF one of his cwn
pine boughs. But in the case OF Doc
tor Holmes, / know that the mutual
attraction was affcctionate and real
We are more than literary friends"
whittier once said to me OF the auto
crat. I'VE love each other"
/ remember one winter day lunchine
with Whittier at Doctor Holmes tahle
no other guests being present; and 7
think-for met was the dumbtrst mrcb
at which l ever sat. ] found II imnns.
sable ITO talk, for me speech seemed y
piece OF intrusion on the society of Inypar.
planets, or higher race than ours TO
listen to those two was one of the priyi-
leges of a lifetime.
They interohanged their souls-now
ike poys-and not like poets: merrllv
or graNely; Whittier shining at his han
" ln1r ..ra-