THE SKETCHES.

Otago Witness, Issue 1929, 9 November 1888, Page 31

THE SKETCHES.

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. The Emperor of Brazil and the Foet Whittier. When Dom Pedro visited Boston some years ago he caused much disappointment in the higher social circles of that intellectual capital by declining to join any of their reunions, alleging that it was his purpose to ' study Boston and its" people quietly, by and for himself. It became known, however, that there was one man whom his Imperial Majesty desired to meet, and that that man was the poet Whittier. Years before some thrilling lines of the poet's (which have for their scene a reach in the vast flood of water which the Amazon rolls seawards, a scene, therefore, in Dom Pedro's own dominions) so deeply impressed the Emperor that he translated them into Portuguese verse and sent an autograph copy of the translation to the poet. He would go to an entertainment if the author of those lines were present. A lady, a leader of society, was equal to the occasion ; she secured the presence of Whittier, and then invited all that Boston possessed of intellectual and famous, to meet the Emperor. Her salons were full ; I believe that Emerson and Wendell Phillips and Longfellow were all there. Upon his arrival, without discourtesy, but with great abruptness, Dom Pedro pushed through the crowd of distinguished men and women, declining to speak to any one until after he had been conducted to the farther end of one of the rooms, where the humbleminded and somewhat shy Quaker poet was standing, whom, without a moment's hesitation, he folded in his arms, kissed on both cheeks, and clasped to his heart. The Walter's Visit to the Poet. While I was writing the early part of this article, the poet came down about half-past 6, and brought some faggots of wood and lit the fire. He cannot understand why I admire his poetry so much. He says, " Thou knowest " — I cannot reproduce the American Quaker " thee "—"" — " I never had any proper schooling, was only one year at an academy, and know only one language, and that imperfectly. We literally had no money on our farm when I was a boy, butlived entirely upon what it produced. Still, * Friends ' in those days would travel 10 miles rather than go to an inn. I remember one winter, when the snow was very deep, William Forster (the father of the late Right Honourable William Edward Forster, and a Quaker preacher) came and spent several !days with us. I guess he had rather a bad time, for we were as poor as Job's turkey." He spoke with great pleasure of the early days of the abolition struggle, when he and his fellow-labourers were very poor, and exposed to every species of persecution, " for, at that time, if we wrote anything no one | would buy it, because we belonged to those pestilent Abolitionist 3. Garrison was fond in those days of talking of martyrdom, referring to the murder of Lovejoy, and the cruel sufferings of those who fell into the hands of the slave power. As iswell known, he himself was once only with the utmost difficulty, saved from being hanged by a Boston mob. I used to say, 'If the old martyrs were as jolly as we are, I don't pity them much.'" He constantly expressed his wonder that I should know so much of his poetry by heart. " I wonder thou shouldst burden thy memory with all that rhyme. It is not well to have too much of it ; better get rid of it as soon as possible. Why, I can't remember any of it. I once went to hear a wonderful orator, and he wound up his speech with a poetical quotation, and I clapped with all my might. Some one touched me on the shoulder, and said, •Do you know who wrote that 1 ' I said, ' No, I don't ; but it's good.' It seems I had written it myself. The fault is, I have written far too much. I wish half of it was in the Red Sea." I told him I rejoiced to see him looking so hale, and that he would very likely outlive many of us younger men. "My life is of very little consequence; time was when I felt a little like old Atlas, but the burden is taken off now, and I feel that the world can get on very well without

He expressed his profound sympathy with the federation for the abolition of legalised vice, and the crusade some of us feel bound to carry on in that direction. Whittier has never travelled, but his poems show that he has a remarkable faculty, perforce of imagination, of seeing through the eyes of others. He is very fond of travels, and perhaps I may be pardoned for the pleasure with which I heard that he had read my book on the " Shores and Cities of the Boden See" through three or four times. A Friend ill Need. My friend and host, Mr Frank J. Garrison, has shown me a file of the " Free Press," one of the first newspaper ventures of his father, in which in the number for June Bth, 1826, there appeared some verses entitled the " Exile's Departure," signed simply " W., Haverhill, June Ist, 1826." The young editor— for William Lloyd Garrison was then only about 21— encouraged his anonymous correspondent by the following note : "If W. at Haverhill will continue to favour us with pieces beautiful as the one inserted in our poetical department of to-day we shall esteem it a favour." He subsequently described how this poem came to him, and his immediate search for the author : " Going upstairs to my office one day, I observed a letter lying near the door to my address, which on opening I found to contain an original piece of poetry for my paper, the " Free Press.' The ink was very pale, the handwriting very small ; and having at that time a horror of newspaper ' original poetry' —which has rather increased than diminished with the lapse of time — my first impulse was to tear it in pieces without reading it, the chances of rejection after its perusal being as 99 to 1 ; but, summoning resolution to read it, I was equally surprised and gratified to find it above mediocrity, and so gave it a place in my journal. As I was anxious to find out the writer, my post-rider — i.c , carrier, newsboy — one day divulged the secret, stating that he had dropped the letter in the manner described, and that it was written by a Quaker lad named Whittier, who was daily at work on. the shoemaker's '

bench with hammer and lapstone at East Haverhill. Jumping into a vehicle I lost no time in driving to seethe youthful rustic bard, who came into the room with shrinking diffidence, almost unable to speak, and blushing like a maiden. Giving him some words of encouragement, I addressed myself more particularly to his parents, and urged them with great earnestness to grant him every possible facility for the development of his remarkable genius." In the "National Philanthropist" for April 11th, 1828, Mr Garrison further writes :—: — "Almost as soon as he could write he (Whittier) gave evidence of the precocity and strength of his poetical genius, and when unable to procure paper and ink a piece of chalk or charcoal was substituted. He indulged his propensity for rhyming with so much secrecy (as his father informed us) that it was only by removing some rubbish in the garret where he had concealed his manuscripts that the discovery was made. This bent of his mind was discouraged by his parents. They were in indigent circumstances, and unable to give him a suitable education, and they did not wish to inspire him with hopes which might never be fulfilled. We endeavoured to speak cheeringly of the prospects of their son ; we dwelt upon The Impolicy of Warring Against Nature, of striving to quench the first kindlings of a flame which might burn like a star in our literary horizon ; and we spoke, too, of fame. 'Sir,' replied his father, with an emotion which went home to our bosom like an electric shock, ' poetry will not give •him bread 1 ' What could we say 1 The fate of Chatterton, Otway, and the whole catalogue of those who had perished by neglect rushed upon our memory, and we were silent." The mischief was done, however, and the youthful poet (whose eldest sister had sent the " Exile's Departure " to the "Free Press" office without his knowledge) having now seen his own verses in print, and received warm encouragement from the editor, contributed thereafter to almost every number of the paper so long as Mr Garrison retained control of it. Up to the present time Mr Whittier has never included any of these pieces in his collected poems. The copy of the " Free Press " "containing his first poem was flung to the boy Whittier by the carrier, or post-rider, one day while he was helping his Uncle Moses to repair a stone wall by the roadside, and, stopping for a moment to open and glance at it, he was so dazed and bewildered by seeing his lines in print that he stared at them without the ability to read, until his uncle had finally to j recall him to his senses and his work. Again and again, however, he would steal a glance at the paper to assure himself that he had not been mistaken. Subsequently, when Mr Garrison (accompanied by a friend) sought out his new contributor, the boy was again at work in the field, barefooted, and clad only in shirt, pantaloons, and straw hat ; and on being summoned to the house by his sister he slipped in at the back door in order to put on his shoes and coat before presenting himself shyly and awkwardly to the visitors, whose errand was as yet unknown tojhim. Before Mr Garrison had spoken more than a few encouraging words to him, the father appeared on the scene, anxious to learn the motive of this unusual call. "Is this friend Whittier ?" was the inquiry. " Yes," he responded. "We want to see you about your son." " Why, what has he been doing ?" he asked, anxiously, and was visibly relieved to learn that the visit was one of friendly interest merely. To the young Quaker lad, then in his 19th year, it was a most important event, determining his career, for the encouragement he now received from Mr Garrison, aided by the latter's impressive appeal to his parents, gave him his first resolution to obtain a good education. By sewing slippers at a shoemaker's bench he earned enough to pay for his tuition at they Haverhill Academy the following spring/ The next winter he caught school, and was thus enabled to pay for another six months' instruction at the Academy. Thus far, Mr Frank Garrison, in the profoundly interesting biography of his father, now in course of publication. I think I cannot do better than close this note with a story which has often sinoe then served me well as a text in addressing young men, and which will be as welcome to admirers of Lowell as to those of Whittier. About four years ago I was talking to Mr James Bussell Lowell, then the American representative at the Court of St. James', about the poet, and told him what a lively letter I had just had from him, sportive as if from a boy. "Mr Whittier," remarked the Ambassador, " has led a good, pure life, and I have often observed that men who lead g6od, pure lives are very apt to be cheerful in their old age. And he has done what many nowadays find it difficult to do, he has retained his faith undimmed and strong in the unseen. — Samuel James Capper, in the " Leisure Hour."