Whittier was not one of the philanthropists whose affections are
all for the world in general with home left out in the cold. On the
contrary, his home affections were very strong; and his thought of
his sister Elizabeth in her invalidism was constant, his care and
anxiety for her unremitting. Whatever suited Elizabeth best was what he
desired; wherever she would be most benefitted was where he wished to
go. Although he preferred the mountains, yet for his sister’s sake he
would go to the seaside; as for his sake she would choose the mountains
when the ocean breezes suited her better.
On entering his home after an absence, his first question always was,
“Well, Elizabeth, how has thee been since I’ve been away?”
His publication of her poems and what he says of them prove his
estimation of her as a poet. Her judgment, her sympathy, her affection,
her criticism, her inspiration were all in all to him.
To the outside world she was a brilliant talker, a cordial hostess, a
devoted friend. To her brother she was home itself.
Slender and delicate as Miss Whittier had always been, she had known
in her own person somewhat of the lawlessness and violence invoked
against the cause she championed. For she, then a girl of twenty, had
been present as a member of the Women’s Anti-Slavery Society, in the
October of 1835, when the Boston mob surrounded the building in which
the meeting was held and attacked Garrison who was to address it.
She was one of the brave women who, two by two, arm in arm, one woman
white, one black, the former to protect the latter as far as possible,
marched through the mob to the house of Mrs. Chapman, where the
adjourned meeting was held, and the officers duly elected.
Devoted, brave, indomitable, resolute in purpose, Elizabeth Whittier’s
intense interest in all that concerned the freedom of the slave, as
well as her great literary ability, made her her brother’s companion
and coadjutor. For to Whittier himself this cause was dearest; it was
the cause which to his latest day he was more glad and proud to have
championed than he was of all the fame his writings had brought him.
* * * * *
Even when Whittier’s fame was still identified with a cause which for
the time kept him from the wider knowledge of the public, many
guests were attracted by his name and personality. Not a few of these
came from homes of much greater elaboration than the poet’s. Elizabeth
felt this; yet never in her inmost heart was she untrue to the cause
for which the poet had chosen poverty--almost obloquy.
[Illustration: ELIZABETH H. WHITTIER]
Yet once when guests were coming who lived in a style far beyond the
simplicity of the Whittier home, she spoke out her dread of the inward
comments which she knew would be made by the strangers.
But her brother had his consolation ready--who ever saw him when he was
not ready?
“Why, Elizabeth,” the poet made answer, “it’s all upholstery. What does
thee care for upholstery?”
* * * * *
To one with so little physical strength as Miss Whittier had, the
frequent and sudden influx of guests was often a trial.
Never was it more so than when at noon one washing day the stage coach
drove up to the house, and, unannounced, two ladies descended from it,
the driver following with a trunk which he deposited in the hall and
departed. Miss Whittier faced the strangers with the trepidation of
a housekeeper who conjures up visions of dust where none should be
and who--still worse--takes counsel with herself concerning the state
of the larder. Her welcome of her visitors, although kindly, was not
wholly free from embarrassment.
But these were housekeepers also; and they understood, it may be far
more than it was desired that they should do. For, the next moment one
of them sat down upon her trunk and burst into tears of mortification
at their having in this way imposed themselves upon strangers.
With the first tear, however, the distress of their hostess fled. She
no longer cared a jot for household disarray--which had been chiefly a
matter of her own imagination--and her welcome of her guests was the
beginning of a life-long friendship with Alice and Phoebe Cary.
* * * * *
Elizabeth Whittier, this very dainty Quaker lady, was exquisite in her
hues of drab when occasion demanded; yet with all her feminine nature
she loved the colors most becoming to her dark complexion and hair and
her beautiful dark eyes. When the summer sun shone hot, a visitor might
find her charmingly, although most simply gowned in a pink cambric, or
even a buff one which was quite as much to her taste, her white linen
cuffs turned up over the wristbands and her collar of linen in the
fashion of the day.
Yet it was artistic instinct and not vanity which made these
selections. For Miss Whittier’s estimate of herself was always
most humble. She never appreciated her own brilliance of face and
conversation and her own great charm of manner. Herself dark, she
delighted in fairness of skin and could not picture angels other than
blue-eyed and golden-haired.
She was very fond of music, well nigh forbidden to Quakers in those
days; and a young neighbor with a very sweet voice would often go
to her home and sing to her, to Miss Whittier’s great delight. So
sensitive to sound was she that voices took shapes to her; they were
round, and square, and of different shapes, some of them, no doubt,
angular enough!
A little girl visiting relatives in Amesbury went one day with these to
the poet’s home. She had never seen either the poet or his sister, and
Miss Whittier’s prominent nose, indicative of her literary taste, but
to a child exceedingly pronounced, caught her attention. She stared at
it steadily, until Whittier who had been watching her covered her with
confusion by saying to her:
“Well, and how does thee like Quaker noses?”
What hospitality, what cordiality in Miss Whittier’s way of leading
along a guest by the hand given in greeting, until she had placed her
in the most comfortable seat!
Like her brother she had that keenness of retort often at once
brilliant and yet full of kindly consolation. A young friend came to
her one day overwhelmed by the many troubles and sorrows of her lot
and in a mood which found life altogether too hard to be borne. Miss
Whittier with many a word of sympathy for her griefs said to her at
last:
“But what would thee have? Thee would not be an oyster, would thee?”
And before the eyes of her listener there rose in consolation that
antithesis of pain, a radiant vision of the joy of life.
* * * * *
A letter from Miss Whittier gives glimpses of the home life and proves
her loyalty to home and friends. She writes:
“I was away more than four weeks. It is now nearly four since I came
back. No, Mary, Greenleaf has not been out in his old coat and hat
hunting asters and gentians. I wish he could. He has been home a
few days. He seemed to have had a pleasant tour all about; but for
more than a fortnight he has been quite sick, has had a visit from
the doctor every day He seems _somewhat_ better now, but has hardly
_faith_ enough himself. He says the war is waiting while he is ill.
“I have missed thee, Mary, sadly; but I know how delightful it must
be in Rehoboth home, so I am patient. Greenleaf has not wanted to see
anyone; but I am sure he would be rejoiced to see thee.
“My little journey was _very_ pleasant, in Lynn among dear old friends
and Aunt Phoebe so glad to have me--and then in Reading, of course,
nothing could be better. I think the Reading sunshine and moonlight
more wonderful than anything I had known before. I do not feel _quite_
as much stronger as I did when I first came home, but am sure it did
me good. I was only one day with dear Hattie Sewall at Melrose....
M---- dear, if I don’t go so much among the glorious woods, I know how
beautiful these warm, bright days must be to you, gypsying as you are.
I did not go to the Fair, but ’twas all very nice and Lucy Larcom sent
me a great bunch of fringed gentians the _day after_. How do you all
feel about the war? For my part, I will keep faith in Frémont! What
does it all mean--the murmurs against Frémont?...
“Only think! Theodore Winthrop’s brother has sent me a photograph
of Major Winthrop, a very pure young spiritual face it is--just
such a one as I seemed to see in the moonlight on the banks of the
Potomac--for thee knows he said, ‘It is full moon always at Camp
Camison.’ I will enclose a notice of thy friend F----’s regiment. I
think poor A---- must miss thee. I have seen her once. I love A----,
the little I know of her--she is so calm and good....
“The doctor has just taken Greenleaf to ride a little way. The morning
is perfect after the storm. I wonder where thee are just now--out in
the sunshine, no doubt.... The dear little kitten went in a basket to
L---- M---- who wrote a note of thanks and welcome to kitty. Greenleaf
joins me in love to thee and thy friends. Aunt Dolly sends her love. We
shall expect thee by and by. When shall thee look homewards?”
* * * * *
In another letter from Boston to the same friend, Miss Whittier speaks
of Fredrika Bremer, who was at that time in America.
“Miss Bremer doesn’t seem a great light after all,” she says; “she is
far more like a good, social hearth-fire making one comfortable. I
want you, my dear, good friend, to see her in Amesbury. Tell Annie,
Miss Bremer is especially drawn to soft, light curls like hers; they
remind her of London. I know she would fall in love with Annie and her
blue eyes. A brother of Mr. J----, the wonderful, drank tea with us on
seventh day evening. He looked happy, and we thought he was a good,
commonplace body.”
* * * * *
Whittier in the note to his poem, “To Fredrika Bremer,” writes: “It is
proper to say that these lines are the joint impromptu of my sister and
myself. They are inserted here as an expression of our admiration of
the gifted stranger whom we have since learned to love as a friend.”
The poem begins:
“Seeress of the misty Norland,
Daughter of the Vikings bold,
Welcome to the sunny Vineland,
Which thy fathers sought of old.”
To this friend to whom Miss Whittier writes so lovingly, the poet also
says in a letter:
“I cannot but feel that thou hast greatly over-rated the benefits
derived from my society and friendship. In fact, I feel very much as a
debtor in these hard times might be supposed to feel if his creditor
should take occasion to thank him for his indebtedness. The obligation
is on my side rather than thine. To me and mine thou hast been an
ever kind and sympathizing friend--one whom we never met without
pleasure or parted with without regret. For myself, as for them, _my
heart thanks thee_. Thou hast cheered us and helped us in many ways
by example as well as words. We have read, thought, hoped, feared,
enjoyed, and suffered together and the ties of affection and sympathy
so woven from the very tissues of our lives are not easily severed. We
miss thee greatly in our little circle; we shall often speak of thee
in the dark winter days and long to see thy familiar face in the light
of our evening fires.
“What beautiful and serene November days we have had! The weather
now grows colder with keen premonitions of winter. W---- has gone to
Washington. He started on seventh day morning. I saw the poor fellow
off. There was a prophecy of home-sickness in his face as he left. We
shall miss him. Banks is governor by twenty-four thousand plurality.
The morning after election Elizabeth crowned his picture with thy
wreath. Mother sends much love. So does Lizzy [his sister Lizzy]. We
shall be glad to hear from thee.”