“A dream to me alone is Arno’s vale,”
writes Whittier in his “Last Walk in Autumn.” Yet those who know say
that his pen pictures of Italy are perfect. He is a consolation and an
inspiration to them upon whom life’s limitations press.
Judging by his reading, the world of books was indeed his world. Books
alone were never his world, however; he chose “living guests who love
the day;” and he had them. For from East and West men and women of
thought and power and accomplishment came to him who could not go to
them. And not even personal presence or telegraph or telephone did he
require to draw about himself a network of communication with the best
and most interesting of the world’s thinkers and workers. In all parts
beyond his sight, he knew them by letter and message. Through travelers
and books the world of his picturing was not far from the real world.
But especially did he perceive it through that imagination which saw
“The marble palaces of Ind
Rise round him in the snow and wind.”
One day there came to visit him at Oak Knoll a widely traveled man.
Whittier talked with him concerning the many nations and races his
guest had seen; for his last experiences had been among the Asiatics.
The poet with deepest interest questioned him of the aim and character
in its broadest lines of those he had known. As the two talked, one
broadened by travel and personal intercourse with many peoples, the
other by power of intellect and especially by love of God and of men,
differences of race and creed and nationality fell away from the eyes
of both, like the calyx from the opening flower. They saw that in the
hearts of all men bloomed deathless humanity, making the men of the
East at one in all essentials with men in Massachusetts, or anywhere
else--that invincible humanity oversweeping all minor differences.
As Whittier relating the conversation to the writer, repeated this
testimony, he gave it great weight, as another evidence of the oneness
of all human beings, and of that brotherhood which one day is to be
realized by us.
* * * * *
He was deeply interested in the poem which he sent Dr. Bowditch, that
Eastern poem of Edwin Arnold’s, beginning,
“He who died at Azan sends
This to comfort all his friends,”
to comfort them with the voice of one who having passed beyond this
life, finds himself still dwelling in life--not in death.
* * * * *
“When I come to Amesbury,” said Whittier in one of his letters, “I
shall bring some books for the Library” [the Amesbury Public Library].
He added: “I got a mayflower over three weeks ago from Pennsylvania. I
don’t suppose the Folly-Mill flowers will bloom for a month or more.”
The mayflowers in “the woods of Folly-Mill,” a few miles from the
poet’s home, were very abundant and beautiful.
* * * * *
In the old Amesbury burying-ground by the road leading to
Merrimac--then called “West Amesbury”--slept his mother and sisters and
others of his family. Here he himself was to be laid one day--as now he
rests.
He loved the Amesbury house in which his dear ones had lived. Here,
with also much of his earlier work, he had written “Snow-bound,” “The
Tent on the Beach,” and many of his later poems. The place was filled
with treasured memories and inspiration to further work. There was in
it, as the writer has heard him say, a dearness and a sacredness
belonging to no other spot.
[Illustration: IN THE WHITTIER GARDEN]
Even in quitting it for a time, as he did at the marriage of his niece,
Lizzie--Mrs. Pickard--he did not shut himself out from it. But for this
house which was still to be home for him when from time to time he
should return there, he chose tenants who, as far as possible, made it
so to him--Judge Cate and his wife.
He liked to discuss politics, local and national, with Judge Cate.
And all who visited him in Amesbury during these years could but be
grateful to Mrs. Cate for her attention to the poet’s comfort and
pleasure, a thoughtfulness exercised with tact and delicacy. In her
consideration of him she might have been a daughter to the lonely saint.
Yet, one day the eyes of a guest of his grew dim as sitting at table
with him, there came the keen remembrance of his loneliness. Not one of
his own kith and kin was there to minister to him so loyal to them.
Whittier used to say that those born under the shadow of Powow Hill
always came back to die. It is well known that this was what he wished
to do--to die in the same house from which his mother and his sister
had passed to the life beyond.
This wish was not fulfilled.
Yet it was not half a score of miles away, at the beautiful home of a
relative and one of his own faith, that he passed from death to life.
And it was here, in his own dear house, that his friends assembled to
pay him the last honors. And it was from this house that he was borne to
“... that low green tent
Whose curtain never outward swings.”
Whittier is a wonderful illustration of that faith which in believing
possesses.
“Safe in thy immortality
What change can reach the wealth I hold?”
he sang of Elizabeth. What thoughts of trust and faith and help he has
given to the world! And no man can give, save from what he himself
possesses.
* * * * *
Lovers of the poet owe a debt of gratitude to those of his townspeople
who are members of the “Whittier Home Association.” For they have made
of his beloved Amesbury home a memorial of Whittier’s life, and have
gathered here valued mementos of the poet.
The Association under the guidance of its president, Mrs. Emily B.
Smith, able, cultured, full of enthusiasm in her work, a social leader,
has made the Whittier Home the gathering-place for whatever can best
minister to spiritual power and social refinement. Men and women of
distinction are glad to bring here of their work and so to bear witness
to their love for the poet.
Here--one of these guests, as speaker at the Midsummer Meeting of the
Association--came Calvin Coolidge, the summer before his election as
Governor of Massachusetts, and bore testimony to his appreciation of
Whittier as poet and man.
Here pilgrims from all parts of the country and from all lands are
welcomed. From here they depart with new knowledge of the poet in
his own home and greater appreciation of the man whose life of
self-sacrificing service prepared him for the utterance of that last
message of his--“Love to the world.”
In Amesbury also “The Elizabeth H. Whittier Club” keeps alive memory
and thoughts of Whittier and of that dear sister of his, his cherished
companion, and, like him, a poet.
It is fitting that this club should be also “The Woman’s Club”
of Amesbury. For Elizabeth Whittier in spite of all her retiring
gentleness was quick to exhibit at need that devotion to the right and
that courage of her convictions which must be the guiding influence
of the womanhood, the inspirer and companion of manhood in his best
achievements.