We walked under the elms, talked about books, and our absent friends,
gazed at the mountains, and admired the sunsets which just at that time
were remarkably brilliant. There was one, I remember, composed largely
of luminous clouds, and a general translucent effect of the atmosphere,
which Whittier could not remember he had ever seen the like of. He said,
"I don't believe Emerson loves Nature any better than I do, though he
has written more about it." There was a delightful lady in the party who
told us pleasant and amusing stories of New York social life. She could
go on in this way for a very good length of time, and Whittier would
listen to her without saying a word, exactly as if she were reading to
him.
The magnates of West Ossipee had named a mountain near Chocorua for
Whittier and challenged him to climb to the top of it and christen it
properly with a bottle of champagne, but he said No, that his days for
climbing were over; that he thought mountains belonged to the whole
country and he had no desire to appropriate any of them. He liked such
names as Chocorua, Katahdin and Wachusett much better for mountains than
Washington and Adams. The Bear Camp House is a rare sort of a tasteful
country inn, and its proprietor was of course very proud of his
distinguished guest, but at the same time sufficiently dignified to
prevent this from being too apparent. It was there Whittier spent the
last summers of his life, as long as he was able to leave his own home.
In his old age he enjoyed the celebrity of his more vigorous years as if
it had been the fame of a constant friend; but I think he enjoyed still
more the consciousness of having succeeded in living through life as he
intended to do in the beginning.