XI
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 hadalways 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.
Elizabeth H. Whittier
Elizabeth H. Whittier
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 shouldbe 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 turnedup 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 dayHe seemssomewhatbetter now, but has hardlyfaithenough 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 wasverypleasant, 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 feelquiteas 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 theday 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, avery 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 fallin 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.”
“Seeress of the misty Norland,Daughter of the Vikings bold,Welcome to the sunny Vineland,Which thy fathers sought of old.”
“Seeress of the misty Norland,Daughter of the Vikings bold,Welcome to the sunny Vineland,Which thy fathers sought of old.”
“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 sympathizingfriend—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.”
“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 sympathizingfriend—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.”