Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 35, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 September 1892 — J. G. WHITTIER IS DEAD. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

J. G. WHITTIER IS DEAD.

Hi* Quaker Poet, at a Ripe Old A**, PaiiM Peacefully Away. John G. Whittier, the Quaker poet, died at 4:30 o’clock Wednesday morning, at Hampton Falls, N. H. The end was like his life, peaceful, and he passed away like one failing asleep. His nearest relatives and Dr. Douglass were at his bedside when death came, andhe seemed to be conscious of his surroundings at the last moment. The funeral, at Amesbury, according to the Quaker custom, will be simple, with no sermon. John G. Whittier’s latter years had been a beautiful ideal of old age. Long ago he laid aside the heavy cares of life to reap the reward of his labors for mankind, and beloved of a nation and the entire English-speaking race he awaited patiently the summons to his final borne. It had been his custom of late years to spend his summers at Oak Knoll and his winters at his home in Amesbury, always among the books he so dearly loved. His birthplace, near Haverhill, Mass., still stands, only a little altered from what it was in 1807. A farmer’s son, bora a$ a time when New England farm life was more frugal than it is nowadays, he had none of the opportunities for culture which Holmes and Lowell enjoyed in their youth. His parents were intelligent and upright people of limited means, who lived in the simplicity of the Quaker faith, and there was but little in his early surroundings to encourage and develop a literary taste. Whittier’s only school instruction was at a district school and afterward at the Haverhill Academy,

where he paid for his tuition by work done out of study hours. But he began to rhyme almost as soon as he was able to read. His father frowned upon his efforts, which for a long time were kept secret, but his sister had faith in his work and encouraged it. One of his earliest poems, “The Exile’s Departure,” she sent without his knowledge to the Newburyport Free Press, signing it with his initial, “W., Haverhill, June 1, 182(5.” The publication of this poem led to the acquaintance and friendship of William Lloyd Garrison, then the editor of the paper, a friendship which lasted and increased until death ended it. After this it was not long before Whittier’s household lyrics gave him such a hold on the popular heart, as later, in the struggle for emancipation, made him a power in the land. It is unnecessary to quote from works so familiar to almost every reader, but sufficient to mention suoh legends as "Skipper Ireson’s Bide,” “The Witch’s Daughter.” “Mary Garvin," Memories," “The Playmate,” and “Maud Muller." Probably the most popular quotation in poetry is the couplet from “Maud Muller:” For of all sad words of tongue or pea. The saddest are these, “It might have been. ”

Despite his advanced years—he was two years older than Tennyson and twelve years the senior of Walt Whitman—he was until recently sturdy and active, and the most charming personality in the world of letters. His mental powers were keen and acute to the last. He gave but little time of late to literary effort, his eye being dimmed and his hand unsteady. His latest literary production was a poem in the Atlantic to Dr. Holmes, and the last verse he wrote was on the occasion of Dr. Holmes’ recent birthday. Mr. Whittier never married. Between his sister Elizabeth and himself there existed the rarest and most delicate love and friendship, which, doubtless, had no little to do with the poet’s inspirations. His home was broken up at her death and his heart suffered in the same misfortune its greatest shock. His niece came to him at the death of his sister and always strove to make that great loss as little felt as possible. Mr. Whittier was not a rich man, nor was he poor. About fifty or sixty thousand oopies of his works are sold every year, and on the revenues thus derived he was able to pass his declining years in ease and comfort The news of the death of John G. Whittier was received at Haverhill with universal feelings of sadness and regret. The city hall bell was struck eighty four times at 8 o’clock as indicating the age of the deceased, and flags on the public buildings and school houses were displayed at half mast as tokens of respect for the dead poet Throughout the literary world the event, though not unexpected, evokes the profoundest regret

JOHN G. WHITTIER.