Personal Sketches and Tributes, Part 2, From Volume VI.,
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John Greenleaf Whittier >> Personal Sketches and Tributes, Part 2, From Volume VI.,
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PERSONAL SKETCHES AND TRIBUTES
BY
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
CONTENTS:
PERSONAL SKETCHES AND TRIBUTES.
THE FUNERAL OF TORREY
EDWARD EVERETT
LEWIS TAPPAN
BAYARD TAYLOR
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
DEATH OF PRESIDENT GARFIELD
LYDIA MARIA CHILD
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
LONGFELLOW
OLD NEWBURY
SCHOOLDAY REMEMBRANCES
EDWIN PERCY WHIPPLE
PERSONAL SKETCHES AND TRIBUTES
THE FUNERAL OF TORREY.
Charles T. Torrey, an able young Congregational clergyman, died May
9, 1846, in the state's prison of Maryland, for the offence of
aiding slaves to escape from bondage. His funeral in Boston,
attended by thousands, was a most impressive occasion. The
following is an extract from an article written for the _Essex
Transcript_:--
Some seven years ago, we saw Charles T. Torrey for the first time. His
wife was leaning on his arm,--young, loving, and beautiful; the heart
that saw them blessed them. Since that time, we have known him as a most
energetic and zealous advocate of the anti-slavery cause. He had fine
talents, improved by learning and observation, a clear, intensely active
intellect, and a heart full of sympathy and genial humanity. It was with
strange and bitter feelings that we bent over his coffin and looked upon
his still face. The pity which we had felt for him in his long
sufferings gave place to indignation against his murderers. Hateful
beyond the power of expression seemed the tyranny which had murdered him
with the slow torture of the dungeon. May God forgive us, if for the
moment we felt like grasping His dread prerogative of vengeance. As we
passed out of the hall, a friend grasped our hand hard, his eye flashing
through its tears, with a stern reflection of our own emotions, while he
whispered through his pressed lips: "It is enough to turn every anti-
slavery heart into steel." Our blood boiled; we longed to see the wicked
apologists of slavery--the blasphemous defenders of it in Church and
State--led up to the coffin of our murdered brother, and there made to
feel that their hands had aided in riveting the chain upon those still
limbs, and in shutting out from those cold lips the free breath of
heaven.
A long procession followed his remains to their resting-place at Mount
Auburn. A monument to his memory will be raised in that cemetery, in the
midst of the green beauty of the scenery which he loved in life, and side
by side with the honored dead of Massachusetts. Thither let the friends
of humanity go to gather fresh strength from the memory of the martyr.
There let the slaveholder stand, and as he reads the record of the
enduring marble commune with his own heart, and feel that sorrow which
worketh repentance.
The young, the beautiful, the brave!--he is safe now from the malice of
his enemies. Nothing can harm him more. His work for the poor and
helpless was well and nobly done. In the wild woods of Canada, around
many a happy fireside and holy family altar, his name is on the lips of
God's poor. He put his soul in their souls' stead; he gave his life for
those who had no claim on his love save that of human brotherhood. How
poor, how pitiful and paltry, seem our labors! How small and mean our
trials and sacrifices! May the spirit of the dead be with us, and infuse
into our hearts something of his own deep sympathy, his hatred of
injustice, his strong faith and heroic endurance. May that spirit be
gladdened in its present sphere by the increased zeal and faithfulness of
the friends he has left behind.
EDWARD EVERETT.
A letter to Robert C. Waterston.
Amesbury, 27th 1st Month, 1865.
I acknowledge through thee the invitation of the standing committee of
the Massachusetts Historical Society to be present at a special meeting
of the Society for the purpose of paying a tribute to the memory of our
late illustrious associate, Edward Everett.
It is a matter of deep regret to me that the state of my health will not
permit me to be with you on an occasion of so much interest.
It is most fitting that the members of the Historical Society of
Massachusetts should add their tribute to those which have been already
offered by all sects, parties, and associations to the name and fame of
their late associate. He was himself a maker of history, and part and
parcel of all the noble charities and humanizing influences of his State
and time.
When the grave closed over him who added new lustre to the old and
honored name of Quincy, all eyes instinctively turned to Edward Everett
as the last of that venerated class of patriotic civilians who, outliving
all dissent and jealousy and party prejudice, held their reputation by
the secure tenure of the universal appreciation of its worth as a common
treasure of the republic. It is not for me to pronounce his eulogy.
Others, better qualified by their intimate acquaintance with him, have
done and will do justice to his learning, eloquence, varied culture, and
social virtues. My secluded country life has afforded me few
opportunities of personal intercourse with him, while my pronounced
radicalism on the great question which has divided popular feeling
rendered our political paths widely divergent. Both of us early saw the
danger which threatened the country. In the language of the prophet, we
"saw the sword coining upon the land," but while he believed in the
possibility of averting it by concession and compromise, I, on the
contrary, as firmly believed that such a course could only strengthen and
confirm what I regarded as a gigantic conspiracy against the rights and
liberties, the union and the life, of the nation.
Recent events have certainly not tended to change this belief on my part;
but in looking over the past, while I see little or nothing to retract in
the matter of opinion, I am saddened by the reflection that through the
very intensity of my convictions I may have done injustice to the motives
of those with whom I differed. As respects Edward Everett, it seems to
me that only within the last four years I have truly known him.
In that brief period, crowded as it is with a whole life-work of
consecration to the union, freedom, and glory of his country, he not only
commanded respect and reverence, but concentrated upon himself in a most
remarkable degree the love of all loyal and generous hearts. We have
seen, in these years of trial, very great sacrifices offered upon the
altar of patriotism,--wealth, ease, home, love, life itself. But Edward
Everett did more than this: he laid on that altar not only his time,
talents, and culture, but his pride of opinion, his long-cherished views
of policy, his personal and political predilections and prejudices, his
constitutional fastidiousness of conservatism, and the carefully
elaborated symmetry of his public reputation. With a rare and noble
magnanimity, he met, without hesitation, the demand of the great
occasion. Breaking away from all the besetments of custom and
association, he forgot the things that are behind, and, with an eye
single to present duty, pressed forward towards the mark of the high
calling of Divine Providence in the events of our time. All honor to
him! If we mourn that he is now beyond the reach of our poor human
praise, let us reverently trust that he has received that higher plaudit:
"Well done, thou good and faithful servant!"
When I last met him, as my colleague in the Electoral College of
Massachusetts, his look of health and vigor seemed to promise us many
years of his wisdom and usefulness. On greeting him I felt impelled to
express my admiration and grateful appreciation of his patriotic labors;
and I shall never forget how readily and gracefully he turned attention
from himself to the great cause in which we had a common interest, and
expressed his thankfulness that he had still a country to serve.
To keep green the memory of such a man is at once a privilege and a duty.
That stainless life of seventy years is a priceless legacy. His hands
were pure. The shadow of suspicion never fell on him. If he erred in
his opinions (and that he did so he had the Christian grace and courage
to own), no selfish interest weighed in the scale of his judgment against
truth.
As our thoughts follow him to his last resting-place, we are sadly
reminded of his own touching lines, written many years ago at Florence.
The name he has left behind is none the less "pure" that instead of being
"humble," as he then anticipated, it is on the lips of grateful millions,
and written ineffaceable on the record of his country's trial and
triumph:--
"Yet not for me when I shall fall asleep
Shall Santa Croce's lamps their vigils keep.
Beyond the main in Auburn's quiet shade,
With those I loved and love my couch be made;
Spring's pendant branches o'er the hillock wave,
And morning's dewdrops glisten on my grave,
While Heaven's great arch shall rise above my bed,
When Santa Croce's crumbles on her dead,--
Unknown to erring or to suffering fame,
So may I leave a pure though humble name."
Congratulating the Society on the prospect of the speedy consummation of
the great objects of our associate's labors,--the peace and permanent
union of our country,--
I am very truly thy friend.
LEWIS TAPPAN.
[1873.]
One after another, those foremost in the antislavery conflict of the last
half century are rapidly passing away. The grave has just closed over
all that was mortal of Salmon P. Chase, the kingliest of men, a statesman
second to no other in our history, too great and pure for the Presidency,
yet leaving behind him a record which any incumbent of that station might
envy,--and now the telegraph brings us the tidings of the death of Lewis
Tappan, of Brooklyn, so long and so honorably identified with the anti-
slavery cause, and with every philanthropic and Christian enterprise. He
was a native of Massachusetts, born at Northampton in 1788, of Puritan
lineage,--one of a family remarkable for integrity, decision of
character, and intellectual ability. At the very outset, in company with
his brother Arthur, he devoted his time, talents, wealth, and social
position to the righteous but unpopular cause of Emancipation, and
became, in consequence, a mark for the persecution which followed such
devotion. His business was crippled, his name cast out as evil, his
dwelling sacked, and his furniture dragged into the street and burned.
Yet he never, in the darkest hour, faltered or hesitated for a moment.
He knew he was right, and that the end would justify him; one of the
cheerfullest of men, he was strong where others were weak, hopeful where
others despaired. He was wise in counsel, and prompt in action; like
Tennyson's Sir Galahad,
"His strength was as the strength of ten,
Because his heart was pure."
I met him for the first time forty years ago, at the convention which
formed the American Anti-Slavery Society, where I chanced to sit by him
as one of the secretaries. Myself young and inexperienced, I remember
how profoundly I was impressed by his cool self-possession, clearness of
perception, and wonderful executive ability. Had he devoted himself to
party politics with half the zeal which he manifested in behalf of those
who had no votes to give and no honors to bestow, he could have reached
the highest offices in the land. He chose his course, knowing all that
he renounced, and he chose it wisely. He never, at least, regretted it.
And now, at the ripe age of eighty-five years, the brave old man has
passed onward to the higher life, having outlived here all hatred, abuse,
and misrepresentation, having seen the great work of Emancipation
completed, and white men and black men equal before the law. I saw him
for the last time three years ago, when he was preparing his valuable
biography of his beloved brother Arthur. Age had begun to tell upon his
constitution, but his intellectual force was not abated. The old,
pleasant laugh and playful humor remained. He looked forward to the
close of life hopefully, even cheerfully, as he called to mind the dear
friends who had passed on before him, to await his coming.
Of the sixty-three signers of the Anti-Slavery Declaration at the
Philadelphia Convention in 1833, probably not more than eight or ten are
now living.
"As clouds that rake the mountain summits,
As waves that know no guiding hand,
So swift has brother followed brother
From sunshine to the sunless land."
Yet it is a noteworthy fact that the oldest member of that convention,
David Thurston, D. D., of Maine, lived to see the slaves emancipated, and
to mingle his voice of thanksgiving with the bells that rang in the day
of universal freedom.
BAYARD TAYLOR
Read at the memorial meeting in Tremont Temple, Boston, January 10, 1879.
I am not able to attend the memorial meeting in Tremont Temple on the
10th instant, but my heart responds to any testimonial appreciative of
the intellectual achievements and the noble and manly life of Bayard
Taylor. More than thirty years have intervened between my first meeting
him in the fresh bloom of his youth and hope and honorable ambition, and
my last parting with him under the elms of Boston Common, after our visit
to Richard H. Dana, on the occasion of the ninetieth anniversary of that
honored father of American poetry, still living to lament the death of
his younger disciple and friend. How much he has accomplished in these
years! The most industrious of men, slowly, patiently, under many
disadvantages, he built up his splendid reputation. Traveller, editor,
novelist, translator, diplomatist, and through all and above all poet,
what he was he owed wholly to himself. His native honesty was satisfied
with no half tasks. He finished as he went, and always said and did his
best.
It is perhaps too early to assign him his place in American literature.
His picturesque books of travel, his Oriental lyrics, his Pennsylvanian
idyls, his Centennial ode, the pastoral beauty and Christian sweetness of
Lars, and the high argument and rhythmic marvel of Deukalion are sureties
of the permanence of his reputation. But at this moment my thoughts
dwell rather upon the man than the author. The calamity of his death,
felt in both hemispheres, is to me and to all who intimately knew and
loved him a heavy personal loss. Under the shadow of this bereavement,
in the inner circle of mourning, we sorrow most of all that we shall see
his face no more, and long for "the touch of a vanished hand, and the
sound of a voice that is still."
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
Read at the dedication of the Channing Memorial Church at Newport, R. I.
DANVERS, MASS., 3d Mo., 13, 1880.
I scarcely need say that I yield to no one in love and reverence for the
great and good man whose memory, outliving all prejudices of creed, sect,
and party, is the common legacy of Christendom. As the years go on, the
value of that legacy will be more and more felt; not so much, perhaps, in
doctrine as in spirit, in those utterances of a devout soul which are
above and beyond the affirmation or negation of dogma.
His ethical severity and Christian tenderness; his hatred of wrong and
oppression, with love and pity for the wrong-doer; his noble pleas for
self-culture, temperance, peace, and purity; and above all, his precept
and example of unquestioning obedience to duty and the voice of God in
his soul, can never become obsolete. It is very fitting that his memory
should be especially cherished with that of Hopkins and Berkeley in the
beautiful island to which the common residence of those worthies has lent
additional charms and interest.
DEATH OF PRESIDENT GARFIELD.
A letter written to W. H. B. Currier, of Amesbury, Mass.
DANVERS, MASS., 9th Mo., 24, 1881.
I regret that it is not in my power to join the citizens of Amesbury and
Salisbury in the memorial services on the occasion of the death of our
lamented President. But in heart and sympathy I am with you. I share
the great sorrow which overshadows the land; I fully appreciate the
irretrievable loss. But it seems to me that the occasion is one for
thankfulness as well as grief.
Through all the stages of the solemn tragedy which has just closed with
the death of our noblest and best, I have felt that the Divine Providence
was overruling the mighty affliction,--that the patient sufferer at
Washington was drawing with cords of sympathy all sections and parties
nearer to each other. And now, when South and North, Democrat and
Republican, Radical and Conservative, lift their voices in one unbroken
accord of lamentation; when I see how, in spite of the greed of gain, the
lust of office, the strifes and narrowness of party politics, the great
heart of the nation proves sound and loyal, I feel a new hope for the
republic, I have a firmer faith in its stability. It is said that no man
liveth and no man dieth to himself; and the pure and noble life of
Garfield, and his slow, long martyrdom, so bravely borne in view of all,
are, I believe, bearing for us as a people "the peaceable fruits of
righteousness." We are stronger, wiser, better, for them.
With him it is well. His mission fulfilled, he goes to his grave by the
Lakeside honored and lamented as man never was before. The whole world
mourns him. There is no speech nor language where the voice of his
praise is not heard. About his grave gather, with heads uncovered, the
vast brotherhood of man.
And with us it is well, also. We are nearer a united people than ever
before. We are at peace with all; our future is full of promise; our
industrial and financial condition is hopeful. God grant that, while our
material interests prosper, the moral and spiritual influence of the
occasion may be permanently felt; that the solemn sacrament of Sorrow,
whereof we have been made partakers, may be blest to the promotion of the
righteousness which exalteth a nation.
LYDIA MARIA CHILD.
In 1882 a collection of the Letters of Lydia Maria Child was
published, for which I wrote the following sketch, as an
introduction:--
In presenting to the public this memorial volume, its compilers deemed
that a brief biographical introduction was necessary; and as a labor of
love I have not been able to refuse their request to prepare it.
Lydia Maria Francis was born in Medford, Massachusetts, February 11,
1802. Her father, Convers Francis, was a worthy and substantial citizen
of that town. Her brother, Convers Francis, afterwards theological
professor in Harvard College, was some years older than herself, and
assisted her in her early home studies, though, with the perversity of an
elder brother, he sometimes mystified her in answering her questions.
Once, when she wished to know what was meant by Milton's "raven down of
darkness," which was made to smile when smoothed, he explained that it
was only the fur of a black cat, which sparkled when stroked! Later in
life this brother wrote of her, "She has been a dear, good sister to me
would that I had been half as good a brother to her." Her earliest
teacher was an aged spinster, known in the village as "Marm Betty,"
painfully shy, and with many oddities of person and manner, the never-
forgotten calamity of whose life was that Governor Brooks once saw her
drinking out of the nose of her tea-kettle. Her school was in her
bedroom, always untidy, and she was a constant chewer of tobacco but the
children were fond of her, and Maria and her father always carried her a
good Sunday dinner. Thomas W. Higginson, in _Eminent Women of the Age_,
mentions in this connection that, according to an established custom, on
the night before Thanksgiving "all the humble friends of the Francis
household--Marm Betty, the washerwoman, wood-sawyer, and journeymen, some
twenty or thirty in all--were summoned to a preliminary entertainment.
They there partook of an immense chicken pie, pumpkin pie made in milk-
pans, and heaps of doughnuts. They feasted in the large, old-fashioned
kitchen, and went away loaded with crackers and bread and pies, not
forgetting 'turnovers' for the children. Such plain application of the
doctrine that it is more blessed to give than receive may have done more
to mould the character of Lydia Maria Child of maturer years than all the
faithful labors of good Dr. Osgood, to whom she and her brother used to
repeat the Assembly's catechism once a month."
Her education was limited to the public schools, with the exception of
one year at a private seminary in her native town. From a note by her
brother, Dr. Francis, we learn that when twelve years of age she went to
Norridgewock, Maine, where her married sister resided. At Dr. Brown's,
in Skowhegan, she first read _Waverley_. She was greatly excited, and
exclaimed, as she laid down the book, "Why cannot I write a novel?"
She remained in Norridgewock and vicinity for several years, and on her
return to Massachusetts took up her abode with her brother at Watertown.
He encouraged her literary tastes, and it was in his study that she
commenced her first story, _Hobomok_, which she published in the twenty-
first year of her age. The success it met with induced her to give to
the public, soon after, _The Rebels: a Tale of the Revolution_, which was
at once received into popular favor, and ran rapidly through several
editions. Then followed in close succession _The Mother's Book_, running
through eight American editions, twelve English, and one German, _The
Girl's Book_, the _History of Women_, and the _Frugal Housewife_, of
which thirty-five editions were published. Her _Juvenile Miscellany_ was
commenced in 1826.
It is not too much to say that half a century ago she was the most
popular literary woman in the United States. She had published
historical novels of unquestioned power of description and
characterization, and was widely and favorably known as the editor of the
_Juvenile Miscellany_, which was probably the first periodical in the
English tongue devoted exclusively to children, and to which she was by
far the largest contributor. Some of the tales and poems from her pen
were extensively copied and greatly admired. It was at this period that
the _North American Review_, the highest literary authority of the
country, said of her, "We are not sure that any woman of our country
could outrank Mrs. Child. This lady has been long before the public as
an author with much success. And she well deserves it, for in all her
works nothing can be found which does not commend itself, by its tone of
healthy morality and good sense. Few female writers, if any, have done
more or better things for our literature in the lighter or graver
departments."
Comparatively young, she had placed herself in the front rank of American
authorship. Her books and her magazine had a large circulation, and were
affording her a comfortable income, at a time when the rewards of
authorship were uncertain and at the best scanty.
In 1828 she married David Lee Child, Esq., a young and able lawyer, and
took up her residence in Boston. In 1831-32 both became deeply
interested in the subject of slavery, through the writings and personal
influence of William Lloyd Garrison. Her husband, a member of the
Massachusetts legislature and editor of the _Massachusetts Journal_, had,
at an earlier date, denounced the project of the dismemberment of Mexico
for the purpose of strengthening and extending American slavery. He was
one of the earliest members of the New England Anti-Slavery Society, and
his outspoken hostility to the peculiar institution greatly and
unfavorably affected his interests as a lawyer. In 1832 he addressed a
series of able letters on slavery and the slave-trade to Edward S. Abdy,
a prominent English philanthropist. In 1836 he published in Philadelphia
ten strongly written articles on the same subject. He visited England
and France in 1837, and while in Paris addressed an elaborate memoir to
the Societe pour l'Abolition d'Esclavage, and a paper on the same subject
to the editor of the _Eclectic Review_, in London. To his facts and
arguments John Quincy Adams was much indebted in the speeches which he
delivered in Congress on the Texas question.
In 1833 the American Anti-Slavery Society was formed by a convention in
Philadelphia. Its numbers were small, and it was everywhere spoken
against. It was at this time that Lydia Maria Child startled the country
by the publication of her noble _Appeal in Behalf of that Class of
Americans called Africans_. It is quite impossible for any one of the
present generation to imagine the popular surprise and indignation which
the book called forth, or how entirely its author cut herself off from
the favor and sympathy of a large number of those who had previously
delighted to do her honor. Social and literary circles, which had been
proud of her presence, closed their doors against her. The sale of her
books, the subscriptions to her magazine, fell off to a ruinous extent.
She knew all she was hazarding, and made the great sacrifice, prepared
for all the consequences which followed. In the preface to her book she
says, "I am fully aware of the unpopularity of the task I have
undertaken; but though I expect ridicule and censure, I do not fear them.
A few years hence, the opinion of the world will be a matter in which I
have not even the most transient interest; but this book will be abroad
on its mission of humanity long after the hand that wrote it is mingling
with the dust. Should it be the means of advancing, even one single
hour, the inevitable progress of truth and justice, I would not exchange
the consciousness for all Rothschild's wealth or Sir Walter's fame."