JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 1807-1892. His poetry burns from the soul with the fire and energy of an ancient prophet. His noble simplicity of character is the delight of all who know him. -W. E. Channing. "Whittier's poems have an ennobling and inspiring influence on our lives beyond the power of the poet's art," says Irish in his "American Authors"; "we feel that God is speaking to us through the unselfish and consecrated life of a fearless patriot and genuine Christian citizen-a man of clean hands and a pure heart. Whittier is the high priest, Hebrew prophet, and sweet psalmist of American literature. His intense hatred of wrong and his supreme love of right, his stirring bugle-calls to duty and his unswerving loyalty to truth, appeal to our nobler nature like the Psalms of David or the sublime words of Isaiah; and his sweet devotional poems breathe the spirit of the Great Teacher, whose biography is written in one sentence: 'He went about doing good.' JOHN OHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, the Quaker poet, was born December 17, 1807, in Haverhill, Massachusetts. His parents were members of the Society of Friends, or Quakers. The father was a farmer of only moderate circumstances; the farm was not a profitable one; it was burdened with debt and money was scarce. The mother was a very tender-hearted woman and most hospitable, hence the home was seldom without visitors. The Whittier home was situated in a somewhat lonely place, half hidden in the woods, with no other house in sight. The family consisted of four children; two sons. and two daughters. A maiden aunt and an eccentric old uncle completed the home circle. We may read an excellent description of the Whittier home and its members in Snow Bound. Many other poems also give delightful glimpses of this home. In Telling the Bees, we read: Here is the place; right over the hill Runs the path I took; You can see the gap in the old stone wall, And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook. One day an old Scotchman visited the Whittier home, and after eating a lunch of bread and cheese and drinking a mug of cider, he began to sing Bonnie Doon and Highland Mary. Whittier was so pleased with the words that he never forgot them. Some time after the district school teacher, a graduate of Dartmouth College, spent the evening with the Whittiers, a thing which he frequently did. He brought with him a copy of Burns's poems and read aloud to the family. Young Whittier listened spellbound. His teacher noticed his interest and kindly left the book with him; thus was kindled the poetic fire which glowed for seventy years. Whittier scribbled verses on his slate when he was a little boy at school, but he was a lad of nineteen when his sister privately sent his first verses to The Free Press, published by William Lloyd Garrison. The poem so pleased the editor that he drove out to the farm to see the writer. John was hoeing in the field and felt disposed to excuse himself, but his sister Mary persuaded him to make himself presentable and see the editor. It was a bashful meeting for the young farmer, but the well bred society man soon made him feel entirely at ease, and they had a long talk, the editor advising him to take a course of study as a training for a literary future. Whittier's school opportunities had been limited to the district school, half a mile away, and a term of but twelve weeks in the year. He owed much, however, to a story-telling uncle, “innocent of books," but "rich in lore of fields and brooks." The boy had imbibed a great store of knowledge such as that gained by his Barefoot Boy: Knowledge never learned of schools, Of the tenants of the wood. The young man was anxious to follow Garrison's advice, but there was no money in the family treasury. He finally solved the problem by learning to make shoes. With the money so earned, he got six months' board and tuition at Haverhill'Academy. At the close of this term, he became editor of a home paper and the Hartford New England Review, consequently he soon became known to all the writers and thinkers of New England. In 1836, the Haverhill farm was sold and the family, consisting of the poet, his mother, Aunt Mercy, and his sisters, Mary and Elizabeth, moved to Amesbury, eight miles farther down the Merrimac. In this plain, old fashioned house many of Whittier's best poems, including Snow Bound, were written. In this delightful picture of his childhood home he sketched all the members of the family with exquisite skill, but he writes most tenderly of Elizabeth, the "youngest and dearest," who was his loving companion through the struggle against slavery, and who passed away the year before Snow Bound was written: As one who held herself a part Against the household bosom lean, Now bathed in the unfading green Whittier gave thirty of the best years of his life to the anti-slavery struggle. While other poets traveled in foreign lands or studied in their libraries, Whittier was earnestly at work in a Boston garret helping Garrison to put out his paper, The Liberator. Of this time he wrote: Forego the dreams of lettered ease; Put thou the scholar's promise by, The rights of man are more than these. "In impetuous, ringing stanzas, he poured forth his hot indignation, startling the conscience of the whole nation. Against the recreant clergy he cries out: How long, O Lord, how long Shall such a priesthood barter truth away, At "For the pursuers of fugitive slaves he has a song of stinging irony, The Hunters of Men, and in Massachusetts to Virginia he sounds a 'blast from Freedom's Northern hills' as terrible in its deep-toned scorn and denunciation as the voice of an ancient prophet." one time his office was sacked and burned, and at various times his life was endangered by mob violence, yet he kept well to the front, only retiring to the privacy of quiet life when his ill health forced him to do so. Then |