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The principal thing about Abigail was that she despised the South, but for the reason that there was nothing there but the political mind and that it was concerned almost entirely with the negro. It had no literature. Longfellow, Emerson, Whittier, Lowell were producing works of merit; and the South was doing nothing. Poe was born in Boston, had lived South, but had written out of nowhere.
Whittier showed me a couple of stuffed birds which had been sent to him by the Emperor of Brazil, after reading his Cry of a Lost Soul, in allusion to the bird in South American forests which has so intensely mournful a note that the Indians give it a name which signifies a lost soul. The first birds which were sent did not reach him, and the Emperor on hearing it sent two more.
Some of our own critics have been a good deal annoyed by the fact that many European scholars and experts have recognized Whitman as the only distinctive American poet thus far. It would seem as if our reputation for culture and good manners is at stake. We want Europe to see America in our literary poets like Lowell, or Longfellow, or Whittier.
WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF. Born at Haverhill, Massachusetts, December 17, 1807; attended Haverhill Academy; edited "American Manufacturer," at Boston, 1829; edited the Haverhill Gazette, 1830; became secretary of the American Anti-Slavery Society, 1836; member of Massachusetts legislature, 1835-36; settled at Amesbury, Massachusetts, 1840; published "Legends of New England," 1831; "Moll Pitcher," 1832; and many other collections of his poems until his death at Hampton Falls, New Hampshire, September 7, 1892.
Whittier N. Smail Kennicott's Uncle Whittier and Aunt Bessie. The true Main Streetite defines a relative as a person to whose house you go uninvited, to stay as long as you like. If you hear that Lym Cass on his journey East has spent all his time "visiting" in Oyster Center, it does not mean that he prefers that village to the rest of New England, but that he has relatives there.
"Well, if you'd been brought up in a 'sylum without any folks that cared, instead of by a whole lot of old women who didn't have anything to do but tell you how to talk right, maybe you'd say 'you was, and a whole lot more worse things, Pollyanna Whittier!" "Why, Jimmy Bean!" flared Pollyanna.
He has an earnest admirer in Buckingham Palace, Marianne Skerrett, known as the Queen's Miss Skerrett, the lady chiefly about her, and the only one to whom she talks of books. Miss Skerrett is herself a very clever woman, and holds Mr. Whittier to be not only the greatest, but the one poet of America; which last assertion the poet himself would, I suspect, be the very first to deny.
He would sweep the assembly with that searching glance, as much as to say, 'What is all this buzzing and chirping about? Holmes was as brilliant and scintillating as ever; sparks of wit would greet every newcomer, flying out as the sparks fly from that log. Whittier was there, too, looking nervous and uneasy and very much out of his element.
For a week the sullen British lay in their lines; then, abandoning their heavy artillery, they marched back to the ships and sailed for Europe. He rests with the immortals; his journey has been long: For him no wail of sorrow, but a paean full and strong! So well and bravely has he done the work be found to do, To justice, freedom, duty, God, and man forever true. Whittier.
He'd cut off his right hand for me Jerry would; but he loves to tease. Where'd you see him? Does he know you? He didn't tell me your name." "I'm Pollyanna Whittier. I was lost and he found me and took me home," answered Pollyanna, still a little dazedly. "I see. Just like him," nodded the boy. "Don't he tote me up here every day?" A quick sympathy came to Pollyanna's eyes.
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