John Greenleaf Whittier: His Life, Genius, and WritingsKennedy, William Sloane
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John Greenleaf Whittier: His Life, Genius, and Writings
Kennedy, William Sloane
Abolitionists -- United States -- Biography; Poets, American -- 19th century -- Biography; Whittier, John Greenleaf, 1807-1892
He was not only liberal in politics, but also in religion, and while
remaining from choice in the creedless church of his fathers, yet he had
sympathies that allied him with the broad humanitarian movements of the
times in religion. There was no shred of bigotry in his nature. Who ever
heard of a persecuting Quaker? It is they who have always patiently
suffered persecution. Whittier, indeed, belonged with the advance guard
of the Friends, in spirit at least, and he said in a letter written
shortly before his death, "For years I have been desirous of a movement
for uniting all Christians, with no other creed or pledge than a simple
recognition of Christ as our leader."
* * * * *
The Whittier Club of Haverhill, an organization the poet had thoroughly
enjoyed, not only because it represented the feeling of his native town
toward him, but also from the constant attentions paid him by it, held a
memorial service in Haverhill, October 7. It was a rare day of tribute
and thanksgiving, and all who participated in it felt grateful for the
honor allowed them. It was just a month from the day when the loved poet
and former citizen passed from earth. Mr. George E. Elliott, the owner
of Whittier's birthplace, very generously allowed the club to hold its
meeting in the old homestead, and he furthered in every way their
well-conceived plan by which the several rooms presented an appearance
as near as possible to that of the poet's boyhood. The partition in the
old kitchen, that had been put up of late years, was taken down,
disclosing the array of ancient cupboards and queer little window; there
was the kettle hanging on the crane in the wide fireplace, along whose
hearth one almost expected to see "the apples sputtering in a row," as
of yore. There were the iron fire-dogs and the antiquated chairs, the
wainscoting untouched by the hand of Time, save to grow mellower of
tint, and there was "the sagging beam," the uneven floor and the quaint
staircase, all just as Whittier, the boy, saw and touched and lived
amongst, all those impressible years of his life.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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