“Thy neighbor’s wrong is thy present hell, His bliss thy Heaven.” To crowd out anyone from any good whatever to make room for himself would have been impossible to Whittier. He had no rivals; to him all who strove to help in the world were coadjutors. Yet, as he said one day in speaking of his own work and of literary work in general, “In order to succeed one must have ambition.” His judgment of his fellow-poets and writers was without a shadow of that perhaps unconscious detraction which would have warped some natures in seeing these others so plentifully reaping the harvest of their toils, while his own garners were at that time comparatively empty; for, as the world knows, it was only later in life that these were filled to overflowing. But he was always so much in love with what was high and true that he had a share in the joy of its reward with whomever this was found. It is easy to appreciate the energy with which he said, “Emerson is the one American who will live a thousand years.” In commenting upon a severe criticism upon Mrs. Stowe, touching her lack of oversight and discipline in her own household and its results, occasionally disastrous, he indulged in a little quiet amusement at scenes reported, and then remarked earnestly that a great many persons could keep house, but how few could give the world what Mrs. Stowe had given and was still giving it. Under all circumstances, her mission was to keep on writing. * * * * * “Does thee see pictures when thee is writing?” he questioned a young author. And he listened with attention to her answer that she always saw them, often vividly, and that the persons in her stories moved and spoke and acted before her as if she were looking upon real people. It was so with himself, he returned; he saw the places and persons and the scenes he wrote about enacted before him. He said that he always had to think with a pen in his hand. He said also that it made him ill to write. * * * * * “So, victory has perched upon thy banners and thee have stormed and taken the Patent Office! I am heartily glad of it,” wrote the poet to one of his young friends concerning an invention just patented. But he made no reference to the fact that a word from himself had helped to bring to an end some tedious delays in the path of that victory. * * * * * He once told an amusing story of the result of one of his recommendations. A young man of his acquaintance was in negotiation for a school in the wilds of New Jersey, and asked the poet for a reference. This the applicant readily obtained, and confidently handed to the school committee who were interviewing him. “The members passed the letter along from one to another and looked wise,” said Whittier, adding with his inimitable silent laughter, “Not a man of them could read. But the letter answered the purpose; W---- got his school!”