Memories and Anecdotes | Page 9

anæmic, especially at slaughtering time? From them
and the animals there and in stables, and the smell of the flowing blood,
he felt that surely a radiant magnetism was gained. Those he visited
"thought he was real democratic and a pleasant spoken man." He told
of an opportunity he once had for regular employment, riding on the
stage-coach by the side of a farmer's pretty daughter. She suggested
that he might like a milk route, and "perhaps father can get you one."
So formal, dignified, and fastidious was he that this seems improbable,
but I quote his own account.
Doctor Ordronaux visited at my uncle's, a physician, when I was
resting there from overwork. After his departure, uncle received a letter
from him which he handed to me saying, "Guess this is meant for you."
I quote proudly:
I rejoice to have been permitted to enjoy so much of Miss Sanborn's
society, and to discover what I never before fully appreciated, that
beneath the scintillations of a brilliant intellect she hides a vigorous and
analytic understanding, and when age shall have somewhat tempered
her emotional susceptibilities she will shine with the steady light of a
planet, reaching her perihelion and taking a permanent place in the
firmament of letters.

Sounds something like a Johnsonian epitaph, but wasn't it great?
I visited his adopted mother at Roslyn, Long Island, and they took me
to a Sunday dinner with Bryant at "Cedarmere," a fitting spot for a
poet's home. The aged poet was in vigorous health, mind and body.
Going to his library he took down an early edition of his Thanatopsis,
pointing out the nineteen lines written some time before the rest.
Mottoes hung on the wall such as "As thy days so shall thy strength
be." I ventured to ask how he preserved such vitality, and he said, "I
owe a great deal to daily air baths and the flesh brush, plenty of outdoor
air and open fireplaces." What an impressive personality; erect, with
white hair and long beard; his eyebrows looked as if snow had fallen on
them. His conversation was delightfully informal. "What does your
name mean?" he inquired, and I had to say, "I do not know, it has
changed so often," and asked, "What is the origin of yours?"
"Briant--brilliant, of course." He told the butler to close the door behind
me lest I catch cold from a draught, quoting this couplet:
When the wind strikes you through a hole, Go make your will and mind
your soul;
and informing me that this advice was found in every language, if not
dialect, in the world. He loved every inch of his country home, was
interested in farming, flowers, the water-view and fish-pond, fond of
long walks, and preferred the simple life. In his rooms were many
souvenirs of early travel. His walls were covered with the finest
engravings and paintings from the best American artists. He was too
willing to be imposed upon by young authors and would-be poets. He
said: "People expect too much of me, altogether too much." That
Sunday was his last before his address on Mazzini in Central Park. He
finished with the hot sun over his head, and walking across the park to
the house of Grant Wilson, he fell down faint and hopelessly ill on the
doorstep. He never rallied, and after thirteen days the end came. An
impressive warning to the old, who are selfishly urged to do hard tasks,
that they must conserve their own vitality. Bryant was eighty-four
when killed by over-exertion, with a mind as wonderful as ever.
I will now recount the conditions when Ezekiel Webster and his second

wife took their wedding trip in a "one hoss shay" to the White
Mountains in 1826.
Grandma lived to be ninety-six, with her mind as clear as ever, and two
years before her death she gave me this story of their experiences at
that time. My mother told me she knew of more than thirty proposals
she had received after grandfather's death, but she said "she would
rather be the widow of Ezekiel Webster, than the wife of any other
man." The following is her own description.
The only house near the Crawford Notch was the Willey House, in
which the family were living. A week before a slide had come down by
the side of the house and obstructed the road. Mr. Willey and two men
came to our assistance, taking out the horse and lifting the carriage over
the débris.
They described the terrors of the night of the slide. The rain was
pouring in torrents, the soil began to slide from the tops of the rocks,
taking with it trees, boulders, and all in its way; the crashing and
thundering were terrible. Three weeks later