LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. Copyright No. 
 
 Shelf„VS27^b 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
JOHN GODFREY SAXE. 
 
 A Biogfraphical Sketch of Vermont's Lawyer, 
 Journalist, Lecturer and Rhymster. 
 
 BY RUSSELL W. TAFT. 
 
 One of One Hundred Copies Privately 
 Printed* 
 
 Burlingfton, Vermont. 
 J 900. 
 
T'WO COPIES 
 
 ■MAR! 7 1900 
 
 3G206 
 
 Copyrighted 1S99 
 
 BY 
 
 R. W. Taft. 
 
 SiiCJiMi> ci^^Y, 
 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 It is unnecessary to remark that the following 
 sketch is carelessly written and hastily compiled. 
 It is reprinted from a series of articles appearing 
 in the Vermont University Cynic during the 
 winter of 1899-1900 and is, so far as we have 
 been able to ascertain, the first published biog- 
 raphy of the poet. As, in the future, the 
 compiler may attempt a more carefully written 
 tribute to Saxe's memory, he earnestly requests 
 those into whose hands the present work may 
 come to communicate to him any errors or in- 
 consistencies that they may detect, as well as 
 facts or incidents that will add completeness to 
 the sketch. 
 
 R. W. T. 
 Burlington, Yt., March 30, 1900. 
 
\ 
 
JoH.v G. Saxk. 
 
JOHN GODFREY SAXE. 
 
 I. 
 
 A German origin must be assigned to the 
 Saxe family, the ancestor of which, John Sachse, 
 immigrated early to the Dutch settlements along 
 the Hudson river. Many of the Dutch and 
 German settlers were Tories who, to escape pol- 
 itical difficulties, moved further north. Among 
 them John Sachse or Saxe removed in 1Y87 
 through Lake Champlain to Highgate, the ex- 
 treme northwest town of the mainland of Yer- 
 mont, taking with him his wife and a family of 
 eight sons and one daughter. The same year he 
 built the first grist mill in northern Vermont on 
 "Saxe's brook," tributary to Rock river, a small 
 stream in the northwest corner of the township, 
 where a little settlement is still known as ''Saxe's 
 Mill." The dam still remains to testify to the 
 care with which it was planned and constructed. 
 Prior to this the nearest mills were at Platts- 
 burgh, New York, across Lake Champlain by 
 canoe, or at Burlington thirty-five miles distant. 
 The mill must have been a welcome institution 
 for there were no houses between Saxe's mill 
 and Burlington and it is recorded that John 
 Saxe in 1787 " visited Burlington with no 
 
2 
 
 guide but his pocket compass, over a trail 
 beset with hostile savages." John Saxe was 
 a man of ability and perseverance, in every 
 way calculated to cope with the hard- 
 ships of a first settlement. He had, with his 
 family, many perils to encounter and trials to 
 endure ; they were harrassed by the noble red 
 men and less noble but more inoffensive bears 
 and catamounts and it is chronicled that at one 
 time Mr. Saxe was obliged to swim the river 
 breaking the ice with his hands, though as to the 
 reason therefor the annalist is silent. 
 
 The children of John Saxe were John, George, 
 "William, Matthew, Godfrey, Peter, Jacob, Con- 
 rad and Hannah. John, the eldest, died at the 
 age of twenty-two ; Godfrey at twenty-eight ; 
 Jacob carried on the furnace business ; Conrad 
 was a blacksmith and farmer ; George a trapper 
 and cattle drover ; William turned his hand to 
 surveying ; Matthew, who was first town clerk of 
 Highgate, became a wheelwright and afterwards 
 a merchant, while Peter kept a store and later 
 managed his father's mill. It needs but a glance 
 at the early annals of Highgate to assure one 
 that the family were prominent in town affairs. 
 In the first book of records the first rec- 
 ord is a bond from Ira Allen of Colches- 
 ter to John Saxe, dated July 31, 1792. 
 John Saxe was town treasurer in 1799. 
 
3 
 The first marriage in Highgate, that of 
 Andrew Wilson and Eachel Wilson, was per- 
 formed March 19, 1800, by Matthew Saxe, J. P.; 
 the first death was that of Catherine, wife of 
 John Saxe, in 1791 ; in 1801 the first store and 
 tavern was kept by Matthew, Godfrey and Peter 
 Saxe ; 1799, 1800, 1805 and 1806 Matthew Saxe 
 was town clerk, a position held by his brother 
 Peter in 1810, 181i; 1828 and 1829. Matthew 
 was town representative in 1800 and 1802 as was 
 Peter in 1806, 1807, 1818 and 1827. Peter, who 
 seems to have been the politician of the family, 
 was postmaster and justice of the peace as well 
 as, in 1818, county judge for the county of 
 Franklin. In 1806, 1807 and 1811 he was 
 selectman as was Conrad, his brother, in 1821. 
 Conrad, the belligerent of the group, was one of 
 Highgate's twelve militia captains and served in 
 that capacity in the war of 1812, doing garrison 
 duty at Swanton Falls. At the time of the bat- 
 tle of Plattsburgh he raised a company of vol- 
 unteers but was not on the scene, being unable 
 to obtain transportation further than Grand Isle, 
 where the cannonading was plainly heard. 
 
 Peter Saxe, storekeeper, mill-owner and local 
 politician, married, in 1813, Elizabeth Jewett, 
 and their second son, for whom a niche at least 
 may be reserved in America's literary Valhalla, 
 is the subject of the present sketch. John God- 
 
frey Saxe was born in Highgate on June 2, 1816, 
 
 one day later than Charles Gamage Eastman, 
 
 Vermont's lyric poet. 
 
 Saxe's early years passed quietly away. From 
 
 his ninth to his seventeenth year he attended 
 
 district school and worked in his father's mill. 
 
 Tradition — in the guise of the "oldest inhabitant'' 
 
 — recalls' him as a care-free, happy-go-lucky, 
 
 whistling, barefoot lad, tall and lank, forever 
 
 roaming about with the cattle and flocks and 
 
 conducting himself generally in a manner that 
 
 won him among the puritanical neighbors the 
 
 name of "Saxe's fool," an appelation the merit of 
 
 which he soon amply disproved. Mrs. Caroline 
 
 (Brown) Freer, who died recently at Warren, 
 
 Ohio, at the advanced age of ninety-three, taught 
 
 when she was eighteen years of age, the district 
 
 school near Saxe's mill and boarded in the Saxe 
 
 family. John was one of her pupils and she 
 
 often recalled him as a lively, mischievous and 
 
 sometimes unruly lad, to whose shoulders she was 
 
 many a time obliged to apply the rod. Mrs. 
 
 Freer treasured jealously the poet's first attempt 
 
 at versification, which he sent her after she left 
 
 Highgate. The paper is yellow and the ink 
 
 faded but the sentiment remains, 
 
 "You go away, while here I stay 
 But still we join in heart, 
 Farewell I And be your journey here 
 A pathway to a brighter sphere." 
 
5 
 
 In later years Saxe's loyalty to his old teacher 
 did not abate and he visited her frequently. 
 
 A pleasant remini^nce of the poet's childhood 
 is found in his ballad of " Little Jerry, the Mil- 
 ler." 
 
 LITTLE JERRY, THE MILLER, 
 Beneath the hill you may see the mill 
 
 Of wasting wood and crumbling stone ; 
 The wheel is dripping and clattering still, 
 But Jerry, the miller, is dead and gone. 
 Year after year, early and late, 
 
 Alike in summer and winter weather. 
 He pecked the stones and calked the gate, 
 
 And mill and miller grew old together. 
 "Little Jerry !"— 't was all the same,— 
 
 They loved him well who called him so ; 
 And whether he'd ever another name, 
 
 Nobody ever seemed to know. 
 "Twas, "Little Jerry, come grind my rye ;" 
 
 And "Little Jerry, come grind my wheat ;" 
 And "Little Jerry" was still the cry, 
 
 From matron bold and maiden sweet. 
 'Twas "Little Jerry" on every tongue, 
 
 And so the simple truth was told ; 
 For Jerry was little when he was young. 
 
 And Jerry was little when he was old. 
 Biit what in size he chanced to lack, 
 
 That Jerry made up in being strong ; 
 I've seen a sack upon his back 
 
 As thick as the miller, and quite as long. 
 Always busy, and always merry, 
 
 Always doing his very best. 
 
e 
 
 A notable wag was Little Jerry, 
 Who uttered well his standing jest. 
 
 How Jerry lived is known to fame, 
 But how he died there's none may know ; 
 
 One autumn day the rumor came, 
 ' ' The brook and Jerry are very low." 
 
 And then 't was whispered, mournfully, 
 The leech had come, and he was dead ; 
 
 And all the neighbors flocked to see ; 
 "Poor Little Jerry I" was all they said. 
 
 They laid him in his earthy bed, — 
 
 His miller's coat his only shroud ; 
 "Dust to dust," the parson said. 
 
 And all the people wept aloud. 
 
 For he had shunned the deadly sin, 
 
 And not a grain of over-toll 
 Had ever dropped into his bin. 
 
 To weigh upon his parting soul. 
 
 Beneath the hill there stands the mill, 
 Of wasting wood and crumbling stone ; 
 
 The wheel is dripping and clattering still, 
 But Jerry, the Miller, is dead and gone. 
 
 Little Jerry, a diminutive T'renchman of re- 
 markable strength, wit and good nature, for 
 many years tended the grists at the mill in High- 
 gate. Saxe says of him : " His surname was 
 written ' Goodheart ' in the mill-books ; but he 
 often told me that our English translation was 
 quite too weak, as the real name was spelled 
 * Fortboncoeur^ " 
 
However, the days 
 
 " When knaves were only found in books, 
 And friends were known by friendly looks. 
 And love was always true !" 
 
 sped by 
 all too soon. In 1833 and '34 Saxe attended the 
 Grammar School of St. Albans where he prepar- 
 ed for college. In 1835 he entered Wesleyan 
 University, MiddletoWn, Connecticut, but did 
 not stay the year out. In those days a college 
 education was acquired under difficulties that 
 would discourage an average youth of the present 
 generation. Railroads were few and long jour- 
 neys had to be made on horseback or in heavy 
 stage-coaches, lumbering over rough and uneven 
 roads, and many a stout-hearted boy, fired by an 
 ambition that was later to win him fame and 
 wealth, has footed it to school and home again. 
 "College" then meant separation from home 
 and friends for the whole year, perhaps for the 
 whole course — a serious thing in a boy's sight. 
 This may be why Saxe continued his pursuit of 
 knowledge nearer home, for, in the fall of 1836, 
 he enrolled himself in the sophomore class of 
 Middlebury College, being then twenty years of 
 age. Like many another he had to economize 
 while struggling for an education, but his nature 
 was o]3timistic and he was always on the sunny 
 side of fate, so it is not to be supposed that a few 
 
discouragements made liis college days any the 
 less joyous. At any rate in his " Carmen Lae- 
 tum " occur these lines reminiscent of under- 
 graduate life : 
 
 " Ah ! well I remember the halcyon years, 
 Too earnest for latighter, too pleasant for tears, 
 When life was a boon in yon classical court, 
 Though lessons were long and though commons were 
 short!" 
 
 Commons referred to the daily meals. Then, 
 as now, the students contributed each a small 
 sum weekly toward the support of the dining 
 hall and shared their meals in common. This 
 was easier upon the boys' pockets, though harder 
 perhaps upon their digestive apparatus, for there 
 was no startling variety to the bill of fare nor 
 was there always enough to satisfy the vigorous 
 appetites that were concerned, and often it was a 
 case of " first come, first served." In the same 
 poem Saxe also recalls President Bates in the 
 words : 
 
 " Ah ! well I remember the President's face, 
 As he sat at the lecture Avith dignified grace, . 
 And neatly unfolded the mystical themes 
 Of various deep, metaphysical schemes, — 
 How he brightened the path of his studious flock, 
 And he gave them a key to that wonderful Locke ; 
 How he taught us to feel it was fatal indeed 
 With too much reliance to lean upon Reid." 
 
9 
 
 The members of Saxe's class were, for the most 
 part, sober minded and studious young men, de- 
 voted to the prescribed course of study. Of the 
 thirty-seven who graduated, two embraced the 
 medical profession, nine became lawyers, nine 
 became teachers, and the remaining seventeen 
 preached the gospel. While Saxe did not neg- 
 lect the regular studies of the course, hjis taste 
 ran more in the line 6i literature and the ielles 
 leitres. In mathematics he was an average stu- 
 dent and, though an ardent lover of the classics, 
 his translations were rather elegant than literal. 
 His love for the classics continued unabated 
 throughout his life. The allusions to Latin au- 
 thors so common in his poems attest an intimate 
 acquaintance with Yirgil, Ovid and Horace, 
 while we find in an old St. Albans Republican 
 the following apt rendition of a certain English 
 juvenile classic into the mother tongue. 
 
 Jack et Gilla. 
 
 Jack et Gilla 
 Ascendunt montem, . 
 
 Aquam parare ' 
 Ad certem fontem, 
 
 Procidit Jack, 
 
 Et praeter hac, 
 Frangit e]\xs fundum — 
 
 Et de Gilla, 
 
 Etiam ilia, 
 Procidit secundum. 
 
10 
 
 In person Saxe was of fine presence. He was 
 tall and erect,with a kindly face framed in flow- 
 ing locks, a clear skin and a deep gray eye. His 
 manners were pleasing and a certain youthful 
 awkwardness soon disappeared under the influ- 
 ence of his social life, for he at once became a 
 favorite both in college and in the town. He 
 was a great smoker and was known, accordingly, 
 as " Tobacco Saxe " among the girls. Saxe 
 studied while in college, to make a good con- 
 versationalist and gave presage of many of the 
 qualities that afterward appeared in his writings. 
 He was witty, happy in repartee, something of a 
 punster and was well equipped with funny anec- 
 dotes that he employed skilfully, thereby making 
 himself an entertaiaing and attractive companion, 
 albeit with a spice of egotism. His literary 
 taste was far above the average; he read exten- 
 sively the works of standard English authors, 
 both in prose and poetry, and was fond of quot- 
 ing their brightest and most brilliant thoughts. 
 As a debater he ranked well and it was a pleas- 
 ure to listen to him in Lyceum, while if a literary 
 program was the order of the day he was assured 
 of a prominent place. 
 
 The young collegian's suamter in modo 
 stood him in good stead. He could far out- 
 do any member of his class in politeness 
 gotten up for the occasion when called upon 
 
11 
 
 to answer a question upon wliicli he was totally 
 unprepared ; nor did he ever hesitate for a reply. 
 He was generally among the last to enter the 
 chapel for morning prayers. On one occasion 
 the students apparently had all assembled and the 
 exercises were about to commence, when Saxe 
 came hurrying in, his long overcoat flung over 
 his shoulders. As he was hastening to his seat 
 the President addressed him, " Good morning, 
 Mr. Saxe." He turned toward the President 
 with a graceful salute, and with a deep, clear 
 voice returned the greeting, " Good morning. 
 President Bates." No one else in the audience 
 could have returned the President's greeting 
 under those circumstances so imperturbably. As 
 showing Saxe's versatility in adapting means to 
 ends Eev. Byron Sunderland of Washington, D. 
 C, relates this incident : " Saxe roomed as other 
 students did, over the then famous bookstore of 
 Jonathan Hagar in the vicinity of ' the river 
 Styx,' which meandered between the village and 
 the first old square frame college building, then 
 used for chapel and students' rooms. I remem- 
 ber one cheerless autumn morning about 5 
 o'clock, on my way to chapel prayers, calling at 
 his room in Hagar's whose fair daughters, by the 
 way, at their room on Weybridge street, had the 
 night before entertained a formal company, of 
 whom Saxe was one. As I knocked for admis- 
 
12 
 
 sion, his loud, clear voice replied, ' Come in,' 
 and there he was just out of bed, with his black 
 pants in one hand and stick of sealing wax in the 
 other, bending over the feeble flame of a sputter- 
 ing tallow candle and trying with the melt- 
 ed wax to patch a rent which unfortunately had 
 been made in his nether garments the night 
 before. As I looked in upon him he caught my 
 eye with a most quizzical expression, and pointing 
 to the rent in his dark pants, which now showed 
 at a little distance off to be only a blood-red spot as 
 of a discoloration or a stain, he remarked, ^That, 
 now 1 take it, has been done with neatness and 
 dispatch.' Then taking his quill pen, he smeared 
 the wax with ink and hastily jumped into his 
 clothes, crying as he donned his broad-brimmed 
 hat, 'Come on, my son, we shall be late to pray- 
 ers.' " 
 
 Prof. Truman K. Wright of Elbridge, E". Y., 
 who was a classmate of Saxe, writes as follows : 
 "Saxe was genial, jovial and inclined to be wag 
 gish. His room-mate Wicker was a fine scholar 
 in mathematics, and once solved a difficult prob- 
 lem for the next daj^'s recitation by working until 
 midnight ; and when he went to bed he left the 
 solution on his writing desk. Saxe came in late, 
 saw the problem worked, and examined it some- 
 what. When the bell rang in the morning 
 Wicker was sound asleep. Saxe gathered up 
 
13 
 
 the manuscrij3t, noiselessly closed the door, and 
 hastened to the recitation room, where he spread 
 out the solution upon the black-board. Great 
 was the astonishment to see Saxe solve the most 
 difficult problem of the day ; in fact the aston- 
 ishment was so great that though intended'to be 
 a joke on Wicker, it proved to be a joke on 
 Saxe." 
 
 Edwin Everts, who died in 1898 at Virden. 
 111., was the poet's intimate college friend. They 
 were interchangeable guests almost daily, were 
 both in attendance at the winter term of the 
 senior year, read, recited and talked French 
 together under the tutelage of Prof. Stoddard, 
 and belonged to the "Tub Philosophers." Paint- 
 er Hall, in which Saxe roomed the latter part of 
 his course, is still standing, though unoccupied. 
 The room in which the poet spent his college 
 days is small and plain ; the plaster is falling off 
 and the doors and window cases are battered and 
 scarred. 
 
II- 
 
 Strange to say, Saxe, when in college, did 
 not woo the muse as ardently as prevalent 
 undergraduate tradition demanded, yet he was 
 considered the poet of the class and when- 
 ever he read a few stanzas before them he was 
 listened to with marked attention. He and his 
 classmate. Carlos Bisbee were rival versifiers. 
 On one occasion when Bisbee had read a few 
 stanzas before the class, after the class was dis- 
 missed Saxe exclaimed with considerable stress : 
 " Bisbee a poet ! Bisbee write poetry ? He 
 doesn't know enough to steal a good poem !"^ 
 
 Saxe's first literary efforts were published about 
 the beginning of his junior year in the local 
 prints. " My Uncle William or Love vs. Law" was 
 his first printed effort and was meritorious chiefly 
 on account of its brevity. " The Autobiography 
 of a Pocket Knife," the next offspring of his 
 budding fancy, also shows no palpable traces of 
 genius. Later on Saxe became a member of the 
 "Tub Philosophers a la Diogenes" who turned 
 loose their literary talent on the Green Moun- 
 tain Argus. The Philosophers' salutatory was 
 by Saxe and ran as follows : 
 
 Gentle Read — -but hold, we do not know that 
 you are gentle ; nor, indeed are we quite sure 
 
15 
 you would like the application of the term to 
 yourself, however appropriate. Gentleness, un- 
 luckily enough, has almost ceased to be thought 
 a virtue. Indeed, it has come to be regarded as 
 unbecoming a man, barely pardonable in womefi 
 and indispensable in horses. " The animal is 
 - perfectly gentle, sir." You will hardly hear the 
 word in any other connection. We will try 
 again. 
 
 Intelligent reader— alas! how few readers are 
 intelligent ! how few thoroughly understand a 
 tithe of what they read. How few are careful 
 always to " regard the writer's end." How often 
 is he dispraised as superficial, when he never 
 meant to be profound. How often denied the 
 praise of wit, when he aims only to be pleasant. 
 We'll try once more. 
 
 Indulgent reader— the phrase sounds smoothly 
 — but alas ! how few readers are indulgent. How 
 ready are many persons to misconstrue and per- 
 vert whatever is susceptible of distortion, or, 
 more unfairly still, " hide each virtue in some 
 neighboring vice." Almost the only reader who 
 may be allowed the title of indulgent, is the 
 author,— when reading his own productions. 
 The world is deplorably selfish, and people have 
 little indulgence for other people's children. 
 Again have we wandered from our subject,— let 
 us return once more. 
 
16 
 
 Reader ! whatever title suit thee best — gentle, 
 or simple — intelligent, or stupid, — indulgent, or 
 severe, — we, the " Tub Philosophers", quite un- 
 known to jou, but very well known among our- 
 selves, intend to write, and very respectfully 
 request you to read. If you will not, your folly 
 will be upon your owii heads. " Let every Tub 
 stand on its own bottom." 
 
 To the ensuing philosophical flux Saxe seems 
 to have contributed several bits of verse as well 
 as six " Semi-Moral Essays" the fourth of which 
 we venture to quote : 
 
 SHAKING HANDS. 
 
 The lesser civilities of human life, however 
 trivial their appearance when separately consid- 
 ered, contribute largely in their collective influ- 
 ence to the sum total of human happiness. In- 
 deed, they may be regarded as distinctive char- 
 acteristics of enlightened society ; and, in every 
 nation, the growth of refined etiquette marks 
 with great accuracy the grade of civilization. 
 The various rites of urbanity are not only the 
 invariable attendants, but eminently productive 
 of good society ; and are hence, worthy of the 
 most punctual observance. Of all the forms of 
 courtesy which prevail at the present day, none 
 is of more frequent occurrence than " shaking 
 hands." It is the most general and expressive 
 
17 
 
 mode of salutation in the civilized world. It is 
 a token of amity — a pledge of good faith — a 
 confession of friendship — or, the seal of pardon. 
 
 Without undertaking to point out the most 
 refined and eligible style of shaking hands, I 
 shall proceed to describe, as accurately as may 
 be, the different methods which ought to be 
 avoided. First in the list comes the pump-han- 
 dle shake. The epithbt is sufficiently significant 
 to illustrate the modus operandi. It is a regular, 
 mechanical, perpendicular motion, and highly 
 inelegant .... "pray you avoid it." 
 Then there's your horizontal shake — quite as in- 
 decorous as the other, and more dangerous. It 
 is the very motion that Hamlet cautioned the 
 players against when he said " do not saw the air 
 too much.'' In performing the horizontal 
 shake, your friend grasps your hand and violently 
 jerks your arm from right to left with the apparent 
 purpose of dislocating your shoulder. It is worse 
 than the fever and ague — bating the fever. 
 
 Commend such fellows to my enemies. Next, 
 comes the sentimental shake ; it is practiced 
 chiefly by romantic young ladies, and delicate 
 young gentlemen in white kid gloves. It is a 
 misnomer, however, to call it a shake — it's only 
 contact at best. If you ever approached a young 
 lady with the design of saluting her — don't be 
 alarmed, madam, — with the design, I say, of 
 
18 
 
 shaking her hand, and received a lifeless lump of 
 clay, extended with a languid air, as though 
 energy were indelicate or criminal — if joii have 
 been through with all this, you have a very good 
 idea of the "shake sentimental." I prefer the 
 cold bath. It is amusing to see one of the senti- 
 mental -shakers encounter one of the pump- 
 handle order. However, between, the inertia of 
 the one and the vigor of the other, you get a 
 resultant motion not far from the true standard. 
 
 Some persons have a habit of offering a single 
 finger. It is a scurvy practice — a pitiful evasion 
 of duty — a miserable attempt to defraud. It is 
 the conduct of a solvent debtor who tenders you 
 one-fifth of your dues — who proposes to com- 
 pound at twenty per cent on the dollar. If any 
 person offer to treat you thus ungenerously — al- 
 low him to shake a corner of your pocket-hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 Some people, to the great scandal of good 
 manners, offer you their left hand. Don't take 
 it. A man has no 7'ight to give you his left 
 hand ; besides he cannot do it dexterously. 
 Pause before you accept it — the person who 
 presents it, may fairly be suspected of sinister 
 motives. 
 
 I must not omit to mention the squeezers. 
 These fellows seem to think it a virtue to crush 
 your very bones with the violence of their grasp. 
 
19 
 
 Depend upon it, it's a vice. Commend me a 
 " bear-hug '' in preference. 
 
 Give me the man who meets me half way — 
 looks me full in the face, and gives me a cordial, 
 generous shake ; not with the violence of a 
 wrestler, but with a temperate vigor which be- 
 speaks a feeling too respectful to be rude. 
 
 Several of Saxe's later epigrams, among them 
 "A Plain Case" and "Lucus a Non," seem to 
 smack of college sentiment. 
 
 A PLAIN CASE. 
 
 *' When Tutor Thompson goes to bed, 
 That very moment, it is said. 
 The cautious man puts out the light, 
 And draws the curtain snug and tight. 
 You marvel much why this should be, 
 But when his spouse you chance to see, 
 What seemed before a puzzling case 
 Is plain as Mrs. Thompson's face !" 
 
 LUCUS A NON. 
 
 " You'll oft find in books, rather ancient than recent, 
 A gap in the page marked with "cetera clesunt,''' 
 By which you may commonly take it for granted 
 The passage is wanting without being wanted ; 
 And may borrow, besides, a significant hint 
 That desunt means simply not decent to print I" 
 
20 
 
 "While in college Saxe did not belong to a Greek 
 letter fraternity ; in fact there were no Greek 
 societies at Middlebury until 1843, When the Mu 
 chapter of Chi Psi was founded. In 1853, how- 
 ever, the poet was enrolled as an honorary mem- 
 ber of Psi Upsilon by the Harvard Alpha Chap- 
 ter. The circumstances of the initiation are thus 
 recalled by Eev. W. S. Mackenzie, D. D., in the 
 " Diamond " of Psi Upsilon : 
 
 " I very well remember the night that he was 
 made a member of the Alpha Chapter of I^air 
 Harvard. He had been chosen to deliver the 
 poem at the anniversary in Cambridge in 1853, 
 and two or three weeks previous to the event be 
 came out to Cambridge to be installed as a mem- 
 ber of the Alpha. We made a little feast for the 
 occasion, and after the installation services we sat 
 down to eat, drink and make such speeches as the 
 time suggested. Mr. Saxe was very joyous and 
 witty. When he left at midnight to return by 
 coach to 'The Revere House his liat was missing 
 and he had to return hatless to Boston. Soon 
 afterward the Chapter had a large, very fine hat 
 made and sent him at Burlington, Yermont. In 
 return he forwarded a framed crayon bust of 
 himself, and on the lower margin of the picture 
 was the following autograph verse — 
 
 • An exchange — it will be Baid — 
 
 Eemarkably equal and pat ; 
 You sent him a hat for his head, 
 
 And he sends you his head for his hat ! ' " 
 
21 
 
 The poet's love for Psi Upsilon and its mem- 
 bers was deep and lasting and he was a familiar 
 figure at the reunions and banquets of the order 
 where some of his cleverest thoughts were deliv- 
 ered as toasts. On July 21, 1863, a few weeks 
 after his initiation, at the festival referred to 
 Saxe read some characteristic post-prandial verses' 
 part of which ran as follows : ' 
 
 ' ' Success to Psi Upsilon i-Beautiful name !- 
 To the eye and the ear it is pleasant the same • 
 Many thanks to old Cadmus who made us his debtors 
 By inventing, one day, those capital letters 
 Which still, from the heart, we shall know how to speak 
 When we ve fairly forgotten the rest of our Greek !" 
 The closing lines ran thus : 
 
 Remember 'tis blessed to give and forgive • 
 Live chiefly to love, and love while you live '• 
 And dying, when life's little journey is done, 
 May your last, fondest sigh be PSI Upsilon ! " 
 The last line of the above is still current among 
 the members of the fraternity, and with them the 
 poet's popularity is yet undimmed. His eldest 
 son and grandson both became members-the 
 former honorarily at Union College and the latter 
 at Columbia, where he is at present a law student, 
 baxe took from Middlebury the degree of A 
 B in 1839 and A. M. in 1843, while in 1866 his' 
 Alma Mater conferred upon him the honorary 
 degree of LL. D, which, indeed, he merited asa 
 man of letters rather than as a man of law 
 
22 
 
 III. 
 
 Upon his graduation from college Saxe went 
 to Lewiston, near Lockport, 1^. Y., to engage in 
 the study of the law, but returned to Yermont, 
 presumably to take unto himself a helpmate, for, 
 on September 9, 1841, he was wedded to Miss 
 Sophia ISTewell Sollace, sister of a classmate, 
 Calvin T. Sollace, and daughter of the Hon. Cal- 
 vin S. Sollace of Bridport, Yt. Mrs. Saxe, who 
 was her husband's junior by three years, was re- 
 garded as the belle of her native town. 
 
 Mr. Saxe completed his reading in Yermont 
 and was admitted to the bar in St, Albans in 
 September, 1843. For the next seven years he 
 was engaged 'in the practice of his profession at 
 St. Albans and at Highgate. While residing at 
 the latter place he attained the exalted distinc- 
 tion of being elected justice of the peace. 
 
 Saxe was all his life a zealous and consistent 
 democrat and, shortly after becoming a lawyer, 
 he seems to have turned his pen to some account 
 politically. During the Clay campaign of 1844 
 he contributed various campaign songs and squibs 
 to the St. Albans Republican. One of the epi- 
 grams runs thus : 
 
23 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 The image of the Syrian monarch's dream 
 A type of modern whiggery would seem — 
 A little gold, some iron and much brass 
 Composed in part the ill compounded mass, 
 But yet so strong, it might have stood to-day, 
 Had not its pedestal been made of Clay ! 
 
 For the term of a year (1847-48) Mr. Saxe 
 served as superintendent of the common schools 
 of Franklin county. His experiences among the 
 teachers undoubtedly prompted his clever bit of 
 verse, "Ye Pedagogue," which has offered many 
 an audacious urchin an opportunity to "get even" 
 with a tyrannical master on "Declamation" day. 
 
 YE PEDAGOGUE. 
 
 (A Ballad.). 
 I. 
 
 Righte learned is ye Pedagogue, 
 
 FuUe apt to reade and spelle, 
 And eke to teache ye parts of speeche, 
 
 And strap ye urchins welle. 
 
 11. 
 
 For as 'tis meete to soake ye feete, 
 
 Ye ailinge heade to mende, 
 Ye younker's pate to stimulate. 
 
 He beats ye other ende 1 
 
 HI. 
 
 Right lordlie is ye Pedagogue 
 
 As any turbaned Turke ; 
 For welle to rule ye District Schoole, 
 
 It is no idle worke. 
 
24 
 
 IV. 
 
 For oft Rebellion lurketh there 
 
 In breaste of secrete foes, 
 Of malice f ulle, in waite to puUe 
 
 Ye Pedagogue his nose ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Sometimes he heares with trembling feares, 
 
 Of ye ungodlie rogue 
 On mischieffe bent, with felle intent 
 
 To licke ye Pedagogue ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 And if ye Pedagogue be smalle, 
 
 When to ye battell led, 
 In such a plighte, God sende him mighte 
 
 To breake ye rogue his heade ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Daye after daye, for little paye, 
 
 He teacheth what he can, 
 And bears ye yoke, to please ye f olke, 
 
 And ye committee-man. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Ah ! many crosses hath he borne, 
 
 And many trials founde, 
 Ye while he trudged ye district through 
 
 And boarded rounde and rounde ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Ah ! many a steake hath he devoured, 
 
 That, by ye taste and sighte, 
 Was in disdaine, 'twas very plaine. 
 
 Of Daye his patent righte 1 
 
25 
 
 X. 
 FuUe Bolemn is ye Pedagogue, 
 
 Amonge ye noisy churls, 
 Yet other while he hath a smile 
 
 To give ye handsome girls. 
 XI. 
 And one, — ye faryest mayde of all, — 
 
 To cheere his wayninge life. 
 Shall be, when springe ye flowers shall bringe, 
 
 Ye Pedagogue his wife ! 
 
 This is a specimen of the poet's best work 
 and aptly illustrates the off hand play of his 
 nimble wit. It also hints at one of the reasons 
 why his fame has declined — the local allusions 
 60 common in all his work. The reference in 
 verse IX to the inventor of " patent leather," 
 then just coming into vogue, would scarcely be 
 understood by the rising generation. 
 
 As a young lawyer Saxe's literary fame began 
 to broaden through his having become a regular 
 contributor to the Knickerbocker, the leading 
 magazine of that day. One of his first contrib- 
 utions was the "Rhyme of the Rail" upon which, 
 perhaps more than any other, rested his early 
 fame. It went the rounds of the press time and 
 again and was known to generations of school- 
 children. The sound admirably echoes the sense. 
 In reading it one can close his eyes and almost 
 hear the varied sounds that form an undersong 
 to the monotonous rumble of the cars. 
 
26 
 
 RHYME OF THE RAIL. 
 
 Singing through the forests, 
 
 Rattling over ridges, 
 Shooting under arches, 
 
 Rumbling over bridges, 
 Whizzing through the mountains, 
 
 Buzzing o'er the vale, — 
 Bless nie ! this is pleasant. 
 
 Riding on the Rail ! 
 
 Men of different "stations" 
 
 In the eye of Fame 
 Here are very quickly 
 
 Coming to the same. 
 High and lowly people. 
 
 Birds of every feather. 
 On a common level 
 
 Travelling together ! 
 
 Gentleman in shorts, 
 
 Looming very tall ; 
 Gentleman at large. 
 
 Talking very small ; 
 Gentleman in tights, 
 
 With a loose-ish mien ; 
 Gentleman in gray. 
 
 Looking rather green. 
 
 Gentleman quite old. 
 
 Asking for the news ; 
 Gentleman in black. 
 
 In a fit of blues ; 
 Gentleman in claret, 
 
 Sober as a vicar ; 
 Gentleman in Tweed, 
 
 Dreadfully in liquor ! 
 
2f 
 
 Stranger on the right, 
 Looking very sunny, 
 
 Obviously reading 
 Something rather funny. 
 
 Now the smiles are thicker. 
 Wonder what they mean ? 
 
 Faith he's got the Knicker- 
 bocker magazine ! 
 
 Stranger on the left, 
 
 Closing up his peepers ; 
 Now he snores amain. 
 
 Like the Seven Sleepers ; 
 At his feet a volume 
 
 Gives the explanation, 
 How the man grew stupid 
 
 From " Association !" 
 
 Ancient maiden lady 
 
 Anxiously remarks, 
 That there must be peril 
 
 ' iVIong so many sparks I 
 Roguish-looking fellow. 
 
 Turning to the stranger, 
 Says it's his opinion 
 
 She is out of danger ! 
 
 Woman with her baby, 
 
 Sitting vis-a-vis ; 
 Baby keeps a squalling ; 
 
 Woman looks at me ; 
 Asks about the distance, 
 
 Says it's tiresome talking 
 Noises of the cars 
 
 Are so very shocking ! 
 
 Market-woman careful 
 Of the precious casket. 
 
28 
 
 Knowing eggs are eggs, 
 Tightly holds her basket ; 
 
 Feeling that a smash, 
 If it came, would surelj 
 
 Send her eggs to pot 
 Rather prematurely ! 
 
 Singing through the forests, 
 
 Rattling over ridges, 
 Shooting under arches. 
 
 Rumbling over bridges. 
 Whizzing through the mountains. 
 
 Buzzing o'er the vale, — 
 Bless me ! this is pleasant, 
 
 Riding on the Rail ! 
 
 Saxe's services also began to be in demand at 
 college commencements and like affairs. He 
 read " Progress" before the Middlebury alumni 
 in 1846, " The Times " before the Boston Mer- 
 cantile Library Association in 1849, " Carmen 
 Laetum" at Middlebury in 1850 and "New 
 England " at the Hamilton College commence- 
 ment of 1849. " New England " has disappear- 
 ed. At least in none of Saxe's works does the 
 title or theme appear and the poem was probably 
 not deemed worthy of preservation. In view of 
 this fact the following lurid notice in a local 
 paper, elicited by its delivery at the commence- 
 ment of the Henry Female College at Louisville, 
 Kentucky, seems rather absurd : 
 
29 
 
 " The poem of Saxe was supreme and inimita- 
 ble, and perliaps we might as well relieve our- 
 selves from the responsibility of saying anything 
 further by adding that it was indescrihaUe. It 
 was perfectly magical. It was like that of some 
 exquisite hymn at the close of a ^ey, England 
 church service— heightened even above its in- 
 trinsic charm by the unbroken and wearying 
 solemnity of the preceding rites. But its intrin- 
 sic charm required no heightening. The theme 
 of the poem was the poet's own IS^ew England 
 and the poem itself was, or is (for we have no use' 
 for any tense but the present in speaking of so 
 immortal a thing) an all but matchless combina- 
 tion of wit, humor, poetry, and patriotism. It 
 IS a sad mistake to fancy that Saxe is merely the 
 wittiest of poets. He is among the most poetical 
 of wits. His sense of the beautiful is large and 
 delicate, and, on occasion, he can be as great as 
 he always is smart. They must have strange 
 eyes indeed who do not perceive the empyrean 
 gleam of his genius through the starry host of 
 his wit." 
 
 In 1846 Saxe's iirst published volume came 
 from press, " Progress, a Satire." It was dedi- 
 cated to Oliver Wendell Holmes after this fash- 
 ion : 
 
30 
 
 " To Oliver Wendell Holmes, as a slight token 
 of the admiration which the writer entertains for 
 his fine poetical genius ; his unequalled power of 
 playful satire, and his terse and felicitous versi- 
 fication, this poem is respectfully inscribed by 
 
 his obliged friend, 
 
 The Author." 
 
 Progress was favorably received by the press 
 and we venture to quote one of the notices as 
 likely to prove of interest. 
 
 " A JS^EW Satire. — About six weeks ago 
 there adventured into Gotham a sandy-haired, 
 six-foot Yermonter, who in divers stage coaches, 
 canal packets, and steamboats had found his way 
 from the northwest corner of the Green Moun- 
 tain State and brought with him the manuscript 
 of a satirical poem entitled ' Progress,' which 
 he wished to see in print. For a wonder, the 
 very first publisher he called on agreed to bring 
 it out, and it is very neatly done, by Mr. John 
 Allen, and now lies before us, in a handsome 
 pamphlet of Sti pp. 8vo. We had heard the 
 verses well spoken of, and opening to the first 
 page, read on as follows : 
 
 " In this, our happy and ' progessive' age, 
 When all alike ambitious cares engage ; 
 When beardless boys to sudden sages grow, , 
 And ' Miss' her nurse abandons for a beau ; 
 
31 
 
 When for their dogmas Non-Resistanta fight, 
 When dunces lecture and when dandies write ; 
 When matrons, seized with oratorio pangs. 
 Give happy birth?to masculine harangues, 
 And spinsters, trembling for the nation's fate, 
 Neglect their stockings to preserve the state ; 
 When critic- wits their brazen lustre shed 
 On golden authors whom they never read, 
 With parrot praise of ' Roman Grandeur,' speak, 
 And in bad English eulogize the Greek ;— 
 When facts like these no reprehension bring, 
 May not uncensured an attorney sing? 
 
 "Decidedly he may! If John G. Saxe, 
 Esquire, sings in* this fashion, he may as well 
 sing on. Mr. Saxe, attorney, will be better known 
 one of these days, than at prsent, or at least 
 more widely. (A prophecy amply fulfilled.) 
 
 "Progress, the poem before us, made a sensa- 
 tion before it got into print. It was written at 
 the request of the Associated Alumni of Middle^ 
 bury College, and spoken before that so- 
 ciety the 22d of last July (1846). It was 
 in the Presbyterian meeting-house, where a 
 laugh was considered highly improper, and 
 any demonstration of applause little less 
 than sacrilege. But before our attorney 
 had read twenty lines the house was in a broad 
 grin— a little further on there came ' a most un- 
 oriental roar of laughter,' and soon after came a 
 burst of applause. The parsons could not hush 
 
32 
 
 the noise for laughing. It was a literary excite- 
 ment unparalleled in the Green Mountain State, 
 We agree with the Associate Alumni, that Prog- 
 ress is a capital satire. They did very rightly 
 in applauding it, even in a Presbyterian meeting 
 house. The parsons need not be ashamed of 
 their excited risibilities. The poem is the best 
 of its kind that has been written in ten years — 
 and touches up the topics of the day with ex- 
 quisite humor, an easy flow of verse, a piquant 
 wit, and a satire quite free from all malice." 
 
 In 184Y followed "The New Eape of the 
 Lock," later known as "Captain Jones's Misad- 
 venture," but Saxe's literary reputation was not 
 firmly established until in 1848 "Proud Miss 
 MacBride" caught the public ear and won uni- 
 versal popularity for her author. This poem 
 is a Yankee version of Hood's "Golden Legend." 
 Its vigor may be judged by the following scath- 
 ing arraignment of American family pride : 
 
 "Of all the notable things on earth, 
 The queerest one is pride of birth, 
 
 Among our 'fierce Democracy ' ! 
 A bridge across a hundred years, 
 Without a prop to save it from sneers, — 
 Not even a couple of rotten Peers, — 
 A thing for laughter, fleers, and jeers. 
 
 Is American aristocracy ! 
 
 "English and Irish, French and Spanish, 
 German, Italian, Dutch and Danish, 
 
33 
 
 Crossing their veins until they vanish 
 
 In one conglomeration ! 
 So subtle a tangle of blood indeed, 
 No modern Harvey will ever succeed 
 
 In finding the circulation ! 
 
 "Depend upon it, my snobbish friend, 
 Your family thread you can't ascend, 
 Without good reason to apprehend 
 You may find it , waxed at the other end 
 
 By some plebean vocation ; 
 Or, worse than that, your boasted line 
 May end in a loop of stronger twine. 
 
 That plagued some worthy relation ! " 
 
 In 1849 Saxa's first collected edition was is- 
 sued at the instance of James T. Fields, the pub- 
 lisher, and from then on Saxe was a public char- 
 acter in American letters. 
 
 . The following verses appeared in the St. Al 
 bans Messenger for March 27, 1848. They were 
 addressed by Saxe to his friend, the late Dr. 
 John L. Chandler. It seems the lawyer and 
 doctor engaged in a friendly, metrical sparring 
 match, these verses being in reply to some by 
 the doctor . — 
 
 TO J. L. C. 
 
 A physician who heard, what no one discards, 
 That Apollo was patron of doctors and bards, 
 Conceived that himself, as a matter of course, 
 Was endowed by the god with a duplicate force ; 
 And licensed to dabble, whene'er he thought fit. 
 With mercury, metaphor, jalop and wit. 
 
34 
 
 ' 'Dear doctor," quoth Phoebus, (who knows in a trice 
 
 What his sons are about,) "here's a bit of advice. 
 
 Don't mistake your vocation : — I've heard you rehearse 
 
 Most equivocal sense in most horrible verse : 
 
 I've seen you play doctor and bardling to boot, 
 
 Now mending a leg, and now marring a foot ; 
 
 Now talking of Attic-salt, then of salt-petre, 
 
 Now curing a cold and now murdering metre. 
 
 Nay ! Don't be offended. Away with that frown, 
 
 There is'nt a better physician in town. 
 
 But the doQtrine is settled and you ought to know it, 
 
 One may make a good poultice and not be a poet ; 
 
 May thrive as a doctor, yet fail as perfumer ; 
 
 May know much of humors and nothing of humor. 
 
 Thus I own you're a match for corporeal ills. 
 
 But doctor ! dear doctor ! pray stick to your pills." 
 
35 
 
 lY. 
 
 In 1850 Mr. Saxe removed to Burlington, to 
 practice his profession, and for ten years lived at 
 177 South Union street, in the house now occu- 
 pied by J. G. Bellrose. For the next year he 
 served as state's attorney of Chittenden county, 
 an office to which he was elected not without the 
 suspicion of having been " counted in " by the 
 town of Bolton. With his growing love for 
 literary work law began to irk the poet and he 
 often expressed the intention of giving it up as 
 soon as he could find a more congenial means of 
 making a living. He was not a success as a law- 
 yer ,* the brilliancy of his intellect forbade his 
 relishing the dry profundity of the abstract 
 science, and his practice, which was never large, 
 was cared for by ex-lieutenant governor Levi 
 Underwood. His only appearance before the 
 Supreme Court was in State v. "Woodward — 23 
 Vt. 92 — argued for the State by "J. G. Saxe, 
 state's attorney, with whom was L. Underwood." 
 In this he seems to have had the wrong end of 
 the argument for the decision favored the respond- 
 ent. Woodward. Saxe's attitude toward the law 
 is shown in some lines of advice to a young friend 
 " who thinks he should like to be a lawyer " in 
 which, among similar sentiments, he says : 
 
36 
 
 " No, no, my boy, let others sweat 
 
 And wrangle in the courts ; 
 There's nothing pleasing in a Plea ; 
 
 You cannot trust Reports. 
 
 ' ' Although the law of literature 
 
 May your attention draw, 
 I'm very sure you wouldn't like 
 
 The literature of Law." 
 
 He once jocosely remarked that he was no 
 lawyer, for out of three divorces secured by him 
 " two couples had remarried and gone to living 
 together again." Saxe was occasionally seen in the 
 court room, located in what is now the Fletcher 
 Library, where, during the trial of Weed v. 
 Beach, a particularly tedious suit involving some 
 water rights in the town of Jericho, he scribbled 
 the following epigram for the edification of his 
 legal brethren : 
 
 "My wonder is really boundless, 
 That among the queer cases we try, 
 
 A land case should often be groundless. 
 And a water case always be dry." 
 
 The law gave birth to some of the poet's 
 cleverest verses. " The Briefless Barrister" pub- 
 lished in the Knickerbocker for September, 1844:, 
 travelled fugitively through the papers of 
 America and took a new lease of life after having 
 been copied into Punch. 
 
37 
 
 THE BRIEFLESS BARRISTER. 
 
 An attorney was taking a turn, 
 
 In shabby habiliments drest ; 
 His coat it was shockingly worn, 
 
 And the rust had invested his vest. 
 
 His breeches had suffered a breach, 
 His linen and worsted were worse ; 
 
 He had scarce a whole crown in his hat, 
 And not half k crown in his purse. 
 
 And thus as he wandered along, 
 A cheerless and comfortless elf, 
 
 He sought for relief in a song, 
 Or complainingly talked to himself ; — 
 
 " Unfortunate man that I am ! 
 
 I've never a client but grief ; 
 The case is, I've no case at all, 
 
 And in brief, I've ne'er had a brief ! 
 
 " I've waited, and waited in vain, 
 Expecting an 'opening' to find. 
 
 Where an honest young lawyer might gain 
 Some reward for the toil of his mind. 
 
 " 'Tis not that I'm wanting in law, 
 
 Or lack an intelligent face, 
 That others have cases to plead, 
 
 While I have to plead for a case. 
 
 " O, how can a modest young man 
 E'er hope for the smallest progression, — 
 
 The profession's already so full 
 Of lawyers so full of profession." 
 
 While thus he was strolling around, 
 
 His eye accidentally fell 
 On a very deep hole in the ground. 
 
 And he sighed to himself " It is well .'" 
 
38 
 
 To curb his emotions he sat 
 
 On the curb-stone the space of a minute, 
 Then cried, " Here's an opening at last !" 
 
 And in less than a jiffy was in it ! 
 
 Next morning twelve citizens caine, 
 
 ('Twas the coroner bade them attend), 
 To the end that it might be determined 
 ' How the man had determined his end. 
 
 "The man was a lawyer, I hear," 
 Said the foreman, who sat on the corse, 
 
 ' ' A lawyer ? alas !" said another, 
 " Undoubtedly died of remorse !" 
 
 A third said, " He knew the deceased — 
 An attorney well versed in the laws, 
 
 And as to the cause of his death, 
 'Twas no doubt for the want of a cause." 
 
 The jury decided at length 
 After solemnly weighing the matter, 
 
 That the lawyer was drownded because 
 He could not keep his head above water ! 
 
 The looked for opportunity to renounce the 
 law arrived when, in 1851, Saxe entered the 
 sphere of journalism and became editor and pro- 
 prietor of the Vermont Sentinel, a democratic 
 weekly published in Burlington. Mr. Saxe 
 rightly turned to journalism as offering the read- 
 iest means of applying his talents and his tastes. 
 His editorial labors interested him by bringing 
 him into contact with varied phases of humanity 
 and led to unexpected results by involving him 
 
39 
 
 in the small politics of the day. He was, for a 
 time, deputy collector of customs in the Bur- 
 lington Custom House and later, in 1 859 and 
 1860, ran for governor of Vermont on the demo- 
 cratic ticket, but the nomination was purely com- 
 plimentary as the party has never gained suffi- 
 cient strength in the state to elect an executive. 
 Mr. Saxe deemed theimatter a great joke and in 
 acceptance of the first nomination wrote a short 
 letter closing with the words : " For further 
 political views, and opinions, I will refer you to 
 my inaugural message." An incident of the 
 campaign gave rise to the following epigram : 
 
 A CANDID CANDIDATE. 
 
 " When John was contending (though sure to be beat) 
 In the annual race for the Governor's seat, 
 And a crusty old fellow remarked to his face, 
 He was clearly too young for so lofty a place, — 
 " Perhaps so," said John ; "but consider a minute, 
 The objection will cease by the time I am in it." 
 
 Toward the close of his residence in Burling- 
 ton Mr. Saxe began to manifest a reserved dis- 
 position and became subject to spells of melan- 
 choly — forerunners of the gloom that brooded 
 over his later years — during several of which 
 he made attempts upon his own life. One who 
 knew him then says : " He was not the jovial, 
 whole-souled fellow that he appeared in his 
 
40 
 
 poems." Perhaps Saxe was disheartened at not 
 having made more of his brilliant talents and 
 perhaps the choice of a career that made him ex- 
 pected to be funny contributed to this. At any 
 rate he has pointed out in his " Comic Miseries" 
 the disadvantages of being regarded as a come- 
 dian : , 
 
 " My dear young friend, whose shining wit 
 
 Sets all the room ablaze, 
 Don't think yourself ' a happy dog' 
 
 For all your merry ways ; 
 But learn to wear a sober phiz, 
 
 Be stupid, if you can, 
 It's such a very serious thing 
 
 To be a funny man. " 
 
 Many instances of Saxe's wit yet linger in the 
 memories of Burlington people. At one time 
 he attended a Roman Catholic funeral in the 
 capacity of bearer. High mass was sung and 
 the bearers stood throughout the long service. 
 Finally a companion whispered to the humorist : 
 " Pretty long drawn-out, isn't it, Saxe?" "Yes," 
 was the reply. " They will run it into the ground - 
 pretty soon." Another instance, from which his 
 power of incisive raillery and broad appreciation 
 of absurdity may be well judged, is his "Vindi- 
 cation of Saint Peter." David Barker of Maine, 
 a poet of some local celebrity, after the birth of 
 his first child wrote and published the following 
 verses : 
 
41 
 
 One night, as old St. Peter slept, 
 
 He left the door of Heaven ajar. 
 When through a little angel crept. 
 
 And came down with a falling star. 
 
 One summer as the blessed beams 
 Of morn approached, my blushing bride 
 
 Awakened from some pleasing dreams, 
 And found that angel by her side. 
 
 God grant but this — I ask no more — 
 That when he leaves this world of pain 
 
 He'll wing his way to that bright shore, 
 And find the way to heaven again. 
 
 Saxe seems to have been sceptical as to the 
 divine origin of the " little angel " for, deeming 
 injustice to have been done the good saint, he 
 penned the following hitherto unpublished vin- 
 dication as St. Peter's reply : 
 
 Full eighteen hundred years or more 
 
 I've kept my gate securely fast ; 
 There has no " little angel" strayed, 
 
 Nor recreant through the portals passed. 
 I did not sleep, as you supposed, 
 
 Nor leave the door of heaven ajar, 
 Nor has a " little angel " left 
 
 And gone down with a falling star. 
 
 Go ask that blushing bride and see 
 
 If she don't frankly own and say. 
 That when she found that angel babe, 
 
 She found it in the good old way. 
 
 God grant but this— I ask no more — 
 That should your number still enlarge, 
 
 You will not do as done before. 
 And lay it to old Peter's charge. 
 
42 
 
 In his '' Carmen Lsetum," recited after dinner 
 before the Alumni of Middlebury College at their 
 semi-centennial celebration in 1850, after com- 
 menting on the general good health of his Alma 
 Mater, Saxe adverts to an effort to unite Middle- 
 bury and the University of Vermont. 
 
 " Indeed, I must tell you a bit of a tale, 
 To show you she's feeling remarkably hale ; 
 How she turned up her nose, but a short time ago, 
 At a rather good-looking importunate beau. 
 And how she refused, with a princess-like carriage, 
 ' A very respectable offer of marriage !' 
 
 " You see, my dear Brothers, a neighboring college 
 
 Who values himself on the depth of his knowledge, 
 
 With a prayer for her love, and eye to her land, 
 
 Walked up to the lady and offered his hand. 
 
 For a minute or so she was all in a flutter, 
 
 And had not a word she could audibly utter ; 
 
 For she felt in her bosom, beyond all concealing, 
 
 A kind of a — sort of a — widow-like feeling ! 
 
 But recovering soon from the delicate shock. 
 
 She held up her head like an old-fashioned clock, 
 
 And, with proper composure, went on and defined, 
 
 In suitable phrases, the state of her mind ; 
 
 Said she wouldn't mind changing her single condition. 
 
 Could she fairly expect to improye her position ; 
 
 And thus, by some words of equivocal scope. 
 
 Gave her lover decided ' permission to hope. ' 
 
 It were idle to talk of the billing and cooing 
 
 The amorous gentleman used in his wooing ; 
 
 Or how she replied to his pressing advances ; 
 
 His oscular touches and ocular glances ; — 
 
43 
 
 'Tis enough that his courtship, by all that is known, 
 Was quite the old story, and much like your own ! 
 
 " Thus the matter went on, till the lady found out, 
 
 One very fine day, what the rogue was about, — 
 
 That all that he wanted was merely the power 
 
 By marital license to pocket her dower, 
 
 And then to discard her in sorrow and shame, 
 
 Bereaved of her home and her name and her fame. 
 
 In deep indignation ^she turned on her heel, 
 
 With such withering scorn as a lady might feel 
 
 For a knave, who, in stealing her miniature case, 
 
 Should take the gold setting and leave her the face ! 
 
 But soon growing calm as the breast of the deep, 
 
 When breezes are hushed that the waters may sleep, 
 
 She sat in her chair, like a dignified elf. 
 
 And thus, while I listened, she talked to herself : — 
 
 ' Nay, 'twas idle to think of so foolish a plan 
 
 As a match with this pert University-man, 
 
 For I haven't a chick but would redden with shame 
 
 At the very idea of my losing my name ; 
 
 And would feel that no sorrow so heavy could come 
 
 To his mother as losing her excellent home. 
 
 'Tis true I am weak, but my children are strong, 
 
 And won't see me suffer privation or wrong ; 
 
 So, away with the dream of connubial joys, 
 
 I'll stick to the homestead, and look to the boys !' " 
 
 Mr. Saxe did not try to make the Sentinel a 
 power in politics or literature for his literary 
 fame was broadening and his services as a lec- 
 turer being more in demand, his dependence 
 upon journalism for a livelihood was less essen- 
 tial, yet he certainly enjoyed his editorial labors 
 
44 
 
 and in his verses several clever sketches attest 
 the influence of the newspaper office. 
 
 These lines were probably the fruit of an edi- 
 torial day dream : 
 
 " In the close precincts of a dusty room 
 
 That owes fev/ losses to the lazy broom, 
 
 There sits the man ; you do not know his name, 
 
 Brown, Jones, or Johnson — it is all the same, — 
 
 Scribbling away at what perchance may seen! 
 
 An idler's musing, or a dreamer's dream ; 
 
 His peri runs rambling, like a straying steed ; 
 
 The 'we' he writes seems very 'wee' indeed : 
 
 But watch the change ; behold the wondrous power 
 
 Wrought by the press in one eventful hour ; 
 
 To-night, 'tis harmless as a maiden's rhymes ; 
 
 To-morrow, thunder in the London Times! 
 
 The ministry dissolves that held for years ; 
 
 Her Grace, the Duchess, is dissolved in tears ; 
 
 The Rothschilds quail ; the church, the army, quakes ; 
 
 The very kingdom to its centre shakes ; 
 
 The Corn Laws fall, the price of bread comes down,— 
 
 Thanks to the 'we' of Johnson, Jones, or Brown !" 
 
 The following skit in the columns of the 
 Sentinel in the year 1851 was suggested by a 
 communication from an irate subscriber to whom 
 the editor's political views did not command 
 themselves : 
 
 " A free soil patron of the Sentinel 
 
 Politely bids us ' send the thing to hell.' 
 
 A timely hint. 'Tis proper, we confess, 
 
 With change of residence to change the address ; 
 
 It shall be sent, if Charon's mail will let it, 
 
 Where the subscriber will be sure to get it." 
 
45 
 
 lu 1856, no longer finding it necessary to rely 
 upon journalism, Mr. Saxe sold the Sentinel and 
 trusted to literature for a living. The trust was 
 securely placed for, through economical treat- 
 ment of his income, he acquired means which 
 afforded him an opportunity for leisure and 
 travel. 
 
 Mr. Saxe's life in Burlington was quiet. He 
 was domestic in his tastes and supremely happy 
 in his home surroundings. His family consisted 
 of a wife and five children : John Theodore, 
 born April 22, lS4:3 ; Charles Gordon, born June 
 7, 184:8 ; Sarah Elizabeth, born February 10, 1850; 
 Harriet Sollace, born August 14, 1853, and Laura 
 Sophia, born November 13, 1856. A son, George 
 Brown Saxe, born February 1, 1846, was the 
 only one of the poet's six children that did not 
 live to maturity. His death on November 18, 
 1847, suggested the sonnet " Bereavement " 
 which serves as a companion piece to Longfel- 
 low's " Eesignation." 
 
 BEREAVEMENT. 
 
 Nuy, weep not, clearest, though the child be dead ; 
 
 He lives again in Heaven's unclouded life, 
 With other angels that have early fled 
 
 Fi'om these dark scenes of sorrow, sin and strife. 
 Nay, weep not, dearest, though thy yearning love 
 
 Would fondly keep for earth its fairest flowers, 
 And e'n deny to brighter realms above 
 
46 
 
 The few that deck this dreary world of ours ; 
 Though much it seems a wonder and a woe 
 
 That one so loved should be so early lost, 
 And hallowed tears may unforbidden flow 
 
 To mourn the blossom that we cherished most, 
 Yet all is well ; God's good design I see, 
 
 That where our treasure is, our hearts may be. 
 
 As a " Family Man '' Mr. Saxe was an entire 
 success, despite his seemingly querulous lines un- 
 der that title. Mrs. Saxe, a worthy and devoted 
 woman, was most dear to him and her sudden 
 death contributed above all else to the gloom 
 that enshrouded his later years. To her the 
 poet dedicated the Diamond edition of his poems 
 (1874:) as follows : 
 
 " To my Best Friend, (A Diamond Edition of 
 a Woman,) I Inscribe This Diamond Edition of 
 the Poems of Her Husband 
 
 J. G. S." 
 
 The daughters are described as extremely beau- 
 tiful girls. Of the three Miss Sarah was perhaps 
 the wittiest and most brilliant, while Miss Har- 
 riet was more quiet in her tastes and attainments. 
 John, the eldest son, graduated from \^ermont 
 University in 1862. He was a member of Lamb- 
 da Iota and took high rank as a student. He 
 was exceptionally bright and once or twice turn- 
 ed his hand to writing verse, but his literary 
 
47 
 
 efforts were persistently discouraged by liis father, 
 and he soon relinquished them. Upon his grad- 
 uation he engaged in the lumber business with 
 his uncle Charles in Troy, New York. 
 
 Mr. Saxe had a lounge made to order, to ac- 
 commodate his great length and after supper, 
 clad in dressing gown and slippers, he would 
 often throw himself upon it with some such re- 
 mark as, " Now if ai^y one is happier than I am 
 I'd like to see him." His domestic contentment 
 frequently shines forth in his verses in the ex- 
 pression of such sentiments as this : 
 
 I see a group of boys and girls 
 
 Assembled round the knee paternal, 
 With ruddy cheeks and tangled curls, 
 
 A.nd manners not at all supernal. 
 And one has reached a manly size ; 
 
 And one aspires to woman's stature ; 
 And one is quite a recent prize, 
 
 And all abound in human nature ! 
 The boys are hard to keep in trim ; 
 
 The girls are often rather trying ; 
 And baby— like the cherubim — 
 
 Seems very fond of steady crying ! 
 And yet the precious little one, 
 
 His mother's dear, despotic master, 
 Is worth a thousand babies done 
 
 In Parian or in alabaster ! 
 
 Perhaps the best tribute to Mr. Saxe's success 
 as a family man is tlie last will of his eldest son, 
 from which we venture to make an excerpt. 
 
48 
 
 " As my brother Charles has been to me all 
 that a brother should be, and as my knowledge 
 of his cliaracter for all that is good and manly 
 in all the trials of life covers an experience of 
 over thirty years, I, with most perfect confi- 
 dence, commit to his guardianship my infant 
 son, John Godfrey Saxe, asking him to see that 
 so far as may be in his power ray boy grows up 
 to be a healthy, cultivated, manly and Christian 
 gentleman. My son John will, with a father's 
 blessing, bear in mind as he grows to manhood 
 that his father and his mother, who has gone 
 before but who often spoke of it before her 
 death, wished him of all things to be a good 
 man rather than rich or distinguished ; hoping 
 still that he would make the best and the most 
 of the talents God has evidently given him, and 
 be an honor to the name he bears." 
 
 Saxe's relatives recall many instances of his 
 cleverness suggested by domestic events. His 
 youngest brother, James, a merchant of St. 
 Albans, Vermont, was married in 1850 to Sarah 
 Storrs Sollace, the youngest sister of the poet's 
 wife. Bearing this relationship in mind one can 
 appreciate the following message from the poet 
 to the bride during the wedding trip : 
 
 " Oh lovely Sal, you naughty gal, 
 
 Pray how's your noble Jim ? 
 And how is she who made for me 
 
 A brother-in-law of him ?" 
 
49 
 
 The wit of the family was not confined to the 
 l^oet for this same brother once made the obser- 
 vation that he dealt in dry goods and John in 
 dry jokes. Twin sons of Charles Saxe were 
 named by him after his brothers John and James. 
 The remaining brother, Peter, said that they 
 sliould botli have been named after him, Peter. 
 " That would be Petqr and Re-peater !" retorted 
 the poet. Upon the birth of the same twins— 
 who are now Saxe & Saxe, attorneys, of Boston — 
 the poet sent their father the following lines : 
 
 " The proverb says in aomber tone 
 ' Troubles seldom come alone' ; 
 But, to recompense our cares, 
 Blessings are sometimes sent in pairs, 
 Thus, when a single babe was due, 
 The grateful father welcomed two. 
 God bless them in this world of trouble ! 
 May both find all their blessings double, 
 And, to the joy of sire and mother, 
 Each prove an honor to his brother !" 
 
 50 
 
50 
 
 Y. 
 
 In 1860 Mr. Saxe decided to remove to Alba- 
 ny, ISTew York, as likely to be a city more con- 
 genial toliis social tastes and widening reputation, 
 and in April of that year lie made the change, 
 taking with him his family, excepting his eldest 
 son, then a sophomore in Vermont University. 
 Mr. Saxe purchased an Albany residence upon 
 Madison Avenue, nearly opposite the cathedral 
 of the Immaculate Conception. Here for the 
 dozen years ensuing he made his home, and his 
 tall form was a familiar sight upon the streets of 
 the city. This period comprehended the happi- 
 est days of the poet's life ; he was surrounded 
 by a loving family and a host of friends ; the 
 best society was at his command ; his means were 
 ample and he was so situated that he could feel 
 the pulse beat of public events without taking 
 any more share in them than he chose. He 
 was now at the height of his fame ; the reputa- 
 tion given him by " Proud Miss MacBride " had 
 been still further spread by the magazines, to 
 which, chiefly Harper's and the Atlcmtic 
 Monthly^ lie was a regular and valued contrib- 
 utor until as late as 1874. _ It was at this time, 
 also, that the popular lecture was rampant as a 
 source of public education and incidentally as a 
 
51 
 
 replenislier of depleted literary exchequers, and 
 no leading " lecture course " was thought com- 
 plete unless it contained the name of the fore- 
 most poet of satire and humor. Saxe drew 
 equally well with Wendell Phillips, George Wil- 
 liam Curtis, ITeni'y Ward Beecher, Kev. Dr. E. 
 11. Chapin, Anna E. Dickinson and others who, 
 in the decade from 1859, were kept on the go 
 from early fall until the spring apples were ripe. 
 Saxe was not a forcible lecturer in prose and 
 often his hearers were a trifle disappointed at his 
 rendering of his own verses, which were put to 
 the test of repeated delivery, yet he held his 
 place on the lecture programs by virtue of the 
 reputation his poems had given him. He had 
 but to set the date and name his price, as an op- 
 portunity to see the author of "Proud Miss Mac- 
 Bride " was not to be missed by the lecture-going 
 people of the day. To the eyes of the audience, 
 at least, the investment must have seemed a wise 
 one, for at liis best, physically, Saxe was a re- 
 markably handsome man. He was six feet two 
 inches tall, proudly erect and muscular, with a 
 large, round and finely poised head set upon 
 broad and stalwart shoulders. Photographs of 
 him taken at this time represent his face in pro- 
 file — a high, l)road, intellectual forehead, wavy 
 brown liair in al)undance and keen,-deepset eyes. 
 
52 
 
 which were gray in color, and remarkably ex- 
 pressive. His feature outlines, strong and sugges- 
 tive, except for the chin, were set off by a heavy 
 moustache and " Burnside " whiskers, Saxe 
 laughingly alludes to his size in his " Rliymed 
 Epistle to the Editor of the Knickerbocker Mag- 
 azine", in the lines : 
 
 "Now I am a man, you must learn, 
 
 Less famous for beauty than strength, 
 And, for aught I could ever discern, 
 
 Of rather superfluous length. 
 In truth 'tis but seldom one meets 
 
 Such a Titan in human abodes. 
 And when I stalk over the streets, 
 
 I'm a perfect Colossus of roads !" 
 
 Mr. Saxe's last regular occupation was upon 
 the Sentinel, but, while in Albany, he was con- 
 nected with the Albany Evening Journal as cor- 
 respondent, and was frequently called upon to 
 write editorials both for this paper and for the 
 Albany Morning Argus. The Hon. William 
 Cassidy, proprietor of the latter sheet, was a 
 democrat and at this time perhaps the nearest 
 personal friend of the poet and to him Saxe 
 dedicated the '' Highgate" edition (1871) of his 
 poems. Many an hour did these two cronies 
 while away in the Argus editorial rooms when 
 there was not over much to do, and when- 
 ever Saxe .roamed in during busy hours he 
 
53 
 
 would pick up a book or novel and soon become 
 lost in it, totally oblivions of the snrronnding 
 confusion and rush of a newspaper editorial de- 
 partment. He would often sit with his feet 
 cocked up on one of the reporters' tables, com- 
 fortably fitted into a reporter's chair, and perhaps 
 smoking a reporter's pipe, reading a novel until 
 way along into the "wee sma' hours." Saxe 
 occasionally wrote criticisms and reviews for the 
 Argus and a son of Mr. Cassidy, who was then a 
 small boy, tells of the way the poet would come 
 into the editorial rooms. " He would wander in, 
 say good day to the reporters, then hunting around 
 until he found a book he thought he would like 
 he would bury himself in it. Casually my father 
 would ask him if he would not write a review 
 for. the paper. ' Saxe, won't you write that book 
 up for us ? We haven't had time yet.' ' Well, 
 I don't know ; yes, I guess so ' he would reply 
 and go on reading. Presently, falling upon a 
 passage that pleased him, he would start up 
 and slioving tlie book into the pocket of his 
 velveteen jacket (a style of coat of which he was 
 always very fond) would say ; 'I guess I'll carry 
 this away with me.' That was usually tlie last 
 seen of the book, but in a day or two the criti- 
 cism would appear." 
 
 In his happier days Mr. Saxe enjoyed to the 
 utmost travel and social life. He was a bright 
 
54 
 
 member of many a literary gathering, being 
 known, personally, to all the most prominent 
 of contempory poets and prose writers. He 
 loved to watch the men and women about liim 
 and keen powers of observation conpled with a 
 facile pen gave birth to many of his cleverest 
 productions, such as "Le Jardin Mabille," 
 "Some Pencil Pictures," "The Way of the 
 World," and "The Mourner a la Mode," where 
 he dwells with quiet humor on the specious grief 
 displayed in "billows of crape," 
 
 '•Indeed, it is scarce without measure, 
 The sorrow that goes by the yard. " 
 
 Twenty three consecutive summers Mr. Saxe 
 spent at the springs in Saratoga where he wrote 
 some of his best verses. At such a place he was 
 in his element ; a brilliant conversationalist and 
 something of a ladies' man withal, he never 
 tired of talking when he had a good subject and 
 interested listeners, and often he would spend 
 many hap])y hours conversing far into the night. 
 The fashions and foibles of the famous M^atering 
 place afforded a rich mine of satire and how dil- 
 igently the poet worked it may be discovered by 
 a run through his collected poems. The "Song 
 of Saratoga" was caught up by the public when 
 it first appeared and for years was as regular in 
 its summer rounds of the press as was Clement 
 
55 
 
 C. Moore's "JSTiglit Before Christmas" as a bird 
 of winter passage. 
 
 SONG OF SARATOGA. 
 
 "Pray, what do they do at the Springs ?" 
 
 The question is easy to ask ; 
 But to answer it fully, my dear, 
 
 Were rather a serious task. 
 And yet, in a bantering way, 
 
 As the magpie or mocking-bird sings, 
 I'll venture a bit of a song 
 
 To tell what they do at the Springs ! 
 
 Imprimis, my darling, they drink 
 
 The waters so sparkling and clear ; 
 Though the flavor is none of the best, 
 
 And the odor exceedingly queer ; 
 But the fluid is mingled, you know. 
 
 With wholesome medicinal things. 
 So they drink, and they drink, and tliey drink, — 
 
 And that's what they do at the Springs ! 
 
 Then with appetites keen as a knife, 
 
 They hasten to breakfast or dine ; 
 (Tlie latter precisely at three, 
 
 The former from seven till nine.) 
 Ye gods ! what a rustle and rush 
 
 When the eloquent dinner bell rings ! 
 Then they eat, and they eat, and they eat, — 
 
 And that's what they do at the Springs ! 
 
 Now they stroll in the beautiful walks, 
 
 Or loll in the shade of the trees ; 
 Where many a whisper is heard 
 
 That never is told by the breeze ; 
 And hands are commingled with hands, 
 
56 
 
 Regardless of conjugal rings ; 
 And they flirt, and they flirt, and they flirt, — 
 And that's what they do at the Springs ! 
 
 The drawing-rooms now are ablaze, 
 
 And music is shrieking away ; 
 Terpsichore governs the hour, 
 
 And Fashion was never so gay ! 
 An arm round a tapering waist, 
 
 How closely and fondly it clings ! 
 So they waltz, and they waltz, and they waltz, — 
 
 And that's what they do at the Springs ! 
 
 In short — as it goes in the world — 
 
 They eat, and they drink, and they sleep ; 
 They talk, and they walk, and they woo ; 
 
 They sigh, and they laugh, and they weep ; 
 They read, and they ride, and they dance ; 
 
 (With other unspeakable things ;) 
 They pray, and they play, and they pay, — 
 
 And that's what they do at the Springs ! 
 
 In 1867, leaving liis two elder daughters in 
 the family of his brother James and his young- 
 est in a convent near Albany, Mr. Saxe, accom- 
 panied by his wife, visited Europe. This trip 
 was not idled away but was productive of results 
 which added both to the fame and the fortune of 
 the poet. Mr. and Mrs. Saxe visited the Paris 
 Exposition of that year and also met the present 
 Prince of Wales. The " Cockney," one of 
 Saxe's wittiest sketches, is reminiscent of the 
 trip. 
 
57 
 
 THE COCKNEY. 
 
 It was in my foreign travel, 
 
 At a famous Flemish inn, 
 Tliat I met a stoutish person 
 
 With a very ruddy skin ; 
 And his hair was something sandy, 
 
 And was done in knotty curls, 
 And was parted in the middle, 
 
 In the manner of a girl's. 
 
 He was clad in checkered trousers, 
 
 And his coat was of a sort, 
 To suggest a scanty pattern, 
 
 It was bobbed so very short ; 
 And his cap was very little, 
 
 Such as soldiers often vise ; 
 And he Avore a pair of gaiters, 
 
 And extremely heavy shoes. 
 
 I addressed the man in English, 
 
 And he answered in the same, 
 Though he spoke it in a fashion 
 
 That I thought a little lame : 
 For the aspirate was missing 
 
 Where the letter should liave been, 
 But where'er it wasn't wanted, 
 
 He was sure to put in ! 
 
 When I spoke with admiration 
 
 Of St. Peter's mighty dome, 
 He remarked : " 'Tis really nothing 
 
 To the sights we 'ave at 'omc !'' 
 And declared upon his honor, — 
 
 Though, of course, 'twas very (jueer, 
 That he doubted if the Romans 
 
 'Ad the /lart of making beer I 
 
68 
 
 "When I named the Colosseum, 
 
 He observed, " 'Tis very fair ; 
 I mean, ye know, it loould be, 
 
 If they'd put it in repair ; 
 But what progress or /iimprovement 
 
 Can those curst Italians 'ope 
 While they're /lunder the dominion 
 
 Of that blasted muff, the Pope?" 
 
 Then w^e talked of other countries. 
 
 And he said that he had heard 
 That iiZamericans spoke Hinglish, 
 
 But he deemed it quite /iabsurd ; 
 Tet he felt the deepest /^interest 
 
 In the missionary vrork. 
 And would like to know if Georgia 
 
 Was in Boston or New York ! 
 
 When I left the man-in-gaiters, 
 
 He was grumbling, o'er his gin. 
 At the charges of the hostess 
 
 Of that famous Flemish inn ; 
 And he looked a very Briton, 
 
 (So, methinks, I see him still), 
 As he pocketed the candle 
 
 That was mentioned in the bill ! 
 
59 
 
 VI. 
 
 Again deciding to change his residence, Mr. 
 Saxe, in 1872, removed to Brooklyn, JST. Y,, where 
 he bought a home at No. 28 First place. The 
 location was one of the coolest and pleasantest 
 in the city while among the poet's neighbors 
 were Austin Corbin, Demas Barnes, the Rev. 
 Dr. Ludlow and other people of culture and re- 
 finement. The house was a three-story brown- 
 stone edifice with a deep court yard in front, 
 which was covered with close green turf. 
 
 In the poet's last collection we find a reference 
 to his home in his lines 
 
 TO A BACHELOR FRIEND IN THE COUNTRY. 
 Come and see us, any day ; 
 
 With his choicest mercies 
 Heaven has showered my rugged way, 
 
 Plenty — as my verses. ' 
 
 Share my home, oh lonely elf, 
 
 Cosiest of houses, 
 Wisely ordered, like myself ! 
 
 By the best of spouses. 
 
 Though 'tis small upon the ground, 
 
 I may fairly mention 
 Toward the sky it will be found 
 
 Of sublime extension. 
 Narrow is a city-lot, 
 
 When you've truly said it ; 
 But the "stories" we have got 
 
 You would scarcely credit I 
 
60 
 
 Though the stairs are something tall, 
 
 You have but to clamber 
 Up the fourth ; ' ' upon the wall 
 
 Is the Prophet's chamber." 
 Thence my garden you may view, 
 
 Kept with costly labor, 
 Specially for me and you, 
 
 By my wealthy neighbor. 
 
 Books, you hardly need be told — 
 
 Wait your welcome coming ; 
 Some I warrant — mainly old — 
 
 Worthy of your thumbing. 
 For the rest, I only swear, 
 
 Though they're rather recent, 
 You will find the printing fair, 
 
 And the binding decent. 
 
 Breakfast? — Mutton chops at eight 
 
 (Cook will do them nicely). 
 Dinner? — What you choose to state. 
 
 Served at two precisely. 
 Bed ? — Delicious (not a few 
 
 Were the swans who lined it) 
 As a bachelor like you, 
 
 Could expect to find it ! 
 
 Here, then, Saxe designed to spend the wan- 
 ing years of his life in happiness and content- 
 ment. He had accumulated a competence and 
 expected to live out his allotted days in peace 
 surrounded by his children ; but little did he an- 
 ticipate how heavily the hand of Fate was 
 to be laid upon him. His former melan- 
 choly began to grow upon him more and more 
 
61 
 
 and, as if warned of the trouble that lay before 
 hhn, he bought, soon after fixing his residence 
 in Brooklyn, a family burying lot in Greenwood 
 cemetery that was fittingly adorned for the inter- 
 ment that all too speedily was made in it. His 
 first sorrow was in 1874, His youngest daughter, 
 Laura, had contracted lung trouble while at a 
 boarding school in Masssachusetts. After nobly 
 battling with the disease she returned from an 
 unavailing sojourn in Florida to die. 
 
 The next spring, while returning home at the 
 close of a lecture tour in the south, in an acci- 
 dent on the Panhandle road near Wheeling, 
 West Yirginia, the sleeping car in which Mr." 
 Saxe had a berth was derailed and thrown down 
 a steep embankment. The other passengers 
 were gathered near when a lady cried out, " I 
 don't see the tall gentleman whose berth was 
 opposite mine." Search was at once made, but 
 meanwhile a fellow passenger, who had escaped, 
 betliought him of a sum of money which he had 
 left behind. On returning to the car he stum- 
 bled upon the bruised and insensible poet wedged 
 between heavy timbers. Mr. Saxe was thereby 
 rescued from a revolting death for the sleeper 
 in which he was found, after a brief interval fol- 
 lowing his rescue, became a mass of seething 
 flames. Even under these fearful circumstances 
 
62 
 
 the poet's wit did not fail him, for when some 
 one asked him how he liked "Riding on the 
 Rail" now, he replied " A great deal better than 
 riding off from it!" Mr. Saxe's flesh was 
 bruised, but no bones were broken and outwardly 
 he seemed to liave escaped with slight bodily 
 injuries. Returning to his Brooklyn home he 
 recovered from the wounds received in the acci- 
 dent, but his nervous system had suffered a shock 
 from which it never rallied. This, as appeared 
 upon examination after his death, was induced, 
 at least in part, by a severe blow upon the head, 
 received no doubt in the wreck, which had affect- 
 ed the poet's brain. 
 
 Up to this time Mr. Saxe was a splendid and 
 conspicuous specimen of virile manhood but from 
 now on all was changed. The grievous and in- 
 sidious nervous shock was intensified by added 
 sorrows. Slowly but surely the consequent weak- 
 ness overspread and undermined his whole phy- 
 sical being ; he began to experience a greater 
 degree of bodily and mental fatigue ; daily his 
 form became more bent and his step more feeble 
 and his spirits more subdued until at last his 
 mind lost altogether its wonted buoyancy. Ex- 
 cepting the ill-starred lecture tour referred to, 
 Mr. Saxe's last appearance before the general 
 public was on September 27, 1873, when he 
 
63 
 
 read an ode on the occasion of the unveiling 
 of a bust of John Howard Payne, in Prospect 
 Park, Brooklyn. However, true to fraternal 
 promptings, he read some post prandial verses 
 at Delraonico's, on April 8, 1874, the occa- 
 sion being a festival of the Forty-first Annual 
 convention of Psi IJpsilon. Among other sen- 
 timents the j)oet expresses a dislike to being 
 termed old and says : 
 
 " Is he old who, in spite of his fast thinning curls, 
 Has a joke for the boys and a smile for the girls ! 
 
 « ♦ * * * 
 
 Is he old who owes nothing to fraudulent art ? 
 Above all, is he old who is young at the heart ?" 
 
 These words came very near being ironical. 
 
 In 1875 the poet's last collection came from 
 press — "Leisure Day Rhymes" — and these show 
 his waning power. The pristine vigor of his 
 earlier verses is not so evident and he is occupied 
 with more placid themes. More touches upon 
 theology occur. In " Here and Hereafter" he 
 says : 
 
 " As for me, 
 My creed is short as any man's may be ; 
 ' Tis written in the 'Sermon on the Mount,' 
 And in the ' Pater Noster' ; I account 
 The words ' Our Father' (had we lost the rest 
 Of that sweet prayer, the briefest and the best 
 Of all the liturgies) of higher worth, 
 To ailing souls, than all the creeds on earth." 
 
64 
 
 And in " Miserere Domine" he says : 
 
 ' ' 'Our Father! ' Ever blessed name ! 
 To Thee we bring our sin and shame ; 
 Weak though we be, perverse of will, 
 Thou art our gracious Father still, 
 Who knowest well how frail we be. 
 
 Miserere Domine !" 
 
 The perennially appropriate ode to the New 
 York legislature, in which he says that if we 
 are expected to respect the laws "'tis not best to 
 see them made," shows a vivid flash of the old- 
 time fire. 
 
 In 1879 death again invaded the poet's house, 
 the second victim being his eldest and favorite 
 daughter Sarah, then in the thirtieth year of her 
 age. Scarcely had a year elapsed when Mrs. 
 Saxe, a noble woman who had always been all to 
 him that a wife should be, died suddenly of a 
 syncope which burst a blood vessel in the brain 
 and was put tenderly away in dreamless rest. 
 She had always been a strong and robust woman 
 and at this last blow, the most crushing of all, 
 the already stricken poet was beside himself. 
 The mother of his children dead ! She who had 
 been so tender a helpmeet for forty years ! It 
 was too utterly monstrous for credence and for 
 days Saxe sat in his room with bowed head re- 
 peating over and over to himself the words, 
 " I can't believe it." 
 
65 
 
 Other trials were yet in store. In June, 
 1881, the dark reaper for the fourth time entered 
 his home, this time cutting down his sole re- 
 maining daughter, Harriet. After his first 
 three afflictions Mr. Saxe resolved to maintain 
 his charming home in Brooklyn, but at the 
 death of Miss Hattie his heart broke. On Sun- 
 day, June 5th, the day' of the funeral, many of 
 his old friends attended the services, expecting 
 to catch a glimpse of him, but he did not leave 
 his room, and could not be induced to ride to 
 the cemetery. The poet's mental malady so 
 clouded his mind as to shut out all the pleasures 
 of life. He occupied his room and scarcely ever 
 could be induced to leave it. Old friends, to 
 whom he had formerly been closely attached, 
 would gladly have endeavored to cheer him, but 
 he rejected all overtures and was inaccessible, a 
 prey to the settled melancholy that was to over- 
 shadow him till his death. This melancholy was 
 further enhanced by his finding, upon attempting 
 to do some literary work, that his pen faltered 
 and his thoughts were weak. Grief over the swift 
 course of death and the departure of his old gifts 
 combined to produce acute mental misery which 
 he attributed to imaginary physical ills. His 
 physician, Dr. Wanderlich, wrote of him : " I 
 have never encountered a more obstinate man. 
 
66 
 
 He sits in his room all day long, grieving over 
 the loss of his power as a poet, and imagining 
 that he is the greatest sufferer. I cannot detect 
 that he is physically any worse than one of his 
 age would naturally be supposed to be. His ail- 
 ment is chiefly mental, and his mind has assumed 
 a most painful hypochondriacal hue. He 
 imagines that he cannot eat anything, yet he 
 consumes plenty of food. Then he thinks that 
 he is wasting away in flesh, but I cannot detect 
 that he is growing any thinner, and I sometimes 
 think he is gaining flesh. He does not go out 
 of his room, and cannot be coaxed or driven to 
 take exercise. I think that if he would take 
 plenty of exercise, change the scene of his daily 
 life, and seek companions who would divert his 
 mind from himself, he would recover his animal 
 spirits, and be more like the brilliant, witty man 
 he once was." 
 
 Mr. Saxe's condition was in sorrowfully strik- ^ 
 
 ing contrast to his mood when he wrote the fol- 
 lowing 
 
 LINES ON MY THIRTY -NINTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Oh, few that roam this world of ours, 
 To feel its thorns and pluck its flowers, 
 Have trod a brighter path than mine 
 From blithe thirteen to thirty-nine. 
 Health, home, and friends (life's solid part,) 
 A merry laugh, a fresh young heart, 
 
 % 
 
67 
 
 Poetic dreams and love divine — 
 Have I not these at thirty-nine ? 
 Oh, Time ! Forego thy wasted spite, 
 And lay thy future lashes light, 
 And, trust me, I will not repine, 
 At twice the count of thirty-nine. 
 
 How sadly did Father Time answer the poet's 
 prayer ! A few years previously his verses were 
 eagerly accepted by the leading periodicals, he 
 was the nation's wit and humorist whose delicious 
 rhymes brought to himself fame and a compe- 
 tence and to many a household the cheerful 
 smile or hearty laugh. Even across the sea he 
 was known as the "Thomas Hood of America." 
 Yet at sixty-five his condition much resembled 
 the closing days of Scott, Southey, Cowper, and 
 Tom Moore. Mr. Saxe now made no effort to 
 combat his melancholy. His light had gone out 
 forever; not a gleam recalled the brilliant 
 flashes of wit that had played so merrily across 
 the literary firmament of twent}' years agone 
 aud his last years afford but another instance of 
 the fatality that seems especially to beset the 
 
 gone of laughter. 
 
68 
 
 YII. 
 
 The stricken poet wa8 now inaccessible to all. 
 He would allow none to approach him, yet his 
 domestic solitude was more than he could bear 
 and he soon sold his Brooklyn home and was 
 taken to Albany to the home of his eldest son. 
 Even here misfortune followed for once again 
 the inexorable hand of fate was laid heavily 
 upon him. Within the month precedinoj his son's 
 wife had died. Nine weeks after her decease 
 John himself, not arising at the usual hour, was 
 found dead in bed. x Thus, in the brief space of 
 seven years, had the poet's wif e,his three daugh- 
 ters, his eldest son and his daughter-in-law crossed 
 the mystic river before his very eyes. What 
 wonder then, that death seemed to him his best 
 friend as with whitened locks, bent form and sad 
 eyes he wearily sought shelter with his only sur- 
 viving child, Charles, beneath whose rooftree he 
 was to spend the last sorrowful years of his life, 
 brooding hopelessly in solitude over his afflic- 
 tions, his mind still Tiaunted by joyous memories 
 of the golden past. 
 
 When Mr. Saxe began to feel in some degree 
 the stability of this last shelter, he made a last 
 pitiful effort to hold at bay the grief that 
 oppressed his being. During the first three 
 years he spent some hours each pleasant day loit- 
 ering in the beautiful park near his son's house 
 
69 
 
 or tranquilly seated in a shady arbor, watching 
 the children at their play. He chatted with the 
 members of his son's family or read the news- 
 papers. A bright young man was secured for a 
 companion and he tried to forget, but it was of 
 no avail, the struggle was a vain one, and in 1884 
 he withdrew altogether from the eyes of men. 
 With his retirement his literary fame had de- 
 clined; death and the turmoil of life wrought 
 neglect even among his quondam admiring 
 companions, until now, except for an occasional 
 sympathetic reference in the public prints, hard- 
 ly a person knew that, one who, in his time, did 
 more than any other to brighten the world around 
 him, was ending his days apart from his fellow 
 men, crushed by bereavements and the victim of 
 a settled melancholy. It is one of the eccentric- 
 ities of fate that a man whose mission was to dad- 
 den others should thus drag out his last years, 
 dead to the world which was once so kind to 
 him. In the poet's own words : "Isn't it queer 
 that one who made others laugh should end his 
 days so in sorrow ? " 
 
 Charles Saxe occupied two adjoining brown- 
 stone houses connected by alcoves and situated 
 on State street barely a stone's throw from the 
 great capitol. In the spacious double home of 
 his son, who ever ministered to his wants with 
 
TO 
 
 filial tenderness and solicitude, the poet was 
 given spacious quarters where he existed rather 
 than lived for three years more, despite the pre- 
 dictions of eminent physicians, whom his family 
 •had consulted in his behalf in 1881, on his first 
 coming to Albany, that he would not survive two 
 years longer. 
 
 These last three years of the once exuberant 
 poet and stalwart man were patlietic in the ex- 
 treme. He was much changed in form and 
 feature being but the shadow of his former virile 
 self. With hair that was silvery white, a full, 
 gray-white beard, a form bent and emaciated, a 
 tottering step and a face pallid and shrunken — the 
 clear gray eyes alone bore witness to the 
 strength of other days. Physically a wreck, his 
 mind, though feeble and languid, was clear up 
 to the tinje of his death. 
 
 The poet's daily existence was not varied. He 
 rose about 6:30 and retired between the hours of 
 nine and ten. His food was of the plainest 
 description as he suffered much from indigestion, 
 as well as from insomnia and neuralgia in the 
 head — the latter superinduced, no doubt, by the 
 blow received in the railroad accident. Through- 
 out the day he would move leisurely about, 
 often lost in meditation, recline upon a couch 
 or sit in an easy chair gazing out upon the river. 
 
n 
 
 his mind ever and anon reverting to his irrepara- 
 ble bereavements. Of his wife and children he 
 often spoke tenderly and regretfully, manifest- 
 ing a keen interest in the proper care of their 
 graves. Part of his time he devoted to a peru- 
 sal of the leading magazines, sent him regularly 
 and unsolicited by the publishers thereof, in 
 kindly remembrance of past favors, or occasion- 
 ally he would read a few pages in one of 
 his favorite prose authors, usually Hawthorne, 
 Dickens or Thackeray, judiciously selecting 
 therefrom matter of cheerful tone. The news- 
 papers he refused to look at, manifesting no in- 
 terest in current events. He would say "it pains 
 me to meet with the details of so much crime 
 and so many casualties," and this was no new 
 sentiment to him, for in "The Press," written in 
 1855, occur these lines : 
 
 The News, indeed ! pray do you call it news 
 When shallow noddles publish shallow views ? 
 Pray, is it news that turnips should be bred 
 As large and hollow as the owner's head ? 
 News, that a clerk sliould rob his master s hoard 
 Whose meagre salary scarcely pays his board ? 
 News, that two knaves, their spurious friendship o'er, 
 Should tell the truths which they concealed before ? 
 Neivs, that a maniac weary of his life, 
 Should end his sorrows with a rope or kuife? 
 News, that a wife should violate the vows 
 That bind her, loveless, to a tyrant spouse? 
 
72 
 
 Netos, that a daughter cheats paternal rule, 
 And weds a scoundrel to escape a fool ? 
 The news, indeed ! Such matters are as old 
 As sin and folly, rust and must and mould ! 
 
 At increasingly rare intervals a brighter mood 
 would come upon him, reviving a transient in- 
 terest in old friends and associations. The name 
 of Longfellow was often on his lips and that 
 poet's death affected him deeply. His memory 
 at times showed momentary gleams of its pris- 
 tine vigor and at one time he surprised his son 
 not a little by repeating verbatim one of Charles 
 Lamb's longest essays. 
 
 One of the few friends who had an opportuni- 
 ty to know something of the poet's recluse ex- 
 istence, wrote in the summer of 1886 ; "During 
 the past two years no public eye has seen him. 
 The apartment in which he spands his melan- 
 choly days consists of a suite of three rooms, 
 located in the rear end of the house on the 
 third floor, and overlooking the noble Hudson to 
 the South. Here by the window he whiles 
 away much of his time in watching the busy 
 river craft, and in contemplating the picturesque 
 landscape. Of street attire he no longer has a 
 need ; in dressing-gown and slippers he paces the 
 floor with slow and trembling steps, seldom or 
 never going beyond the confines of his own 
 room." 
 
73 
 
 As time passed ou the cloud that brooded orer 
 the poet's being settled heavier and yet more 
 darkly. He gave up reading the magazines, nor 
 could he be induced to open a book. A.t one 
 time Mrs. James Saxe, liis wife's sister and bro- 
 ther's wife, who was alivays a favorite with him, 
 took some books up to his room on the plea that 
 they were in the way down stairs, but he would 
 not allow them to be left, saying gently but 
 firmly, " No. I can't have them here. They 
 remind me of the past." Finally he denied hhn- 
 self to the members of the family, even saying, 
 when asked if he would receive his favorite 
 sister-in-law : " No. Tell her I would like to see 
 her, but— I cannot, I cannot bear to be reminded 
 of what I once was — of the days of my hope and 
 strength, when the world had charms that are 
 now dead to me ; before sickness liad deprived 
 me of my health, and death had robbed me of 
 my loved ones." 
 
 His only companion was now his valet, 
 a middle-aged colored man who, by reason of 
 prior service with eminent people at Wash- 
 ington and other places, was more than ordinar- 
 ily intelligent and entertaining. With him 
 the poet chatted, sometimes with a more than 
 usual degree of interest and animation. In the 
 poet's apartment hung a small portrait of Thomas 
 
74 
 
 Hood, given liim by the English liumorist's son, 
 and to this Mr. Saxe attached more than ordinary 
 value. Sometimes in his walk he vsrould pause 
 before it and, gazing sadly at it, say: " I wonder 
 if poor Tom Hood ever suffered as I suffer now !" 
 Again the observation escaped him ; "I do not 
 see how any human being can continue to live in 
 a condition so utterly hopeless as mine." The 
 last lustrum of Saxe's life was only along craving 
 for the final summons to join the loved ones who 
 had gone before. 
 
 The Century for June, 1886, contains the 
 following lines to the poet by C. S. Percival : 
 
 " O genial Saxe, whose radiant wit 
 Flashed like the lightning from the sky, 
 
 But, though each flash as keenly hit, 
 Wounded but what deserved to die — 
 
 Alas ! the cloud that shrouds thy day 
 
 In gathering darkness, fold on fold. 
 Serves not as background for the play 
 
 Of those bright gleams that charmed of old ; 
 
 For, from its depths where terrors hide. 
 There crashed a bolt of dreadful tone ; 
 
 Scattered thy household treasures wide, 
 And left thee silent, bruised, alone. 
 
 We miss thy song this pleasant May ; 
 And, in the meadows, pause to think : 
 
75 
 
 ' What if, amid their bright array, 
 
 We heard no voice of Bobolink !' 
 Yet charms not now his blithesome lay , 
 
 Nor flowery mead ' in verdure clad ' 
 The world that laughed when thou wast gay, 
 
 Now weeps to know that thou art sad." 
 
 John Godfrey Saxe died on March 31, 1887, 
 and was laid at rest in the family lot in Green- 
 wood by the side of his wife and daughters. 
 Only his relatives and a few personal friends 
 were present at the funeral. 
 
 The sad termination of his life reminds one of 
 the well known anecdote of Liston, the famous 
 comedian. One day there came to Abernethy 
 a man who sougrht cure for a melancholia so con- 
 firriied and constant that it threatened to under- 
 mine his reason. " Pooh ! Pooh !" the famous 
 surgeon replied : " if that is all you are easily 
 cured; go to Covent Garden and see Liston." 
 "Alas!" his patient replied, "I am Liston!" 
 
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