| Ellery Channing: in
F. B. Sanborn, The Personality of Thoreau His
illness might be passed over by some persons, but not by me; it was most impressive. To
see one in middle life, with nerves and muscles and will of iron, torn apart piecemeal by
that which was stronger than all, were enough to be described, if pen had the power to do
it. It was a saying of his, not unfrequent, that he had lived and written as if to live
forty years longer; his work was laid out for a long life. Therefore his resignation was
great, true, and consistent; great, too, was his suffering. "I have no wish to live,
except for my mother and sister," was one of his conclusions. But still, as always,
work, work, work! During his illness he enlarged his calendar, made a list of birds, drew
[p. 66] greatly on his Journals; at the same time he was writing or correcting several
articles for printing, till his strength was no longer sufficient even to move a pencil.
Nevertheless, he did not relax, but had the papers still laid before him. I am not aware
that anywhere in literature is a greater heroism; the motive, too, was sacred, for he was
doing this that his family might reap the advantage. One of his noblest and ablest
associates was a philosopher (Alcott) whose heart was like a land flowing with milk and
honey; and it was affecting to see this venerable man kissing his brow, when the damps and
sweat of death lay upon it, even if Henry knew it not. It seemed to me an extreme unction,
in which a friend was the best priest. |