MacDonald’s lecture was most interesting, and simply delivered in his fascinating Scottish accent.
In the evening a deputation from the Scottish Club of Amesbury came to him in the poet’s home, bringing Whittier’s complete works to present to the poet and novelist of their native land. Whittier’s welcome and the Scottish poet’s delight made the event a “red-letter day” to the Club.
But when the two poets were at last alone together, they must have spent a memorable time; they had in common an untraveled world of sympathy; yet they were different. The spiritual world is MacDonald’s world and his heroes are ideal rather than weighted with the weaknesses and foibles of human nature. But Whittier tells us of reality—the reality in the natural and in the spiritual world, for in both of these he lived. His poems are no dreams, but actualities seen upon the heights of life. His men and women are those whom we daily meet, but with the veil which for most of us is upon their hearts drawn aside, giving us wonderful glimpses into the holy of holies. It was not strange that the two poets had much to say to each other, and that afterward Whittier remarked of his guest; “There is no man in England whom I should have been more glad to meet than George MacDonald.”
In connection with this visit occurred an incident characteristic both of Whittier and of his niece, afterward Mrs. Pickard, who herself told it to the writer.
The poet received many very beautiful gifts, some of which this niece while keeping his house would put about in the rooms, that visitors also might enjoy them. But Whittier’s native abhorrence of ostentation, together with his Quaker simplicity, did not approve of this display, and the gifts would be relegated to their hiding-places. Over and over would she try the experiment, and always with the same result, although occasionally, her uncle would not immediately notice the ornaments and so they would hold their own for a few days; but only to disappear in the end. Thus the game would go on and neither would mention the subject to the other.
Among these gifts was a very handsome silver cake-basket, for cake-baskets were then in vogue. Several times had Lizzie attempted to grace the table with this when guests were present. But her uncle had always left his guests to make an errand to the dining-room just before the meal, and the tabooed basket had always vanished from the table.
But when George MacDonald, accompanied by his wife and son came to Amesbury to give his lecture, because, as has been said, he could be the guest of Whittier, Lizzie felt that if the opportunity to display the cake-basket was ever to come, it should be then. But how could she do it? For her uncle, with all his pleasure in his guests was not too much absorbed in his brother poet to omit the preliminary survey of the table.
The cake-basket was not there. Well-pleased, he returned to his guests.
It was when the summons to the evening meal had been given and the company was about to be seated, that Lizzie appeared, in her hand the well-filled cake-basket which she placed conspicuously upon the table and made haste to seat herself behind the teacups.