As life advanced, in face of labors, difficulties, interruptions, and discouragements,—in face of honors and applause, that Will grew stronger and more victorious. It conquered the love of ease, of money, of praise; it conquered selfishness; and finally, a supreme victory, it conquered the pain of enforced seclusion, of bodily weakness, and prolonged ill-health. It only yielded to that conqueror whose voice all men obey.
Whitney was always modest, sometimes diffident, yet never timid, never shrinking from the duties that were thrown upon him. For the place of a presiding officer, or of an extemporaneous speaker, or even of an academic lecturer, he had no predilection. When he came to the front, it was to bring an offering well prepared. He never sought greetings in the market-place nor high seats in the synagogue. Notoriety gave him no pleasure. Recognition was doubtless grateful to him, but it was never sought. He did not try to surpass another in fame or rank; he did not even try to surpass himself. The quiet assurance that what he produced was true and fresh and of importance, gave him the tone of authority in every company where his voice was heard; but he never exacted tribute, nor sought precedence. Honors fell upon him. In early life they were stimulating, in later days rewarding; but their value was never impaired by the regret that they had been solicited. He talked but little of that which he had written or accomplished, and still less of the laurels he had won, content that his papers should naturally find their way among scholars and be received at their true value.
