he walls on both sides of the
fireplace were covered with books. The other walls were hung with
pictures, among which we noticed 'The Barefoot Boy,' a painting of Mr.
Whittier's birthplace in Haverhill, a copy of that lovely picture,
'The Motherless,' under which were written some exquisite lines by
Mrs. Stowe, and a beautiful little sea-view, painted by a friend of
the poet. Vases of fresh, bright flowers stood upon the mantelpiece.
After we had rested we went into the little parlor, where hung the
portrait of the loved and cherished mother, who some years before had
passed away to the 'Better Land.' Hers was one of those sweet, aged
faces which one often sees among the Friends,--full of repose,
breathing a benediction upon all around. There were other pictures and
books, and upon a table in the corner stood Rogers' 'Wounded Scout.'

[Illustration: JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
From a photograph]

"At the head of the staircase hung a great cluster of pansies, purple
and white and gold. Mr. Whittier called our attention to their
wonderful resemblance to human faces,--a resemblance which we so often
see in pansies, and which was brought out with really startling
distinctness in this picture.

"In the cool, pleasant chamber assigned to us, pervaded by an air of
Quaker serenity and purity, was a large painting of the poet in his
youth. This was the realization of my girlish dreams. There were the
clustering curls, the brilliant dark eyes, the firm, resolute mouth.
He looked like a youthful Bayard, 'without fear and without reproach,'
ready to throw himself unflinchingly into the most stirring scenes of
the battle of life.

"We were at once greatly interested in Miss Whittier, and impressed by
the simplicity and kindness of her manner. We saw the soul's beauty
shining in her soft, dark eyes, and in the smile which, like her
brother's, was very winning, and we felt it in the music, of her
gentle voice and the warm pressure of her hand. There was a refreshing
atmosphere of unworldliness about her. She had rarely been away from
her home, and although her brother's fame obliged her to receive many
strangers, she had never, as she told us, been able to overcome a
shyness of disposition, except in the case of a very few friends. She
was naturally witty and original, and when she did shake off her
shyness, had a childlike way of saying bright things which was very
charming. She and her brother had lived together, alone since