each
member of the family: "The three members of the family formed a perfect
combination of wholly varying temperaments. Mrs. Whittier was placid,
strong, sensible, an exquisite housekeeper and 'provider;' it seems to
me that I have since seen no whiteness to be compared to the snow of
her table-cloths and napkins. But her soul was of the same hue; and all
worldly conditions and all the fame of her children--for Elizabeth
Whittier then shared the fame--were to her wholly subordinate things,
to be taken as the Lord gave. On one point only this blameless soul
seemed to have a shadow of solicitude, this being the new wonder of
Spiritualism, just dawning on the world. I never went to the house that
there did not come from the gentle lady, very soon, a placid inquiry
from behind her knitting-needles, 'Has thee any farther information to
give in regard to the spiritual communications, as they call them?' But
if I attempted to treat seriously a matter which then, as now, puzzled
most inquirers by its perplexing details, there would come some keen
thrust from Elizabeth Whittier which would throw all serious solution
further off than ever. She was indeed a brilliant person, unsurpassed
in my memory for the light cavalry charges of wit; as unlike her mother
and brother as if she had been born into a different race. Instead of
his regular features she had a wild, bird-like look, with prominent
nose and large liquid dark eyes, whose expression vibrated every
instant between melting softness and impetuous wit; there was nothing
about her that was not sweet and kindly, but you were constantly taxed
to keep up with her sallies and hold your own; while her graver brother
listened with delighted admiration, and rubbed his hands over bits of
merry sarcasm which were utterly alien to his own vein."

[Illustration: POWOW RIVER AND PO HILL]

The village of Amesbury enjoyed a sense of proprietorship in Whittier
which it never lost, even when Danvers claimed him for a part of each
year. He did not give up the old house, consecrated by memories of his
mother and sister, but returned to it oftener and oftener in his last
years, and he hoped that he might spend his last days on earth where
his mother and sister died. The feeling of the people of Amesbury was
expressed in a poem written by a neighbor, and published in the village
paper, under the title of "Ours," some stanzas of which are here
given:--

"I say it softly to myself,
I