dence to emphasize his fulmination by
printing a portrait of the poet, who, it was intimated, would yet be
punished for defying the elements.

The old parlor, the principal room of the original cottage, has
suffered no change in the several remodelings of the house. The beams
in the corners show a frame of the olden style--for the cottage had
been built many years when the Whittiers came here. The clear pine
boards in the dado are two feet in width. In this room are placed many
memorials of the poet of interest to visitors. What to him was the most
precious thing in the house is the portrait of his mother over the
mantel--a work of art that holds the attention of the most casual
visitor. The likeness to her distinguished son is remarked by all. One
sees strength of character in the beautiful face, and a dignity that is
softened by sweetness and serenity of spirit. The plain lace cap, white
kerchief, drab shawl, and folded hands typify all the Quaker virtues
that were preeminently hers.

On the opposite wall is the crayon likeness of Elizabeth, the dearly
loved sister, so tenderly apostrophized in "Snow-Bound:"--

"I cannot feel that thou art far,
Since near at need the angels are;
And when the sunset gates unbar,
Shall I not see thee waiting stand,
And, white against the evening star,
The welcome of thy beckoning hand?"

When she died, in 1864, her friend, Lucy Larcom, had this excellent
portrait made and presented it to the bereaved brother, and it has hung
on this wall nearly forty years. All the other members of the
"Snow-Bound" family are here represented by portraits, except the
father and uncle Moses, of whom no likenesses exist, save as found in
the poet's lines. The Hoit portrait of Whittier, painted when he was
about forty years of age, was kept out of sight in a seldom-used
chamber, while the poet was living, for he allowed no picture of
himself to be prominently displayed. The portrait of his brother was
painted when he was about forty years of age. A small photograph of his
older sister, Mary Caldwell, is shown, and a silhouette of aunt Mercy;
also a portrait of his brother's daughter, Elizabeth (Mrs. Pickard),
who was a member of his household for twenty years, and to whom he left
this house and its contents by his will. Her son Greenleaf, to whom
when four years of age his granduncle inscribed the poem "A Name," now
resides here.

[Illustration: MRS. PICKARD]

In this