me for this meeting approached. It was an annual event in which
his mother and sister took much interest, and after they passed away,
the custom was maintained with the same spirit of hospitality with
which they had invested it, to the last year of his life.

Among Mr. Whittier's neighbors was an aged pair, a brother and sister,
whose simple, old-fashioned ways and quaint conversation he much
enjoyed. He thought they worked harder than they had need to do, as the
infirmities of age fell upon them, for they had accumulated a
competency, and on one occasion he suggested that they leave for
younger hands some of the labor to which they had been accustomed. But
the sister said, "We must lay by something for our last sickness, and
have enough left to bury us." Whittier replied, "Mary, did thee ever
know any one in his last sickness to stick by the way for want of
funds?" The beautiful public library of Amesbury was built with the
money of this aged pair, whose will was made at the suggestion of
Whittier. Part of the money Whittier left to hospitals and schools
would have been given to this library, had he not known that it was
provided for by his generous neighbors.

[Illustration: WHITTIER AT THE AGE OF FORTY-NINE]

In his poem "The Common Question," Whittier refers to a saying of his
pet parrot, "Charlie," a bird that afforded him much amusement, and
sometimes annoyance, by his tricks and manners. His long residence in
this Quaker household had the effect to temper his vocabulary, and he
almost forgot some phrases his ungodly captors had taught him. But
there would be occasional relapses. He had the freedom of the house,
for Whittier objected to having him caged. One Sunday morning, when
people were passing on the way to meeting, Charlie had gained access to
the roof, and mounted one of the chimneys. There he stood, dancing and
using language he unfortunately had not quite forgotten, to the
amazement of the church-goers! Whatever Quaker discipline he received
on this occasion did not cure him of the chimney habit, but some time
later he was effectually cured; for while dancing on this high perch he
fell down one of the flues and was lost for some days. At last his
stifled voice was heard in the parlor, in the wall over the mantel. A
pole was let down the flue and he was rescued, but so sadly demoralized
that he could only faintly whisper, "What does Charlie want?" He died
from the effect of this accident, but we will not