The Portland daily press., 1869-02-09

of heath and ont of funds. To be sure
there WAS nothing remarkable IN that, tor
student, are apt to be in that way. But it led
me to ramble toward the sea, and that took
me through Amesbury. the home of Whit
tier. / carried the universal black bag. filled
with 'pirs, needles, thimsles, se&ing-silk,"
etc, which served me instead of a purse; to
all intents and purposes, then, I was a de
fdcto peddler, class OF individuals not gem
orally mentioned the same day with the min
ister, nor thought much of in comparison
with quarterly meetings.
When l came into Amesbury was tired
ana hungry with long days walk, without
dinner, had little money in my pockets,
SO depended on the bag. 1t was near dark,
and Saturday night. So began the inquiry
for an abiding place on the Sabbath; but
what right bad i, a peddler, to expect any
family to put themselves out to accommodate
me? "There was good hotel in the place"
But with me hotel was out of the question
And so l trudged on and got substantially
the same reply from all. At length turned
into Friend Street; had entirely forgotten
that the Quaker poet" lived in the town.
Aud going on indiscriminately in my appli-
cations, approached neat cottage, embow-
cred in shrubhery, and the yard adorned with
flowers, and through an open window OBJ
served table piled up with books and news
u
satd |, "lttle luck for me here.n / rang the
bell, and tall,spare man, with prominent fea-
tures and mild counteuance, opened the door.
From the portraits 1 had seen L recognized
him IN a moment. had stumbled upon the
poet.
Good evening, young man." he said.
responded. But was abashed, and, OBJ
serving hesitation in my manner, he inyit-
ed me in. The benevolence in his voice gave
me assurance.
] am peddler. sir" said /, ain pursuit OF
place to spend the Sabbath"
II would keep you with great pleasure"
said he, bad a place for you to sleep, but
unfortunately there is quarterly meeting of
Friends here, and have my beds all lull.-
Bur there Is good man lives in that house
tpointing) who will. But you look tired,
said he, "are you well?'
i confessed was not
81 think Mr.. Barnard will do well by you,"
said he; sit he cannot, come back TO me. l
am sorry to send you any further. 1t is
thing never do when can avoid it."
Went to Mr.. Barnard's, presented my re-
quest, and was at once received. But had
scarcely disposed of my bag and hat when
Whittier came in.
You looked so pale, young man." said he,
"that felt l had not dole right and came on
after you lest you should be compelled to
walk further. l happened to think could
sleep on tne SOFA myself"
he then sat down and talked with me an
hour, while the good wife was preparing sup
per, as ii had been an equal. l was, in fact,
Tor he compelled me to be. He would not
even receive my thanks for his kindness.
The next morning he invited me with him
to their meeting, at the plain wooden meet
ins-house on the edge OF the wood near the
village. He showed me all the conveniences
OF the house, how they divided it by sliding |
partition, etc. He then took me into his seat,
and sat down with his hat on. Plain, inteli- |
gent, prim looking men, tidy women and neat |
children came in and sat down quietly. There |
was never doubt what each one had on;
they were all dressed plainly and alike. And |
there we sat till the village clock struck |
twelve. Then Whittier gave me his right
hand, and the congregation departed. The
Spirit had not moved not word had been
spoken.
As we separated at the gate of Mr.. BIS yard
he babe me the kindest of good days, and l
stood and gazed after him with more admi-
ration and reverence than ever felt for any
other great man.-Cor. Springfield Repu6li-
can. frs