"Then the Master in his place Bowed his head a little space And the leaves by soft airs stirred Lapse of wave and cry of bird Left the solemn hush unbroken Of that wordless prayer unspoken While its wish, on earth unsaid, Rose to Heaven interpreted. As in life's best hours we hear By the spirit's finer ear His low voice within us, thus The All-Father heareth us: And his holy ear we pain With our noisy words and vain. Not for him our violence Storming at the gates of sense, His the primal language, his The eternal silences." Mr. Whittier always goes to this meeting when he is well enough. The May Quarterly Meetings of the Society of Friends are held at Amesbury. There are a good many members of this Society in the town, and there is among them a hospitality, a kindness, and a cordiality that added to their quiet ways and the refined dress of the women makes them interesting. It goes without saying that Amesbury has also the allotment of churches of other denominations usual to New England towns. Thirty years ago and more, the Amesbury and Salisbury Mills were two distinct companies. The agent of the former mills, Mr. Joshua Aubin, was a gentleman of fine presence. After he left Amesbury, he sent to the town as a gift the nucleus of its present Public Library, which, although not absolutely free has only a nominal subscription to pay the services of the librarian, and for keeping the books in order. [Illustration: John G. Whittier]