But the poet was full of thoughtfulness of what his money should do for others. Long before the possibility of this purchase came to him, he used to say that a great part of the land in the old farm was “only good to help to hold the world together.” In his letter desiring to buy the property he stated that the part he wanted was about the poorest part of the farm. “And the house to anybody but myself,” he added, “would be only valuable as firewood.” After his death the birthplace was bought by “The Whittier Homestead Association” which has its membership among lovers of Whittier in Haverhill and elsewhere. The care bestowed upon it and the many pilgrims who journey to it prove the house of greater value to his admirers than to the poet. * * * * * If anything in Whittier showed, pre-eminently, the quality of his soul, it was his absolute loyalty. His allegiance once given, he was always true, whether to person or to cause. The friends of his earlier days lost none of their dearness when wide fame and comparative wealth opened the world to him. His old companions seemed to be to him a part of the old family life that he cherished so unremittingly. In life he loved them; and he always carried in his heart the friends who had passed beyond the veil. “The sudden death of one of my oldest friends, J. T. Fields, was a great shock to me,” he wrote. “For forty years we have been very intimate. No man save thy father has ever seemed nearer to me. It is very strange to outlive so many of my dear friends.” Of still another he says: “Thus our loved ones pass on. I at least shall soon follow.” * * * * * His letters are full of thought of those dear to him here or in the world beyond. About three years before his death he said in one of these: “I have been miserably ill in August and September and have not been able to read or write much. My eyes fail me and I cannot use them without pain. I have thought a great deal of thy father during my illness. I shall never see a ‘beloved physician’ like him. When I was in C---- the only visit I made was to the house where he lived,” [in former days]. Elsewhere he says again: “Reading Miss Jewett’s new book, “A Country Doctor,” I could not help thinking of thy dear father. I have never ceased to miss him and have always been thankful that I was permitted to know and love him.” * * * * * “Don’t work too hard, too continuously,” he advised a young friend. “I have not been able for years to write more than half an hour at a time because I wrote too steadily long ago. My work, however, is nearly done. I am feeling what old age is more and more, pain, loneliness, and failing powers. But I have no right to complain. For the many blessings which remain I am very grateful, not the least of which is the love of my friends.”