IF there be sermons in stones, there are surely volumes of romances in old furniture. And they are the best kind of romances, too, because they are all true and not the laboured efforts of fictionaries, jaded with trying to find some new thing under the sun. We have but to open our eyes and unstop our ears to the language of furniture and a whole new world, richly filled with stirring memories, at once breaks upon us. But the value of an understanding of old furniture lies not merely in sentimental satisfaction and pleasing retrospect. It will give us a vigorous commentary on the economic history and social manners of the times in which it was made, if we care to take the pains to read a little between the lines. A dog ring, perhaps, on a table leg, brings vividly before us a picture of domestic manners when the master of the house was wont to fasten his hound beside him as he sat in hall. Or, perchance, a well-worn table stretcher recalls the time when the floors were strewn with reeds and rushes and the men and women seated at the board were glad of a spot to rest their feet and keep them out of the "marsh," as it was significantly called, a place that readily became noisome with dampness, litter and scraps thrown to the dogs, for slatternly housekeeping was just as common in the "good old days" of Queen Bess and the Wisest Fool in Christendom as it has ever been since.

More pleasantly suggestive are the china cupboards of a later reign when housewives, with proper pride in their domestic surroundings, addressed themselves to collecting Delft and such bits of Oriental porcelain as rich East Indian argosies fetched to the ports of Holland, after the fashion set them by busy Queen Mary, the estimable spouse of the little Dutch Stadtholder. Anon a chased silver mirror frame or some gorgeous gew-gaw of tinsel court-trappings, reminiscent of the Merry Monarch's amorous irregularities, or again a capacious "Drunkard's Chair," dating from the age of "good Queen Anne," tell all too eloquently of the "frailty of the flesh" and the temptations to which it has yielded. In wholesomer vein, the rich and multicoloured upholstery stuffs from the looms of Spital-fields, fabrics which brightened the houses of the wealthy while Charles II was yet on the throne, and still more during the reign of William and Mary, speak to us of the industrious Huguenot weavers and England's lasting obligation to their cunning craftsmanship.

So it goes. Memories both grave and gay flash in quick succession before the mind's eye, summoned to their place in the mental panorama by the curve of a chair leg or a faded tatter of ancient brocade. The glamour of antiquity makes a strong appeal to most persons of fine sensibilities. Those of a fanciful turn love to weave romances about old things and the people they were associated with. With us in America the desire to connect every old chest, table, bedstead or the like with some noted personage or some famous event has, at times, amounted to a mania. New England, through its length and breadth, has been filled to overflowing with "genuine" household gear brought over in the Mayflower. Indeed, Mayflower furniture has become a standing joke.

So, too, is it with the tables Washington has eaten from, the chairs he has sat on and the beds he has slept upon. If half the tales were true that we are asked to believe, the Father of his Country must have spent far more than his allotted span of life merely in performing the most astounding gastronomic feats or sleeping his wits away.

How much more sane and satisfactory it is to cast aside all this clap-trap sentiment and twaddling deception, accepting only such traditions as bear the most unmistakable hall-marks of authenticity, and measure our esteem for old furniture rather by its intrinsic merit! The historic point of view has its own very real and unquestionable value, the suggestive aspect establishes the connexion with social and economic conditions that affected the form and decoration of furniture and is, therefore, helpful to our general knowledge, but the truest and most satisfactory side from which to view the whole subject is its artistic and decorative value.

By regarding the making of furniture as an art, our reverence for it will be well founded and we shall be convinced of the worthiness and dignity of our study. We must quite put aside the mere stupidly utilitarian and narrow attitude that some assume in reference to furniture and consider the whole subject in a broader and more intelligent manner. Anything is to be held well worth while that will conduce to making the intimate surroundings of our daily life more livable and attractive. It is a laudable desire to have everything about us dignified and beautiful no matter how humble its use. The Greeks followed this principle, and the experience of many centuries has assuredly proved that they were fit patterns for emulation.

Furniture making is not only one of the oldest branches of man's handiwork but is one of the noblest aids to architecture and has been recognised as such by the greatest architects. To cite one instance in this connexion, the Brothers Adam set great store by it and owed much of the success of their interiors to the pains they bestowed on the smallest details of furnishing. Every day we see good houses spoiled by bad or ill-chosen furniture and then again we see, on the other hand, many a discouraging and mediocre house in large measure redeemed by good furniture, well chosen and wisely placed.

Sympathetic students of the various periods of furniture find much of their delight in the subtle grace of line and proportion in which the old craftsmen excelled. This excellence they had because they put their best efforts, their very hearts and souls, into their work and took a proper pride in its achievement before these present days of rush and hurry and factory-made things, turned out in batches by soulless corporations.