At the left is a small maple light-stand, quite unadorned by marquetry, but with simple, slender lines; and above it hangs one of my most treasured possessions - an engraved portrait of Horace Wal-pole, done after the Romney painting and framed in black with a little inner line of gilt. It bears his familiar signature, "Hor. Walpole," and the date, April 28th, 1790 - oddly enough, just the year Webster Cottage was built. True it's only the signature to a receipt; but then, such an interesting receipt, made out to Cha. Bedford (his deputy at the Treasury) for one thousand, five hundred and six pounds and six shillings. Of course I'd rather have a letter, for choice, one to Henry Conway, or the Countess of Upper-Ossory, or to his artistic protegee, Lady Diana Beauclerc; but then, Walpole letters are hard to get, and I am very lucky to have this. Do you accuse me of burning candles to him? Well, why should I not? He is the patron saint of all good collectors, an example for us, his neophytes, to follow. Just recently I read a letter of his concerning a manuscript he very much wished to possess: "But the one you mention is more curious, and what I should be very glad to have; and, if I can afford it, will give whatever shall be thought reasonable; for I would by no means take advantage of the poor man's ignorance or necessity, and therefore should wish to have it estimated by some connoisseur." To my mind a lofty pinnacle of collecting virtue!

My silhouettes, too, deserve your attention. They were found in a little bookshop in Carlsbad, and given to me by a traveling friend who remembered my passion for these old profiles. Three are unique in my silhouette experience, and all are charming in their frames of gilt passe partout. Look closely at the two eighteenth-century shadows; they are cut with meticulous fineness, and the bits of silk and velvet and brocade introduced into the costumes are as fresh as they were a hundred and fifty years ago. The little one at the right is a rather unusual size, half the figure instead of the accustomed profiled bust; and the revealing white lines are delicately-etched as in some of Edouart's rare examples. And such lovely, intricate passe partout patterns! If only they did work of this sort nowadays!

Can you see all the excellences of my "Peace Mirror," I wonder? It is quite large, thirty-two inches long and seventeen wide; the gilt is unmarred although dulled by time, and the bas-relief at the top is still perfect. The plain, slender columns have bandings of acanthus leaves: at the top and bottom and in the middle, and the overhanging cornice shows thirteen pendant balls. I'm so glad that it's just this many, for, of course, the number differs according to the size of the mirror, running from nine to sixteen or seventeen; now I, gazing at my looking-glass, can so much more easily credit the legend of these balls symbolizing the Thirteen Original States. (In England, I am told, they are called "Nelson's Cannon Balls," but I disavow so unpatriotic a suggestion!) In the centre of the bas-relief is the figure of a woman dressed in flowing, classic robes, emblematic of Peace; for she holds two doves, and, on either side, are heads set in blazing suns, celebrating, no doubt, the Proclamation which put an end to the troublous War of 1812. I wish I knew who made it; I haven't the faintest idea; but, perhaps, in some faded newspaper I'11 stumble unexpectedly across the advertisement of its merits. I do know that one S. Lothrop had a Looking-Glass Warehouse in Boston, on Court Street, near Concert Hall, and I have seen a most exquisite mirror made by some Newburyport craftsman whose name, unfortunately, has escaped me.

On the right hangs an engraving of Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, from the painting by Sir Godfrey Kneller; another receipt, another signature, "13 July 1710, Reed in full, S. Marlborough." I do not love her so well as I do my gentle Horace - who could? - but since I like ambitious women, and since even her worst enemy certainly could n't accuse her of a lack of that quality, here she hangs, to my great admiration. I had meant to put the Duchess and Walpole closer together, directly on either side of the mantel mirror, so that they might gossip companion-ably about the House of Hanover, and compare notes on bygone courts; I know from the anecdotes which Walpole has left that he was amused by her mordant tongue and unfettered speech. But the arrangement was not suitable; neither was agreeable to it, and now Sarah Jennings hangs nearer my cornucopia bas-relief mirror and matches its black and gold with her old frame. This looking-glass is smaller and not so fine as my "Peace Mirror"; I think it is a little later, too, - the turned sides would indicate that, - but it is very handsome and well-proportioned, and in excellent condition.

But all this time you may be saying to yourselves, "Why does she use Empire mirrors with Hepple white furniture?" I'11 tell you; these "tabernacle framed" glasses are not only semi-architectural, but they are a direct legacy from eighteenth-century classicism; and furniture of the Hepplewhite school is filled with this spirit. Besides, in Hepple-white's book of designs many of the pier glasses are rectangular in shape, quite as mine are. Consequently, they fall in with the lines of the room better than if they were of the oval variety, which, by the way, are improbably scarce and impossibly expensive. My bas-relief mirror is a fitting companion to the small, straight-front mahogany bureau below, not only in the simplicity of the structure, but because the oval brasses, too, are adorned with graceful cornucopias. And a further embellishment is the inlay: a little line of holly around each drawer, and a broader band of marquetry just above the gracefully turned apron. I am showing it to you in its simplicity; just a cross-stitch pincushion, a yellow glass perfume bottle, a powder-puff stand, and an old glass lamp.