Antique Guides

I SUPPOSE there are plenty of people-good Americans-who can stand for the first time in the old market-place in Boston and read the inscriptions on Faneuil Hall or the Old State House without a hint of an inward thrill. The thought uppermost in their minds is that these famous old buildings look remarkably like 'their portraits on picture post-cards. But I have yet to find the American, however practical-minded, who can hold in his hand his great-great-grandmother's Betty lamp, or sit in his great-grandfather's Windsor chair, without some slight sentiment.

The presence of these old relics of bygone days, reminders of the intimate home life of our fore-fathers, creates for most of us a sort of atmosphere that can be more easily recognized than described. It is easier for us to picture the pouring of candles into their molds than the gathering of the minute-men at Concord. The crackling of the back-log on the old fire-dogs is clearer in our ears than the ringing words of Samuel Adams. And to associate, day by day, with the household belongings of a past generation is a heart-warming and a heart-softening thing. Their influence is subtle, but it makes for joy and a chastened pride. It is good for us to set up our tabernacle among them.

Malign us as you will, we are a home-loving people, and the things of the home we understand. Our patriotism centers itself about our homes, and our reverence for the past around the hearthstones of our forebears.

Also we are for the most part descended from Europeans, and there is born within us a respect for antiquity. We have no Rhenish castles here; no Roman roads undulate over our hilltops. The oldest we have is just coming of age, but we are glad of that, and do our homage.

Old houses and old gardens we love, and we come honestly by our sentiment. Take a trip through the James River country and you will feel it. Or go with me some summer's day to one of the many old New England villages which still bask comfortably in the sunshine of yesterday. The main street, with its noble elms and maples, is so generous in width, so comfortably expansive, that one hardly recognizes it as a street. Here and there are low-roofed white cottages with brass knockers and green blinds, nestling behind their lilac bushes and hollyhocks. Down by the town pump stands the white meeting-house, with its austere spire pointing uncompromisingly heavenward. I heard Mark Twain call the New England village church a wooden box with a toothpick at one end. He had become enamored with the mellower architecture of English abbeys, and I thought the less of him for it.

In one of the dooryards is a little white-haired old lady, busy among her hardy perennials. We ask her if she will show us her old china, and she leads the way with a smile. We seat ourselves in her rush bottomed chairs, with their black and yellow paint worn off in places. On a round pie-crust table she sets forth her treasures-the pewter porringer with its many dents, the Toby jug, the Lowestoft, and the Old Blue. See how lovingly she handles them, brushing off the dust as tenderly as one would smooth the brow of a sleeping child.

Ridiculous little old woman ! Living here alone, part and parcel of an age before steam heat was in-vented or electric lights even dreamt of. Faded little old lady, whose ancient lace belongs somehow with the old mahogany and Sheffield plate. I see you smile, but I can see it is not a smile of contempt or of pity. Your city home was made beautiful by the most up-to-date decorator you could afford. You spent hundreds of dollars on "color schemes" and "vistas." Your Mission den cost more than this woman ever had to spend. Then why do you covet the old candlesticks on the wooden mantel'? Why does your palm itch for the possession of her one magnificent Wedgwood vase? It is because they are real. They mean something. They possess atmosphere which age alone can give to old houses and old gardens. They are rich in associations; the little lady is rich. And not one of her treasures can all your money buy.

But be not discouraged. There are fine old things still to be had, in the shops, and here and there about the older parts of the country. And if I should meet you a year hence I doubt not I shall be shaking hands with a Collector.

Collecting Antique as a Hobby

Antique Bedstead