th age. As I passed through the
sitting-room, Rachel preceding me with my traps, I caught a glimpse of
traces of better times. There was a plain wooden mantelpiece, a wide
fireplace with big brass andirons, a sideboard with and without brass
handles and a limited number of claw feet,--which if brought under the
spell of the scraper and varnish-pot might once more regain its lost
estate,--a corner-cupboard built into the wall, half full of fragments of
old china, and, to do justice to the major's former statement, there was
also a pair of dull old mahogany doors with glass knobs separating the
room from some undiscovered unknown territory of bareness and emptiness
beyond. These, no doubt, were the doors Anthony threw open for the bevies
of beauties so picturesquely described by the major, but where were the
Chippendale furniture, the George III. silver, the Italian marble mantels
with carved lions' heads, the marquetry floors and cabinets?

I determined to end my mental suspense. I would ask Rachel and get at the
facts. The old woman was opening the windows, letting in the fresh breath
of a honeysuckle, and framing a view of the sea beyond.

"How long have you lived here, aunty?"

"'Most fo'ty years, sah. Long 'fo' Massa John Talbot died."

"Where's old Anthony?" I said.

"What Anthony? De fust major's body-servant?"

"Yes."

"Go 'long, honey. He's daid dese twenty years. Daid two years 'fo' Massa
Slocomb married Mis' Talbot."

"And Anthony never waited at all on Major Slocomb?"

"How could he wait on him, honey, when he daid 'fo' he see him?"

I pondered for a moment over the picturesque quality of the major's
mendacity.

Was it, then, only another of the major's tributes to his wife,--this
whole story of Anthony and the madeira of '39? How he must have loved this
dear relict of his military predecessor!

An hour later the major strolled into the sitting-room, his arm through
Jack's.

"Grand old place, is it not?" he said, turning to me. "Full of historic
interest. Of co'se the damnable oligarchy has stripped us, but"--

Here Aunt Rachel flopped in--her slippers, I mean; the sound was
distinctly audible.

"Bre'kfus', major."

"All right, Rachel. Come, gentlemen!"

When we were all seated, the major leaned back in his chair, toyed with
his knife a moment, and said with an air of great deliberation:--

"Gentlemen, when I was in New York I discovered that the fashionable dish
of the day was a po'ter-