f that long by-gone life upon Shirley's stairway,
save for a dimming of the old rail where countless hands--strong,
feeble, fair--had lightly rested or, more helpless, clung; and save for
that worn trail of the generations that followed up the dull, dark
treads. But even these had much to tell of the passings for nearly two
centuries and a half up and down this household highway: of the
masterful tread of spur-shod boots, the dancing of the belle's
slim-slippered feet, the pompous double steps of bumpy baby shoes, the
gouty stump of old grandsire, and the faithful shamble of the black boy
at his heels.

That day (regretfully our last in this colonial home) not only the
stairway but all of the old house seemed inclined to become
reminiscent. Nautica noticed this in the quiet drawing-room that would
keep bringing up by-gone times, and, she insisted, by-gone people too.
In the great hall, even the Commodore felt the mood of old Shirley and
the presence of a life that all seemed natural enough, but that must
have come a good ways out of the past.

On the staircase, despite the dim light over there (or because of it),
one could even catch sight of a shadowy old-time company.

There were stately figures passing up and down: the old lords of the
wilderness in velvet coats and huge wigs, and ladies of the wilderness
too in rich brocades and laced stomachers. There were many slender and
youthful figures. Charmingly odd and quaint were the merry groups of
girls, catching and swaying upon the shadowy stair; dainty ruffles
peeping through the balusters; laughing faces bending above the dark,
old rail. And fine indeed were the gallants that did them homage; those
young colonials of bright velvets and flowered waistcoats and lace
ruffles and powdered periwigs.

Now, from the stairway the old-time life spread throughout the old-time
home. Shirley was living over again some merry-making of colonial days.
That was the Governor that just passed with the glint of gold lace and
the glint of gold snuff-box; and that, a councillor's lady that rustled
by in stiff silks, her feet in gold-heeled slippers and her powdered
head dressed "Dutch." And quite as fine and quite as quaint were the
ladies that followed in their gay flowered "sacques" looped back from
bright petticoats and point lace aprons.

It was all as London-like as might be: rich velvets and brocades,
wide-hooped skirts and stiff stomachers, laced coats and embroidered
waistco