And there is a half-moon window over the door above
it, with little panes of glass held in place by a spidery parasol frame,
and supported on spindling columns once painted white. And there is an
old lantern in the hall and funny little banisters wreathed about a
flight of stairs that twists itself up to the second floor.
The relics--now that I come to think of it--stop here. There was a fine
old mantel framing a great open fireplace in the front parlor, before
which the Father of His Country toasted his toes or sipped his grog, but
it is gone now. Muffles's bar occupied the whole side of this front
room, and the cavity once filled with big, generous logs, blazing away
to please the host's distinguished guests, held a collection of bottles
from Muffles's cellar--a moving cellar, it is true, for the beer-wagon
and the grocer's cart replenished it daily.
The great garden in the rear of the old mansion has also changed. The
lines of box and sweet syringa are known only by their roots.
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