The clear blue letters on these old Delft apothecary jars speak not to me of the drugs and syrups, of the lohocks and electuaries that were contained within them in olden times; they are abbreviations of various Biblical proverbs, such as “Every fool will be meddling,” and “Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.” The little, ill-drawn blue cherubs that decorate these jars seem always to wink and smirk maliciously at me, and to hold their fat sides as though they were thinking of the first time they gazed at me and jeered at me out of the window of the gray old farm-house in Narragansett, as I stood entrapped by the sudden crushing in of a peaked-roofed hen-house upon which I had climbed to peer within a window at the hidden Delft treasures. There I stood on broken eggs and piercing splinters for one hour, with only distracted hens and scarcely less distracted thoughts for company, until the owner of hen-house and Delft jars returned and kindly chopped me out of my absurd and well-deserved stocks. Severe and unceasing monitors are my old apothecary jars. [Illustration] [Illustration: Delft Apothecary Jars.] When I stick gillyflowers and clove-pinks in the pierced tops of these three-legged India china “posy-holders,” I am, like Marjorie Fleming, “all primmed up with Majestick Pride”—the honest pride of a successful china-finder who has snatched her prize from before the very face of a dozen other collectors. These “posy-holders” stood for forty years on the high-towering mantel-tree of a country parlor, a parlor that was viewed yearly by scores of inquisitive and curiosity-seeking summer visitors, visitors too dull-visioned to recognize these china treasures. Perhaps the high-shelved station of the china, a foot only from the ceiling, helped to hide them. Perhaps the gruesome row of oval silvered disks that stood in their company, tarnished coffin-plates bearing the names of past and dead dwellers in that home, may have chilled and repelled investigation. Perhaps the scarlet, blue, and gold dragons and shrimps on the posy-holders were dulled by the greater glories of their surroundings, for this parlor shone resplendent with glowing color. The walls had been painted by a travelling artist in the early part of this century, and lavish was his fancy and his sense of color. Above the high black mantel-shelf a yellow ochre sun threw his rays over vermillion and purple clouds. These rays of light were gilded and curved in various directions, and gave Phœbus the appearance of a good-tempered, smiling octopus, withal somewhat intoxicated. At either side of the fireplace sprung a great palm-tree that bore at the base of a spreading cluster of leaves luscious bunches of great hanging pineapples. Around one tree a frightful serpent coiled, his striped folds most beautifully diversified with gilded spots. Behind the other tree lurked a crouching tiger. On the plastered wall were painted two portraits with fine simulated gold