“I now the joys of Life renew From care and trouble free, And find a wife who’s kind and true To drive life’s cares away.” And also this tender sentiment: “The troubled main, the wind & rain, My ardent passion prove Lashed to the helm, should seas o’erwhelm I’ll think on thee, my love.” Or these lines: “Kindly take this gift of mine, The gift and giver I hope is thine, And tho’ the value is but small A loving heart is worth it all.” It is a curious fact that feminine owners are exceptionally unwilling “to part with” these Sailor pitchers. A halo of past romance, of sentimental fancy, surrounds the yellow ware love token that “Uncle Eben brought from Injy to Aunt Hannah,” or “my grandpa got painted in Chiny for my grandma when he was courtin’ her” (for even these staidly sombre English pitchers are gloriously Oriental in country owners’ eyes). This latent longing for sentiment, this tender sympathy with youthful love and affection, lies hidden deep in every woman’s heart, no matter what her age; and, in the dull, repressed life of many New England homes, finds expression in a stolid clinging to the only visible token of a love and lovers long since dead. One stout old woman, with calm face but suspiciously shaky voice and hands, brought out for our admiring view, in company with a crimson silk crêpe shawl, a pair of small Liverpool pitchers printed with a spirited marine view of a full-rigged ship, the names John Daggett and Eliza Maxom, and this doggerel rhyme: “No more I’ll roam, I’ll stay at home, To sail no more From shore to shore, But with my wife Lead a happy, peaceful life.”