FOR THE OPENING OF THE CAPTAIN AND MRS. ETHAN TREE MUSEUM OF QUAHAUG As smooth the bivalve opes its jaws, Admitting crystal flood, So opes our own Museum its doors To all of native blood. On honored bier we drop the tear, And then, with joy agog, Our village proud doth cry aloud, Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug! Our patroness we fondly bless, And likewise honor him Who filled so free this treasury, Then sought the cherubim. Of objects fair, so rich and rare, Description would but clog; So let us sing till welkin ring, Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug! Captain and Mrs. Ethan Tree We honor so this day, As Muses nine, with fire divine, Alone could fitly say. Yet still each heart would bear its part, With this for epilogue: While life remains we'll praise thy plains, Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug! (The "bangs" were not printed on the souvenirs, but without them one does not get the effect of the cymbals, which really were superb.) And then the Museum was open, and the village flowed in through the rooms, examining, wondering, praising. It was really a fine collection, and beautifully arranged. Mr. Homer and Tommy Candy had been at work for a month, with much help from the Jaquiths and Annie Lizzie, and everything was classified and marked, and displayed to the best advantage. In one room, the "Captain's room," were the samples of wood, smooth little slabs of ebony, satinwood, violet, leopard, dragon, sandal, and every other known wood, polished till they shone like wooden mirrors. In another were the minerals: rough crystals, rose and amethyst, smoky yellow and clouded brown; nuggets of gold, of silver, of copper; uncut gems of every variety, from the great ruby that Captain Tree took from the Malay pirate's turban down to the pink and lilac pearls found in our own oysters and mussels in Quahaug harbor. The carved crystal, jade, ivory, and amber, and the enamels, were displayed in the parlor, and were so skilfully arranged that the character of the room was not changed, only the dim richness accentuated. The light fell softly on bowls and cups of translucent green, on the rounded backs of ivory elephants, on exquisite shapes of agate, jasper, and chalcedony, on robes stiff with gold and crusted with gems; but still it was Mrs. Tree's own parlor, and still the principal thing in it was the ebony chair, with the crutch-stick leaning against it. The shells, in glass cases, lined the sides of the long room known as the Workshop; and, as Seth said, "Gosh! if they didn't beat the everlastin' Dutch!" "Why," he said, turning to Salem Rock, who was behind him in the slowly moving throng that filled the room, "you wouldn't think, to look at all these, that that man had done anything all his life only pick up shells." "He certingly was the darndest!" replied Salem, soberly.