The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 11, No. 68, June, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
Science
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 11, No. 68, June, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
"I Desire the favour of you to procure for me & Send with my
Spring Goods, a Handsome Chiming Clock of the newest
fashion,--the work neat & Good, with a Good black Walnutt
Tree Case, Veneer'd work, with Dark, lively branches,--on
the Top insteed of Balls let be three handsome Carv'd
figures, Gilt with burnished Gold. I'd have the Case without
the figures to be 10 foot Long, the price 15 not to Exceed
20 Guineas, and as it's for my own use I beg your particular
Care in buying of it at the Cheapest Rate. I'm advised to
apply to one Mr. Marmaduke Storr at the foot of Lond'n
Bridge, but as you are best Judge I leave it to you to
purchase it where you think proper,--wh. being the needfull,
Concludes
"Sir Your &c. T. H."
On the right of the hall, as you enter, is the fine old drawing-room,
seventeen by twenty-five feet, also elaborately finished in moulded
panels from floor to ceiling. In this room the founder of the Hancock
name, as a man of note, and a merchant of established consequence, must
often have received the Shirleys, the Olivers, the Pownalls, and the
Hutchinsons of King George's colonial court; and here, too, some years
later, his stately nephew John dispensed his elegant hospitalities to
that serene Virginian, Mr. Washington, the Commander-in-Chief of the
Army of the Revolution, and to the ardent young French Marquis who
accompanied him. The room itself, hung with portraits from the honest,
if not flattering hand of Smibert, and the more courtly and elegant
pencil of Copley, still seems to bear witness in its very walls to the
reality of such bygone scenes. We enter the close front-gate from the
sunny and bustling promenade of Beacon Street, pass up the worn and gray
terrace of the steps, and in a moment more closes behind us the door
that seems to shut us out from the whirl and turmoil and strife of the
present, and, almost mysteriously, to transport us to the grave shadows
and the dignified silence of the past of American history.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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