There were also intimate personal considerations which would apparently render so luxurious a wardrobe unnecessary and unsuitable. The age and health of the wearer might generally be held to be sufficient reason for indifference to such costly, delicate, and gay finery. When Madam Symonds was fifty-eight years old, in 1674, her son wrote, “Oh, Good Mother, grieved am I to learn that Craziness creeps upon you, yet am I glad that you have Faith to look beyond this Life.” Craziness had originally no meaning of infirmity of mind; it meant feebleness, weakness of body. Her letters evidently informed him of failing health, but even that did not hinder the export of London finery. Governor Symonds’s estate at his death was under £;3000, and Argilla Farm was valued only at £;150; yet Madam had a “Manto” which is marked distinctly in her son’s own handwriting as costing £;30. She had money of her own, and estates in England, of which John Hall kept an account, and with the income of which he made these purchases. This manteau was of flowered satin, and had silver clasps and a rich pair of embroidered satin sleeves to wear with it; it was evidently like a sleeveless cape. We must always remember that seventeenth-century accounts must be multiplied by five to give twentieth-century values. Even this valuation is inadequate. Therefore the £;30 paid for the manteau would to-day be £;150; $800 would nearly represent the original value. As it was sent in early autumn it was evidently a winter garment, and it must have been furred with sable to be so costly. In the early inventories of all the colonies “a pair of sleeves” is a frequent item, and to my delight—when so seldom color is given—I have more than once a pair of green sleeves. “Thy gown was of the grassy green Thy sleeves of satin hanging by, Which made thee be our harvest queen And yet thou wouldst not love me. Green sleeves was all my joy, Green sleeves was my delight, Green sleeves was my Heart of Gold, And who but Lady Green-sleeves!” Let me recount some of “My Good Son’s labors of love and pride in London shops” for his vain old mother. She had written in the year 1675 for lawn whisks, but he is quick to respond that she has made a very countrified mistake. “Lawn whisks is not now worn either by Gentil or simple, young or old. Instead whereof I have bought a shape and ruffles, what is now the ware of the bravest as well as the young ones. Such as goe not with naked neckes, wear a black whisk over it. Therefore I have not only bought a plain one you sent for, but also a Lustre one, such as are most in fashion.” John Hall’s “lustre for whisks” was of course lustring, or lutestring, a soft half-lustred pure silk fabric which was worn constantly for two centuries. He sent his mother many yards of it for her wear.