TEMPLE PLACE ll 
the front door. Ah, that door! It was of black oak 
made of wood from the famous old man-of-war, the 
Constitution. It opened heavily and closed with a 
great thud and crash that could be heard in all the 
houses round about. The vestibule was very pretty 
with marble statues on each side, and steps again led 
up to the door opening into the hall. From the hall 
a broad spiral staircase wound up to the top of the 
house and was crowned with a cupola, from which we 
could see the comet of the time, or watch meteors 
trail their mysterious light across the sky. Two sto- 
ries below was a spacious hall with grandfather’s suite 
of rooms on the left side; on the opposite side our 
grandmother held sway. The elder grandchildren 
were very intimate with their grandfather, but we 
younger ones never ventured into these sacred pre- 
cincts unless the rooms were empty. To our grand- 
mother’s parlor we always had access. She was usu- 
ally sitting by a bright fire in a thickly upholstered 
rocking chair with arms and ears. She received us 
kindly, but usually said, ““Where is your mother?” — 
arather disconcerting question, but I don’t remember 
being repelled by it. At dusk of a winter’s day when 
the astral lamps were lighted, John Tevin, the old 
butler, drew out and opened a mahogany table with 
claw feet, spread a white cloth, put on the hissing 
kettle, and we had tea with grandmother. A particu- 
lar kind of toast dwells in the memory of the partici- 
pants, some East India preserve or other delicacy, 
and our favorite gingerbread marked, no doubt, with 
a fork, to our taste superior to any other luxury. 
