Every town and village along that vast stretch of double river-frontage had a best dwelling, finest dwelling, mansion,—­the home of its wealthiest and most conspicuous citizen.  It is easy to describe it:  large grassy yard, with paling fence painted white—­in fair repair; brick walk from gate to door; big, square, two-story ‘frame’ house, painted white and porticoed like a Grecian temple—­with this difference, that the imposing fluted columns and Corinthian capitals were a pathetic sham, being made of white pine, and painted; iron knocker; brass door knob—­discolored, for lack of polishing.  Within, an uncarpeted hall, of planed boards; opening out of it, a parlor, fifteen feet by fifteen—­in some instances five or ten feet larger; ingrain carpet; mahogany center-table; lamp on it, with green-paper shade—­standing on a gridiron, so to speak, made of high-colored yarns, by the young ladies of the house, and called a lamp-mat; several books, piled and disposed, with cast-iron exactness, according to an inherited and unchangeable plan; among them, Tupper, much penciled; also, ‘Friendship’s Offering,’ and ’Affection’s Wreath,’ with their sappy inanities illustrated in die-away mezzotints; also, Ossian; ‘Alonzo and Melissa:’  maybe ‘Ivanhoe:’  also ‘Album,’ full of original ‘poetry’ of the Thou-hast-wounded-the-spirit-that-loved-thee breed; two or three goody-goody works—­’Shepherd of Salisbury Plain,’ etc.; current number of the chaste and innocuous Godey’s ‘Lady’s Book,’ with painted fashion-plate of wax-figure women with mouths all alike—­ lips and eyelids the same size—­each five-foot woman with a two-inch wedge sticking from under her dress and letting-on to be half of her foot.  Polished air-tight stove (new and deadly invention), with pipe passing through a board which closes up the discarded good old fireplace.  On each end of the wooden mantel, over the fireplace, a large basket of peaches and other fruits, natural size, all done in plaster, rudely, or in wax, and painted to resemble the originals—­which they don’t.  Over middle of mantel, engraving—­Washington Crossing the Delaware; on the wall by the door, copy of it done in thunder-and-lightning crewels by one of the young ladies—­work of art which would have made Washington hesitate about crossing, if he could have foreseen what advantage was going to be taken of it.  Piano—­kettle in disguise—­ with music, bound and unbound, piled on it, and on a stand near by:  Battle of Prague; Bird Waltz; Arkansas Traveler; Rosin the Bow; Marseilles Hymn; On a Lone Barren Isle (St. Helena); The Last Link is Broken; She wore a Wreath of Roses the Night when last we met; Go, forget me, Why should Sorrow o’er that Brow a Shadow fling; Hours there were to Memory Dearer; Long, Long Ago; Days of Absence; A Life on the Ocean Wave, a Home on the Rolling Deep; Bird at Sea; and spread open on the rack, where the plaintive singer has left it, Ro-holl on, silver moo-hoon, guide the TRAV-el-lerr his way, etc.