ment of the plain furniture and the simple, dainty service of her table. With her heirlooms of fine china she maintained many touches of a refined past custom; as example, she always dipped the spoon into hot water before serving sugar, that the fine flavor might be secured. This delight of an artistic nature in food, which should appeal to the eye as well as the taste, was transmitted to her famous son. In a journal extract, published in "Winter," Thoreau refers to his pleasure in popping corn, "a perfect winter flower, uniting anemones and houstonias," and adds,—"It is pleasant to relieve the grossness of kitchen and table by simple beauty of repast to attract the eye of an artist even." Mrs. Thoreau was an ambitious, cheery woman, suffering for years with consumption, yet with undaunted courage. Finally, at the age of eighty-five, even at her death-hour, she is described as "bursting out with a song." A family friend recalls her last, patient days, in an article in The Outlook, December 2, 1899: "Ever ready to be interested in passing events, expressing keen opinions or offering valuable suggestions, her hold on life was firm, and it was almost a surprise when she at last yielded to the inevitable and submitted to lie several days in bed before the end came. To a friend who visited her at this period Mrs. Thoreau
