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More information about this seller Contact this seller Shockley, W. Hollomon, R. Maurer and F. Seitz, Editorial Comm. Published by John Wiley and Sons, Inc. From: edconroybooks Troy, NY, U. Cover bottom fore-edge corner tips lightly bumped, ink owner name on front endpaper, o. No underlines, tears, chips, etc. Text block very bright and in Fine Like New condition. Maurer; F. Cotuit, MA, U. BCIB6I A few pages toward the center appear to have been consulted may times, other wise a very clean tight and unmarked copy.

Seller Inventory SKU XII, pp. Old name on flyleaf. First Edition. Original cloth. Ink stamp on verso of title page, pastedown. Else Very Good. Read, Jr. Shockley "On the Geometry of Dislocations," pp. Mott "Mechanical Strength and Creep in Metals," pp. Herring "Diffusion in Alloys and the Kirkendall Effect," pp.

Item added to your basket View basket. Proceed to Basket. View basket. Continue shopping. Results 1 - 14 of Search Within These Results:. Seller Image. Imperfections in Nearly Perfect Crystals. Symposium Held at Pocono Manor. I knew my proportions in a general way. Those were the days when every pack of cigarettes carried a bonus in the shape of a pictured actress, plump and well-formed.

In the gymnasium the girls had compared sizes with these beauties. But to see such personal information go coldly down on paper to be sent off to strange men was unthinkable. I had expected to have to account for the quality of my voice, for my ability to sing, to play, for grace, agility, character, and 38 morals. Since I could not see what legs had to do with being a second Maude Adams, I did not fill in the printed form nor send the photographs, but just put them all away, and turned to other fields where something beside legs was to count.

Chapel never bored me. I had come to dislike ritual in many of the churches I had visited—kneeling for prayer, sitting for instruction, standing for praise. But in a Methodist chapel anyone could get up and express a conviction. Young sprouts here were thinking and discussing the Bible, religion, and politics. Should the individual be submerged in the state? If you had a right to free thought as an individual, should you give it up to the church? We scribbled during study periods, debated in the evenings.

Without always digesting them but with great positiveness I carried over many of the opinions I had heard expounded at home. To most of the boys and girls those Saturday mornings when the more ambitious efforts were offered represented genuine torture. They stuttered and stammered painfully. I was just as nervous—more so probably. Father was still the spring from which I drank, and I sent long letters home, getting in reply still longer ones, filled with ammunition about the historical background of the importance of women—Helen of Troy, Ruth, Cleopatra, Poppaea, famous queens, women authors and poets.

Undeterred, I was spurred on to think up new arguments. I studied and wrote as never before, stealing away to the cemetery and standing on the monuments over the graves. Each day in the quiet of the dead I repeated and repeated that speech out loud. What an essay it was! I turned then to an equally stern subject. The other students had automatically accepted 39 the cause of solid money. I espoused free silver. At Chautauqua I had heard echoes of those first notes sounded by Bryan for the working classes. The spirit of humanitarianism in industry had been growing and swelling, but it was still deep buried.

I believe any great concept must be present in the mass consciousness before any one figure can tap it and set it free on its irresistible way. Far more, however, they struck a solemn chord within me. I, also, in an obscure and unformed way, wanted to help grasp Utopia from the skies and plant it on earth. But what to do and where to start I did not know. But this did not last. Soon I was going through the usual boy and girl romances; each season brought a new one.

I took none of them very seriously, but adroitly combined flirtatiousness with the conviction that marriage was something towards which I must develop. It seems ages ago. Various pranks occurred at Claverack, such as taking walks with boys out of bounds and going to forbidden places for tea. Towards the end of my last year I thought up the idea that several of us should slip out through the window and down to the village dance hall where our special admirers would meet us.

About eleven-thirty, in the midst of the gayety, in walked our principal, Mr. The next morning I received a special invitation to call at The Office. I entered. Flack, a small, slight, serious, student type of 40 man, with a large head and high brow, was standing with his back to me. I sat down. He gave me no greeting but kept on at his books. To all appearances he did not know I was there. They may even have to be sent home. Although surprised that he should have known I was the one responsible, I could not deny it, but it flashed across my mind at first that someone must have told him.

You must make your choice—whether to get yourself and others into difficulty, or else guide yourself and others into constructive activities which will do you and them credit. I do not quite recall what else he said, but I have never forgotten going out of his room that day. This could not exactly be called a turning point in my life, but from then on I realized more strongly than before that there was a something within myself which could and should be kept under my control and direction.

Long afterwards I wrote to thank Mr. Flack for his wisdom in offering guidance instead of harsh discipline. He died a few years later, and I was glad I had been able to place a rose in his hand rather than on his grave. I spent three happy years at Claverack. The following season I decided to try my hand at teaching, then a lady-like thing to do. A position was open to me in the first grade of a new public school in southern New Jersey. The majority of the pupils—Poles, Hungarians, Swedes—could not speak English.

In they came regularly. I was beside myself to know what to do with eighty-four children who could not understand a word I said. I loved those small, black-haired and tow-headed urchins who became bored with sitting and, on their own, began stunts to entertain themselves. But I was so tired at the end of the day that I often lay down before dressing for dinner and awakened the next morning barely in time to start the routine. I was not suited by temperament, and therefore had no right to this vocation. I had been struggling for only a brief while when father summoned me home to nurse mother.

She was weak and pale and the high red spots on her cheek bones stood out startlingly against her white face. Although she was now spitting blood when she coughed we still expected her to live on forever. She had been ill so long; this was just another attack among many.

Father carried her from room to room, and tried desperately to devise little comforts. We shut the doors and windows to keep out any breath of the raw March air, and in the stuffy atmosphere we toiled over her bed. In an effort to be more efficient in caring for mother I tried to find out something about consumption by borrowing medical books from the library of the local doctor, who was a friend of the family, and in doing this became so interested in medicine that I decided definitely I would study to be an M.

I had been closely confined for a long time when I was invited to Buffalo for the Easter holidays to meet again one of the boys by whom I had been beaued at Claverack. Mother insisted that I needed a vacation. Mary and Nan were both there; I could stay with them, and we planned a pleasant trip to Niagara Falls for the day. With me out of the way mother sent off the little children one by one on some pretext or another.

She had more difficulty with father. The fire bricks in the stove had split and she told him he must go to town and get new ones. Much against his will, because he was vaguely unquiet, he started for the foundry. He had left only because mother seemed to want it so much, but when he had walked a few blocks, he found he could not go on. For some Celtic mystic reason of his own he turned abruptly around and came back to the house. Mother was gasping in death. All the family hated scenes, she most of all.

She had known she was to die and wanted to be alone. It was a folk superstition that a consumptive who survived through the month of March would live until November. Mother died on 42 the thirty-first of the month, leaving father desolate and inconsolable. I came flying home. The house was silent and he hardly spoke. Suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by a wailing and Toss was found with his paws on the coffin, mourning and howling—the most poignant and agonizing sound I had ever heard. There was nothing left for my clothing nor for any outside diversions. All that could be squeezed out by making this or that do had to go for shoes or necessities for the younger brothers.

Mend, patch, sew as you would, there was a limit to the endurance of trousers, and new ones had to be purchased. To add to my woes, father seemed to me, who was sensitive to criticism, suddenly metamorphosed from a loving, gentle, benevolent parent into a most aggravating, irritating tyrant; nobody in any fairy tale I had ever read was quite so cruel. He who had given us the world in which to roam now apparently wanted to put us behind prison bars.

His unreasonableness was not directed towards the boys, who were in bed as soon as lessons were done, but towards his daughters, Ethel and me. Whatever we did was wrong. He objected particularly to young men. Ethel was receiving the concentrated attention of Jack Byrne. Father in scolding her said she should mix more. My beaus were a little older than the ones I had had at school, and more earnest in their intentions. Do you have to have somebody different every evening? Messages were coming to me from a young man going West, postmarked Chicago or San Francisco. What could anyone have to say every day?

To his way of thinking, a decent man came to the house and did his talking straight; he sat around with the family and got acquainted. We had to ask permission whether Tom or Jack or Henry could call. If we went out, we had to be back at ten and give an account of ourselves. Then came the climax. Ethel and I had gone to an open-air concert. On the stroke of ten we were a full block away from home running with all our might. When we arrived, three minutes late, the house was in utter darkness—not a sight nor sound of a living creature anywhere.

We banged and knocked. We tried the front door, the back, and the side, then again the front. Come in. I did not know this monster. Hurt beyond words, I sat down on the steps, worrying not only about this night but about the next day and the next, concerned over the children left at home with this new kind of father. I was sure if I waited long enough he would come out for me, but it was a chilly evening in October.

I had no wrap, and began to grow very cold. I walked away from the house, trying to decide where I should go and what I should do. I could not linger on the streets indefinitely, with the possibility of encountering some tipsy factory hand or drummer passing through. At first there seemed no one to turn to. Finally, exhausted by stress of emotion, I went to the home of the girl who had been with us at the concert.

She had not yet gone to bed, and her mother welcomed me so hospitably that I shall be eternally grateful. The next morning she lent me carfare to go to Elmira, where I had friends with whom I could stay. Meantime father had found me gone. He had dressed and tramped up and down First Street, searching every byway, inquiring whether I had been seen. When he had returned at daybreak to find me still missing he had sent word to Mary, who received his message at almost the same time as one from me, telling her not to worry; I was all right. Both of them urged me to come back to Corning, and in a few days I did so, taking up again my responsibilities.

Father and I tried to talk it over, but we could not meet on the old ground; between us a deep silence had fallen. Father had almost stopped expounding; instead, he was reading 44 more. Debs had come on his horizon, and the Socialist papers cropping up all over the country were appearing in the house. From the Free Library, which he had helped to establish years earlier, he was borrowing Spencer, who was modern for that time, and other books on sociology. I had given up encouraging young men to see me, but I, too, was patronizing the library. My books were fiction.

But I continued my escape from the daily humdrum to revel in romances, devouring them in the evenings and hiding them under the mattress during the day. One noon when I was waiting for the children to come in to lunch I was buried in David Harum , finding it very funny, and did not hear father enter. He stood ominously in the doorway. I should have felt trapped, but, instead, without warning and without reason, the old love flamed up again. I laughed and laughed.

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I was no longer afraid nor did I care for his scowls or his silly old notions. The long silence was broken. The frown began to melt away and soon father too was chuckling. At last I realized why father had been so different. He had been lonely for mother, lonely for her love, and doubtless missed her ready appreciation of his own longings and misgivings.

Then, too, he had always before depended on her to understand and direct us. He was probably a trifle jealous, though not consciously, because he considered jealousy an animal trait far beneath him, and refused to recognize it in himself. Nevertheless, beaus had been sidetracking the affections of his little girls. So oppressed had he been by his sense of responsibility that he had slipped in judgment and in so doing slid into the small-town rut of propriety.

His belated discipline, 45 caused by worry and anxiety, was merely an attempt to guide his children. I, however, considered the time had passed for such guidance. I had to step forth by myself along the experimental path of adulthood. This was linked up with my latent desire to be of service in the world. The career of a physician seemed to fulfill all my requirements.

I could not at the moment see how the gap in education from Claverack to medical school was to be bridged. Nevertheless, I could at least make a start with nursing. But father, though he proclaimed his belief in perfect independence of thought and mind, could not approve nursing as a profession, even when I told him that some of the nicest girls were going into it. For six months more we jogged along, then, just a year after mother had died, Esther asked me to visit her in New York.

I really wanted to train in the city, but her mother knew someone on the board of the White Plains Hospital, which was just initiating a school. There I was accepted as a probationer. The old White Plains Hospital, not at all like a modern institution, had been a three-storied manor house, long deserted because two people had once been found mysteriously dead in it and thereafter nobody would rent or buy.

The hospital board, scoffing at superstition, had gladly purchased it at the low price to which it had been reduced. However, in spite of rearrangements and redecorating, many people in White Plains went all the way to the Tarrytown Hospital rather than enter the haunted portals. Once set in spacious grounds the building was still far back from the road; a high wall immediately behind it shut off the view of the next street and nothing could be seen beyond except the roof of what had been the stable.

The surrounding tall trees made it shadowy even in the daytime. To reach the office you had to cross a broad pillared veranda. Parlor and sitting room had been thrown together for the male ward, and an operating room had been tacked on to the rear. The great wide stairway of fumed oak, lighted at night by low-turned gas jets, swept up through the lofty ceiling.

On the second floor were the female ward and a few private rooms. Student nurses in large modern hospitals have little idea what our life was like in a small one thirty-five years ago. The single bathroom on each floor was way at the back. We did not have a resident 47 interne, and, consequently, had to depend mainly upon our own judgment. Since we had no electricity, we could not ring a bell and have our needs supplied, and had to use our legs for elevators.

A probationer had to learn to make dressings, bandages, mix solutions, and toil over sterilizing. She put two inches of water in the wash-boiler, laid a board across the bricks placed in the bottom, and balanced the laundered linen and gauze on top. Then, clapping on the lid, she set the water to boiling briskly, watched the clock, and when the prescribed number of minutes had elapsed the sterilizing was over. The great self-confidence with which I entered upon my duties soon received a slight shock.

One of our cases was an old man from the County Home. He complained chiefly of pains in his leg and, since his condition was not very serious, the superintendent of nurses left him one afternoon in my care. This was my first patient. When I heard the clapper of his little nickeled bell, I hurried with a professional air to his bedside. Having just had my initial lesson in bandaging, I was elated at this opportunity to try my skill.

I set to work with great precision, and, when I had finished, congratulated myself on a neat job, admiring the smooth white leg. My first entry went on his record sheet. A little later the superintendent, in making her rounds, regarded the old man perplexedly. I bowed my head in embarrassment, but I was young and eager, and it did not stay bowed long.

Within a short period I considered myself thoroughly inured to what many look upon as the unpleasant aspects of nursing; the sight of blood never made me squeamish and I had watched operations, even on the brain, with none of the usual sick giddiness. Then one day the driver of a Macy delivery wagon, who had fallen off the seat, was brought in with a split nose.

I was holding the basin for 48 the young doctor who was stitching it up, when one of the other nurses said something to tease him.

Shockley, William (Bradford) 1910-1989

The patient, painless under a local anesthetic, gazed mildly after them; but the idea that doctor and nurse could be so callous as to play jokes horrified me. When pursuer and pursued returned they found me in a heap on the floor, the basin tipped over beside me, instruments and sponges scattered everywhere.

The patient was still sitting quietly waiting for all the foolishness to stop. I am glad to say this was the one and only time I ever fainted on duty. The training, rigid though it was, would have been far less difficult had it not been for the truly diabolical head nurse. In the morning she was all smiles, so saintly that you could almost glimpse the halo around her head. But as the day wore on the demon in her appeared.

She could always think up extra things for you to do to keep you from your regular afternoon two hours off. This was particularly hard on me because I had developed tubercular glands and was running a temperature. In my second year I was operated on, and two weeks later assigned to night duty, where I stayed for three awful months. My worst tribulation came during this period. People then seldom went to hospitals with minor ailments; our patients were commonly the very sick, requiring a maximum of attention.

There was no orderly and I could use only my left hand because my right shoulder was still bandaged. I took care of admissions, entered case histories, and, when sharp bells punctuated the waiting stillness, sometimes one coming before I had time to answer the first, I pattered hurriedly up and down the three flights, through the shadows relieved only by the faint red glow from the gas jets. I suppose adventures were inevitable. One night an Italian was picked up on the street in a state of almost complete exhaustion, and brought to the hospital. An old leather couch stood across the windows, and whenever a pause came in my duties I lay down.

Sick as he was he insisted on making the long trip through the ward to the bathroom. I could not explain how unwise this was, because he could not understand a word of English. He must have reeled out of his bed between thirty and forty times. Just as the early spring dawn came creeping in the window behind me I grew drowsy. I was on the point of dozing off when some premonition warned me and I opened my eyelids enough to see the man reach under his pillow, take something out cautiously, glide from his bed.

Spellbound I watched him slithering soft-footedly as he edged his way towards me. I seemed to be hypnotized with sleep and could not stir. He came nearer and nearer with eyes fixed, hands behind him. Suddenly I snapped into duty, arose quickly, ordered him back to bed, and ran ahead to straighten his sheets and pillows, not realizing my danger until he loomed over me, his knife in his hand.

Before he could thrust I grabbed his arm and held it. Though I was small-boned I had good muscles, and he was very ill. Meanwhile, another patient snatched up his bell and rang, and rang and rang. Nobody answered. The nurses were too far away to hear; the other patients in the ward were unable to help me. But the man quickly used up what little energy he had, and I was able to get the knife from him, push him back in bed, and take his temperature.

I assumed he had suddenly become delirious. When the red tape was unwound, I learned that my Italian belonged to a gang which had been hiding in a cave between Tarrytown and White Plains, holding up passers-by. Amongst them they had committed five murders. The attack on me had apparently been merely incidental to his attempt at escape through the open window behind me. He was carried off to the County Hospital Jail, and I was not sorry to see him go. After this incident an orderly was employed and, though he was allowed to sleep at night, it was reassuring to know he could be called 50 in an emergency.

The emergency soon arose. A young man of about twenty-five, of well-to-do parents, was admitted as an alcoholic. I remember that I was impressed by the softness of his handshake when I greeted him. He had the first symptoms of delirium tremens but he was now perfectly conscious and needed no more than routine attention. Sometime in the night the new arrival asked me to get him a drink of water. When I came back into the room and offered it to him he knocked me into the corner ten feet away. As my head banged against the wall, he leaped out of bed after me and reached down for my throat.

Though half-stunned and off my feet, I yet had more strength than the man whose flabby muscles refused to obey his will. The patient in the adjoining bed rang and in a few moments the orderly came to my assistance. Between us we got the poor crazed youth into a strait jacket. The doctor who was summoned could do nothing and in the morning the young man mercifully died. To differentiate between things real and things imaginary was not always easy at nighttime. Both window and curtain behind my back were up about ten inches to let in the cool, moist air.

Abruptly I had a feeling that eyes were staring at me. I could not have explained why; I had heard no sound, but I was certain some human being was somewhere about. Anybody who had come on legitimate business would have spoken. Perhaps it was another patient with a knife. Should I sit still? Should I look behind me? I turned my head to the window, and there an ugly, grinning face with a spreading, black mustache was peering in at me. It might have been disembodied; all I could see was this extraordinary face, white against the inky background.

It was not a patient, not anyone in my charge. Relief was immediate and action automatic. I seized the long window pole, twice as tall as I, dashed to the outer door, and shooed him off the veranda. He ran for the outer gate while I brandished my weapon after him. Such instantaneous responses must have been the result of having in childhood sent fears about their business before they could gather momentum. Now I could usually act without having to think very 51 much about them or be troubled in retrospect. Probably the fact that I was low in vitality made me more susceptible to mental than physical influences.

Realistic doctors and stern head nurses tried to keep tales of the old house from the probationers, but not very successfully. When the colored patients could not sleep they used to tell us weird stories, and with rolling eyes solemnly affirmed they were true. Reason told me this was pure coincidence, but it began to get on my nerves. And then stranger events, for which I could find no explanation, followed. Once when I was making my rounds a little after midnight, I turned into the room occupied by the tubercular valet of a member of the Iselin family.

I had expected him to be sleeping quietly because he was merely there to rest up before being sent back home to England, but he was awake and asked for ice. I started for the refrigerator, which was two flights down in the cellar. Not one, single, tangible thing near by could have made those sounds. In the space of a few seconds I took an inventory of the importance of my life as compared to the proper care of my patient. I had to walk deliberately down those steps, not knowing what might be lying in wait for me below.

I tried to hurry but it seemed to me that each foot had tons of iron attached to it. The little red devils of night lights blinked at me and seemed to make the shadows thicker in the corners. But nothing clutched me from the dim and ghostly hall. I got down those steps somehow and passed through the dining room into the kitchen. There I paused again. Should I take a butcher knife with me?

Glancing to right and left, my back against the dark, I crept down, reached the refrigerator, broke off some chunks of ice with trembling hands, put them in a bowl, steeled myself while I chopped them into still finer pieces, and set out on the return, my feet much lighter going up than down.

I had been away only a brief while altogether, but the patient, for no apparent cause, had had a hemorrhage, and died in a few minutes. Many times after that I heard these nocturnal sounds, usually overhead. Soon I was not sleeping well in the daytime. But nobody admitted to having been up.

Towards morning of the very next night when I was in the second floor ward, I heard the patter again above my head. Every door was tight shut. I tore down two flights to the first floor. The noise came once more above me. Back to the second floor. All patients were in their beds. Some nights went by quietly. But I heard the noises often enough to become truly concerned for fear I might be imagining things. Leaving her I raced down another flight, and waited.

Up I went. She said she had heard it all right but it had come from over her head. At least my senses were not playing me tricks. My accounts were given greater credence, and other nurses sometimes interrupted their slumbers to listen. One of my companions told a young and intelligent doctor on the staff that I had better be taken off night duty before I had a nervous breakdown. Though he thought this was girlish nonsense, he could see I was being seriously affected, and anyhow the strain of three continuous months at such a hard task was far too much.

Another nurse relieved me. After my second glandular operation I was placed in one of the private rooms on the upper floor. I had not come through very well, and this same doctor remained in the hospital all night to be on call. Being restless, I woke up, only to hear the identical noises which had haunted me for so long. I knew he would find nothing. Immediately the raps came again. He moved a little faster to get downstairs. In a few minutes he put his head back in the door.

Though still believing somebody was walking around the place, the doctor by this time was determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, and returned every night for a week. He never could catch up with it. He was so eager to exhaust every possibility that he even brought the matter before 54 the board. One of them patronizingly explained that it was probably the echo from some rat in the walls; they were in the habit of dismissing thus lightly the superstitions which clung about the old house.

The doctor continued his detective work until one day he appeared in great good humor. From the rear windows he pointed to the roof which rose beyond the high back wall. That stable is built on the same timbers as this house. When some horse grows restless towards morning he stamps and the vibration is carried through them underground to this building. Now do you believe in ghosts? Life was by no means so serious as all this sounds. Amelia had followed me into the hospital and we continued our gay times together. For that matter nursing itself often presented amusing aspects.

The supply of registered nurses was very small, and in our last year of training we were sent out on private cases, thus seeing both the highlights and lowlights of life, which prepared us well in experience. The indisposition of young Eugene Sugney Reynal was pronounced scarlet fever.

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The contagion began spreading among the guests and servants, and Dr. Julius Schmid, old and honored, a noteworthy figure in the community and also our chief of staff, detailed three of us nurses for service there, practically turning the place into a hospital for five weeks. One morning at daybreak when the patient was almost in a coma Dr. Reynal was as near death as a man could be, but her voice reached into his subconscious and summoned him back.

Another nurse and I, 55 hastily called upon to act as bridesmaids, stood in starched and rustling white beside the bed. As an anti-climax to all the excitement, and to my intense disgust, I myself came down with a mild attack of scarlet fever. I was so embarrassed that I went right on working and did not take to my bed until I actually began to peel. My usual cases offered drama of another sort.

Often I was called in the middle of the night on a maternity case, perhaps ten miles away from the hospital, where I had to sterilize the water and boil the forceps over a wood fire in the kitchen stove while the doctor scrubbed up as best he could. Many times labor terminated before he could arrive and I had to perform the delivery by myself. To see a baby born is one of the greatest experiences that a human being can have. Birth to me has always been more awe-inspiring than death.

As often as I have witnessed the miracle, held the perfect creature with its tiny hands and tiny feet, each time I have felt as though I were entering a cathedral with prayer in my heart. There is so little knowledge in the world compared with what there is to know. Always I was deeply affected by the trust patients, rich or poor, male or female, old or young, placed in their nurses. All such problems were thus summarily shoved aside. We had one woman in our hospital who had had several miscarriages and six babies, each by a different father.

To be polished off neatly, the nurses in training were assigned to one of the larger city hospitals in which to work during the last three or six months of our course. Mine was the Manhattan Eye and Ear 56 at Forty-first Street and Park Avenue, across the street from the Murray Hill Hotel, and I welcomed the chance to see up-to-date equipment and clockwork discipline. My new environment was considerably less harsh and intense, more comfortable and leisurely.

At one of the frequent informal dances held there my doctor partner received a message—not a call, but a caller. His architect wanted to go over blueprints with him. The three of us bent over the plans. The doctor was the only one unaware of the sudden electric quality of the atmosphere. He had that type of romantic nature which appealed to me, and had been waiting there all night. His fineness fitted in with my whole destiny, if I can call it such, just as definitely as my hospital training.

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Relax in one of 19 unique, large guest rooms, each carefully decorated to compliment the time and theme of its historic period and perfect for a romantic getaway. Foley House Savannah. Discover the most elegant and unique hotel in Savannah at The Marshall House. With only 65 rooms and three suites, The Marshall House offers an intimate and unique alternative to the large, less-personal hotel chains.

Experience true historic Savannah for yourself by reserving a room at The Marshall House. The Marshall House Savannah. The Inn, which is listed on the National Register of Historic Places, features 13 original guest rooms and amenities that include daily cooked-to-order breakfast and afternoon tea. The Kehoe House Savannah. Architectural historians have deemed it the best example of "English Regency" style architecture in the US. Owens-Thomas House Savannah.

Surf Song offers a unique Tybee experience with luxurious guest suites, historic, elegant common areas and a brand-new in-ground swimming pool! Our parlor doors open up onto the porch, allowing for ocean breezes throughout the day and the expansive, wraparound porch with loads of seating offers multiple areas to enjoy your daily breakfast.

Beyond all the great things the house offers, we also strive to offer great service with an outstanding breakfast and a staff focused on making your time on Tybee or in Savannah truly enjoyable. Surf Song Inn Tybee Island. Tybee Island Inn Nothing gets you closer to Southern romance, history, and nature than the ambiance of our Tybee Island bed and breakfast inn. Tybee Island Inn Tybee Island. The historic Tybee Post Theater, set in the heart of the Fort Screven Historic District, was constructed in as a movie house for the soldiers stationed at the Army base.

After going dark in the mids, the curtain was raised for the first time in 50 years in September , reborn as a performing arts and movie venue for Tybee residents and visitors alike. Tybee Post Theater Tybee Island. A rainforest of bamboo, palms and mango trees separates your inn from town and Hilo Bay, yet just a ten-minute walk takes you to restaurants, museums and the Farmers' Market downtown.

Rocking chairs beckon you to the lanai for a good read, a chat or a snooze. Hear the birds twittering and calling nearby and across the gulch below, singing for a mate or just enjoying the day. If it rains, grab one of the inn's umbrellas and go for a walk. It's a warm rain, and could be over in minutes. You may be surprised at how raindrops sound on our huge tropical leaves! Shipman House Hilo. The Old Idaho Penitentiary opened its doors in to some of the West's most desperate criminals.

Today, visitors can experience over years of Idaho's unique prison history with a visit to Solitary Confinement, cell blocks, and the Gallows. Old Idaho Penitentiary Boise. This grand brick building was the first permanent schoolhouse established in Now, experience historic elegance at The Roosevelt Inn a romantic and relaxing bed and breakfast located in the heart of beautiful downtown Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. Blackwell Boutique Hotel is the juxtaposition of historical grandeur blended with contemporary design.

With 9 high-style guest suites, individually decorated with a special touch, this boutique hotel is a unique treasure to downtown Coeur d'Alene accommodations. Original artwork, romantic fireplaces and sophisticated common areas are just a few of the amenities that make for a respiteful stay. Blackwell Hotel has easy access to Coeur d'Alene's major attactions and, also, convenient for travelers passing through.

Blackwell Boutique Hotel Coeur d'Alene. The Inn offers first class accommodations surrounded by the gorgeous scenery of the Bear Lake Valley. Each themed room includes a fire place, a modern bathroom with shower, separate tub, and double sinks. The Bluebird Inn Fish Haven.

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The Beale House, one of the most prominent turn-of-the-century dwellings in Wallace, has many unique features and interesting architechural details. Impressive original parquet floors, antique furnishings and memorabilia contribute to an atmosphere of comfortable elegance reminiscent of bygone days. A massive Palladian window in the library area provides a scenic view of the grounds and mountains. Each of the five second floor guestrooms has its own distinctive charm, one with a fireplace, another with a balcony, still another with two full walls of windows. The third floor is used exclusively by the innkeepers.

Web Site: wallace-id. The Beale House Wallace. On a flat stretch of Illinois prairie, where Yankee pioneers forged their frontier fortunes and Route 66 later carved a path across the rural landscape, stands an elegant Victorian mansion and garden, completed in for David Davis and his wife, Sarah. The beautifully restored, nineteenth-century estate tells the story of Judge David Davis, whose influence on Abraham Lincoln's legal and political career was crucial to President Lincoln's success.

Inside the Mansion, visitors will find a remarkable collection of mid-nineteenth-century decorative arts and technological conveniences, illustrating the life of a prosperous Victorian family. Outside, the garden features an unusual amount of original plant material, as well as the same design, pathways, and beds that Sarah Davis first gazed upon when the garden was created in It was a world where Mr. Lincoln moved comfortably, and the Davis Mansion is one of the best places to hear that part of the Lincoln story.

The David Davis Mansion Bloomington. The Vrooman Mansion is a historical estate situated in the quiet neighborhood of Dimmitt's Grove and offers the utmost in privacy and luxury. Guests can choose from a myriad of activities offered by the surrounding communities-as long as they can pull themselves away from their luxurious accommodations. Because of its central location-just off of I, I, Route 39 and Historic Route the Vrooman Mansion is a great place for friends and family to meet.

In addition, its relative proximity to the larger cities of Chicago, St. Louis and Indianapolis makes for an ideal weekend getaway for city dwellers. Make your reservation today for a pampered and luxurious experience at the beautiful and historic Vrooman Mansion. Vrooman Mansion Bloomington. The Jane Addams Hull-House Museum serves as a dynamic memorial to social reformer Jane Addams, the first American woman to receive the Nobel Peace Prize, and her colleagues whose work changed the lives of their immigrant neighbors as well as national and international public policy.

The Museum preserves and develops the original Hull-House site for the interpretation and continuation of the historic settlement house vision, linking research, education, and social engagement. Henry Hobson Richardson's Glessner House was completed in , a year after the architect's untimely death. A radical departure from traditional Victorian architecture, the structure served as an inspiration to the young Frank Lloyd Wright and helped reform domestic architecture. Glessner House Museum Chicago. Built from to , the Marble Palace, as the house became known, was one of the grandest residential buildings of 19th-Century Chicago.

Steeped in history, the Nickerson House survives today as one of Chicago's most extraordinary historic homes. Described as a "splendid survivor amongst the hulking high-rises of River North," the Museum is a fascinating showcase for late nineteenth and early twentieth century art and design, displayed against the magnificent backdrop of the newly restored Nickerson Mansion. The Driehaus Museum is a must-see attraction for those interested in American architecture, decorative arts, historic preservation, and the history of Chicago.

The Richard H. Driehaus Museum Chicago. The mission of the Ellwood House Association in operating the Ellwood House Museum is to educate people about American ingenuity, styles and values at the dawn of the 20th century and to connect them with the life and times of DeKalb barbed wire entrepreneur Isaac Ellwood and his family. Ellwood House DeKalb. History is alive at the Dawes House. Each year, thousands come to explore the questions history provokes, feel the excitement of discovery, and experience the thrill of examining artifacts and reading directly from original documents.

Charles Gates Dawes House Evanston. We are located across from General Grant's home and just a few blocks from Main Street. Traveling to our inn is a feast for the senses as we are surrounded by scenic valleys and gently rolling hills. Galena was recently voted the 2nd most popular city in the U. Galena is 20 minutes to the Mighty Mississippi River. If there is anything you need to make your stay more enjoyable, just call! We have enjoyed each and every one of them and look forward to welcoming you! The statuesque Bernadine's Stillman Inn is an architectural delight.

We have spent the past fifteen years restoring it to its original beauty and delight in it every time a guest says "Wow" as they enter the door. We are passionately dedicated to providing you with a relaxing and memorable stay where you, "Arrive as Strangers and leave as Friends! Bernadine's Stillman Inn Galena. This Tudor revival style mansion was built between by renowned Chicago architect Benjamin Marshall. It served as the retirement home for Francis.

S Peabody, a coal baron and active player in national politics. The house is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It is currently undergoing restoration and open to the public, thus giving our visitors the unique opportunity to witness restoration in progress. Mayslake Peabody Estate Oak Brook. Designed by Mies van der Rohe and built from to , Farnsworth House is considered a paradigm of international style architecture in America.

The house's structure consists of precast concrete floor and roof slabs supported by a carefully crafted steel skeleton frame of beams, girders and columns. Farnsworth House Plano. Built in , Lane Place was the home of Henry S. Lane helped to secure Abraham Lincoln's nomination for president and was a delegate to Lincoln's funeral. Lane Place has been restored and features many of the original furnishings as well as artifacts related to Abraham Lincoln. Lane Place Crawfordsville. Built in and refurbished in the early s, the Ruthmere Mansion is now open to the public as a museum.

Ruthmere is located along the St. Joseph River in Elkhart, Indiana. The architect for this home was Enoch Hill Turnock, commissioned by Albert and Elizabeth Beardsley in to design the home, which the Beardsleys named this home in memory of their only child, Ruth, who died at seven month. The mansion was a place of business, family, political and social gatherings until the deaths of the Beardsleys in Robert Beardsley of The Beardsley Foundation purchased the mansion in with the main goal of restoring it to its original beauty in order to create a museum for the community.

Restoration took place between and when the mansion was made available to the public. The property was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in The Beardsley Avenue Historic District was established several years later. Ruthmere Elkhart. Howard County Museum Kokomo.

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His activities in banking and railroad development made him one of the most important figures in Indiana's history. Lanier moved to Madison in and practiced law. In the s he served as clerk of the Indiana General Assembly. Welcome to the Victorian Guest House, a northern Indiana bed and breakfast, where you will discover gracious living with the ambiance of the s.

Located in the heart of Amish country in Nappanee, in the Victorian Guest House stands out like a polished gemstone. This gabled and turreted year-old mansion, two blocks from Nappanee's historic town square, stands resplendent in its Victorian charm. Indiana Bed and Breakfast Nappanee. This 38 room mansion was built for J. Oliver, the president of Oliver Chilled Plow Works. It is owned today by the Center for History, which gives regular tours. The home contains all the original furnishings and artwork. Copshaholm South Bend. The Farm House was built at the turn of the century with the architectural styling of the late Victorian Period.

You will be staying on a working farm with beef cows and calves, dairy heifers, chickens, ducks, peacocks, llamas, cats, and a dog named H who is your official greeter. The Farm House Breakfast offers a full-course farmers' breakfast with locally grown products. This antique hotel was built in by Mormon craftsmen coming from Nauvoo, Illinois, as a hotel for the steamboat travelers. It has been used as a hospital three different times, and was also a station on the Underground Railroad. Joseph, Mo. Wireless Internet available.

Business travelers welcome. Come stay with us in this beautiful historic Governor's Home, steeped in history, that dates back to Completed in , Farmington was the center of a acre hemp plantation owned by John and Lucy Fry Speed, and sustained by nearly 60 enslaved African Americans. The site explores the history of the Speed family, the enslaved population, and the strong friendship with Abraham Lincoln. Farmington Historic Plantation Louisville.

Edison came to Louisville in , at the young age of 19, to work as a telegraph key operator and landed a job with the Western Union located on Second and West Main Street about eight blocks from this home. The house is a small, simple double shotgun duplex built around and originally had a solid wall running down the center of the structure. Thomas Edison House Louisville. Whitehall, thought to have been built circa by John Marshall, began as a modest two-story brick house in the Italianate style popular during the midth century.

Whitehall Louisville. Experience the stained glass windows, hardwood floors, and foot ceilings in spacious rooms with upscale decor. King and queen accommodations include cable TV, telephone, wireless DSL computer connections, smoke free property, a seating area, signature breakfast with fresh flowers, and attention to detail. The home is a beautiful setting for wedding receptions and events.

Please contact us now for your reservation. The Bennett House Richmond. Listed on the National Register of Historic Places, Bocage is well documented in many books and it has been used as a Hollywood movie set. Now an elegant bed and breakfast, the stately mansion is open for tours and group functions. No expense has been spared to furnish the mansion in fine antiques and accessories, from the great furniture makers such as Mallard, Belter, Roux, Lee, Meeks and others, to grand Baccarat and Waterford chandeliers.

Bocage Plantation Darrow. Beau Fort Plantation Natchez. The combined work of renowned landscape architect Ellen Biddle Shipman and architects William and Geoffrey Platt created a complete unified plan for the main house and dependences along the eight acre site. Decorated with European and American decorative and fine arts pieces each room was designed to look out and allow egress to a different "garden rooms" blending effortlessly inside and out. Come enjoy our Louisiana hospitality, and experience the reason New Orleans is known as "the city that care forgot.

The Burgundy New Orleans. He was visiting maternal relatives, as his mother and grandmother were natives of Louisiana. Degas House is the only home or studio of Edgar Degas open to the public in the world. It is now a bed and breakfast. Degas House New Orleans. During the period French sugar plantation owner Joseph Soniat Duffossat and his eldest son Robert built three French Quarter townhouses.

The custom of the day, for those with means and social standing, was to have a residence in town. Such homes were built both for their convenience, and most importantly, to entertain and receive guests. Thanks to the efforts of Rodney and Frances Smith these homes are still serving their intended purpose. After acquiring the properties in a major undertaking began, its purpose was to combine the modern and the historic.

The goal was to provide modern conveniences while preserving the architectural integrity of the original design. The 31 guest rooms were furnished and decorated with French and English antiques and custom European fabrics. The accolades have been many over the years, because the result is a singular hotel property.

Upon entering Soniat House a sense of timelessness and cloistered serenity washes over you. Guests often sit for hours in the two courtyards literally soaking up the atmosphere. The historic ambiance is palpable and unmistakably genuine. Moving from the front desk and into your room, one comes to realize that all the modern amenities you might not expect are indeed present, and in no way detract.

This is the counterintuitive reality that makes Soniat House much beloved and appreciated as a one of a kind experience. It does not get any more authentic nor does it get any more comfortable. Soniat House New Orleans. The HH Whitney House in New Orleans offers an elegant, yet relaxing atmosphere that will make your vacation, business trip or special occasion a memorable one. Even before you walk through the front door of this Bed and Breakfast, your hosts Glen and Randy make you feel right at home. Whether you're seeking a quiet and intimate weekend getaway or lots of personal attention for an action-packed visit to New Orleans, your hosts are in tune with your needs and make it their business to pamper you.

Magnolia Mansion is the perfect New Orleans Bed and Breakfast, for those seeking a peaceful Getaway to celebrate any special occasion such as an anniversary, engagement, honeymoon, elopement, proposal, birthday, or a quiet weekend away. Feel like royalty in our accommodations of up to nine luxurious uniquely themed guest rooms; each with a private bath. Magnolia Mansion New Orleans. The Grand Victorian New Orleans. The Myrtles Plantation invites you to step into the past for a visit of antebellum splendor. Relax in a giant rocker on the wide veranda or stroll through our historic grounds laced with Live Oak trees, Crepe Myrtle trees, azaleas and other flora and fauna typical of antebellum plantations.

We hope the history has piqued your curiosity and that you will plan a visit with us to learn more of the history and receive and introduction into the mystery and intrigue that surrounds "One of America's Most Haunted Homes". Myrtles Plantation Saint Francisville. The quarter-mile canopy of towering year-old live oak trees lining the avenue to the plantation is Oak Alley's most distinctive feature, but the 28 solid brick columns that line the impressive portico come in at a close second.

The house underwent a major restoration in when it was purchased by Mr. Andrew Stewart, who sparked a trend of saving old plantations in the area. Oak Alley is open for tours year-round, seven days a week except certain holidays , from a.

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The grounds open a half-hour earlier, and the house closes at p. Oak Alley Plantation Vacherie. Nottoway, the South's largest remaining antebellum mansion, is a stunning historic plantation that lies between Baton Rouge and New Orleans, Louisiana. A dramatic, multi-million-dollar renovation has restored this historic plantation to her days of glory as well as adding luxury resort amenities and corporate and social event venues. Plantation tours are given 7 days a week. Nottoway Plantation White Castle. Not far from the great Eastern cities of Baltimore, Washington, and Philadelphia, the White Swan Tavern is a quiet, elegant historic inn nestled in the history of Maryland's Chesapeake Bay region.

The White Swan is for those who treasure serene streets, birdsong mornings, impeccable service, and the grace of New World Tradition. Today the tavern operates as a Bed and Breakfast, offering accommodations and afternoon tea, as well as amenities for small conferences, weddings, and receptions. Just as it was described in the 18th century, the White Swan remains "a comfortable Public House, with every attention given to render comfort and pleasure to such as favor it with their patronage. The White Swan Tavern Chestertown. Mount Harmon Plantation Earleville.

Dedicated to providing personalized service found in a traditional Bed and Breakfast, The Inn at Dover is a historic mansion built in and an integral part of the historic fabric of Easton, Maryland. Providing luxurious travel accommodations just a short block from downtown shopping, art galleries and theatre, the Inn has been referred to as Easton's "Inn of Distinction. Inn at Dover Easton. Older than Mount Vernon and Monticello, older than the nation itself, Sotterley Plantation stands majestically on the banks of the Patuxent River.

The site encompasses nearly acres of rolling meadows, gardens and shoreline. As the sole surviving Tidewater Plantation in Maryland with public access, Sotterley offers a wide range of visitor activities and educational programming and experiences. Sotterley Plantation Hollywood. Great hospitality, years in the making. Let us be your cozy Winter haven. Once the home of Robert Morris who gained fame as "Financier of the Revolution".

In more recent times author James Michener outlined his famous novel, Chesapeake here. More history is located here. Robert Morris Inn Oxford. We are open for free tours the 1st and 3rd Sunday of each month from , private tours for a small fee, fundraising events, and available for parties, meetings and weddings. We are listed on the National registry of Historic homes. Poplar Hill Mansion Salisbury. Luxurious and tranquil, the suites reflect their prominent history.

The acre estate adjoins Cunningham Falls State Park. Enjoy nearby fly fishing, hiking, biking, shopping, history, and fine dining during your stay. Your sumptuous accommodations include a farm fresh country breakfast as well as a complementary wine tasting in our beautiful tasting room. Welcome to the Staveleigh House bed and breakfast. This handsome colonial and two-story inn resides in historic Sheffield, Massachusetts near the lovely Berkshires. Originally built in for Reverend Bradford, this house has stood and watched over generations of Sheffield families. Join us for a complimentary beverage of your choice under the canopy of century old trees or in the common room by the fire place.

Organic coffees, fresh juices and local pure maple syrup complete our morning selections. Staveleigh House Sheffield. John Hays Hammond, Jr. The castle was constructed as a wedding present for his wife Irene Fenton Hammond to prove how much he cared for her. In addition, the building housed the Hammond Research Corporation, from which Dr. Hammond produced over patents and the ideas for over inventions.

His most important work was the development of remote control via radio waves, which earned him the title, "The Father of Remote Control. Hammond Castle Museum Gloucester.

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  7. Perched on a rock ledge overlooking Gloucester Harbor, Beauport became Sleeper's retreat, backdrop for entertaining, professional showcase, and an inspiration to all who visited. After Sleeper's death, Beauport was purchased by Mr. Charles McCann, who left most of Sleeper's arrangements and collections intact. This trifecta of devotion inspired him to have a castle constructed on the New England coast in Hammond Castle was a wedding gift for his new wife, Irene Fenton Hammond. Its medieval architecture was a suitable setting for his impressive collection, while leaving plenty of room for his laboratory.

    Some of the more curious details of the household include a two-story medieval meat and wine market modeled after a building Hammond spotted in southern France, and a custom-made stained glass Rose Window that overlooks the Great Hall and its pipe organ. Some say there are even secret passages carved within its stone walls. Hammond Castle Gloucester. The spectacular Crane Estate encompasses more than 2, acres in Ipswich, Massachusetts. The Estate is made up of three properties: Castle Hill, a National Historic Landmark that is the home of The Great House, a spectacular venue for weddings and corporate events, guided tours, and programs.

    Crane Beach, a popular public beach and summer destination; and the Crane Wildlife Refuge, a natural treasure boasting many rare plant and animal species. The Crane Estate Ipswich. The Mount is both an historic site and a center for culture inspired by the passions and achievements of Edith Wharton. Designed and built by Edith Wharton in , the house embodies the principles outlined in her influential book, The Decoration of Houses The property includes three acres of formal gardens designed by Wharton, who was also an authority on European landscape design, surrounded by extensive woodlands.

    Programming at The Mount reflects Wharton's core interests in the literary arts, interior design and decoration, garden and landscape design, and the art of living. Annual exhibits explore themes from Wharton's life and work. The Mount Lenox. Sarah, the sister of J. This is the site of the first integrated ironworks in North America, It includes the reconstructed blast furnace, forge, rolling mill, and a restored seventeenth century house. Iron Works House Saugus. Experience Gilded-Age style and splendor at this marvelous estate, renowned for its elegant gardens and rare Berkshire "Cottage.

    With its gracious house, magnificent gardens, and panoramic views, Naumkeag is a quintessential country estate of the Gilded Age. Naumkeag Stockbridge. Longfellow's Wayside Inn is proud to be the oldest operating Inn in the country, offering comfort and hospitality to travelers along the Boston Post Road since Enjoy fine dining in one of our dining rooms, come stay the weekend in one of our tastefully appointed rooms, or bring your family to enjoy a quiet walk through one of New England's finest historic sites.

    We look forward to your visit. The country home of social reformer and affordable housing advocate Robert Treat Paine, Stonehurst is an American masterpiece crowning the career-long collaboration between architect Henry Hobson Richardson Trinity Church, Boston and landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted, leading 19th century designers who deeply influenced the way Americans live and relate to their environment, from dense cities to unspoiled wilderness. Hidden from the street on acres of conservation land, Stonehurst is the most intact example of Richardson's innovative approach to country house design and the only one that is open to the public.

    Built in , the convention-breaking house crowns a spectacular rise selected by Olmsted, founder of the parks movement nationwide. The house also incorporates an older house recycled and relocated uphill on the site. The Webster House is a historic inn that is everything but old. In we lovingly restored room by room to make it a special place for you, a completely modern Bed and Breakfast that honors the property's historic roots; we offer the best of both worlds. We know you sometimes are searching for a romantic getaway or maybe a few days connecting with old friends. Perhaps a weekend just for the girls to catch up or host a family reunion or a business retreat.

    Here you'll find the personal touches that are important for a fabulous getaway. Webster House Bay City. If you're visiting northern Michigan and planning your to do list, a trip to Castle Farms is a must! We invite you to visit our beautiful Castle and gardens, discover the story of this historic property built in , and learn fascinating details about its restoration. May through October, Open every day 9a.

    November through April Monday-Saturday 9a. Castle Farms Museum Charlevoix. Purchased by Friends of the Garden City Historical Museum in as a public museum dedicated to the history of early Garden City pioneers. Straight Farmhouse Garden City. The Fords were cultural, social and economic leaders in an era of great optimism, as well as a turbulent time of economic depression and world war.

    They were nationally prominent and they owned more than one house, but Southeast Michigan was their home. Here they built their final residence along the shores of Lake St. Clair, at a place known locally as Gaukler Pointe. Their impressive yet unpretentious home is where they raised and nurtured their four children - Henry II, Benson, Josephine and William - in a safe and loving environment. It reflects their love of family as well as their mutual passion for art and quality design.

    This fine example of Italianate styling, so popular in the post-Civil War period, has remained structurally unchanged since This carefully preserved home gives the visitor a glimpse into the lifestyles of our ancestors, and is appropriately listed in both the National Register of Historic Places and the Michigan State Register of Historic Sites. The John C. Travel to Michigan for a getaway vacation in the oldest house and first brick building in Hillsdale County. This historic Greek Revival Mansion was once a Station on the Underground Railroad and is the oldest Southern Michigan Bed and Breakfast that was originally built as a private residence.

    Highway 12 in downtown Jonesville. Relax in one of seven unique guest rooms, enjoy on-site massage and spa services, play our baby grand piano, or spend time in our library with a book, a video, or "the boys" our resident Scottish Terriers. Munro House Jonesville. Joshua Dickinson built this home in , 10 years before he was elected the first mayor of Mount Clemens.

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    He was mayor for only a month before he succumbed to consumption. The town's folk held another election and elected his son-in-law, George Crocker, who lived in this home with him and his daughter Katherine. Meadow Brook Hall is the fourth largest historic house museum in the United States and is renowned for its superb craftsmanship, architectural detailing and grand scale.

    Built between and as the residence of Matilda Dodge Wilson widow of auto pioneer John Dodge and her second husband, lumber broker Alfred G. Wilson, the room, 88,square-foot, Tudor-revival style mansion is complete with vast collections of original art and furnishings. Meadow Brook Hall Rochester.

    The A. Thomson House a Minnesota bed and breakfast, sits nestled in tranquility, restful solitude, and privacy on two acres of extraordinary grounds, amidst towering pines, in Duluth's Historic Congdon Mansion District overlooking majestic Lake Superior. Thomson Duluth. Joseph J. Brechet Home Glencoe.

    Berwood Inn has won many coveted awards including, Best Gardens from Inn Traveler's, an award based on votes from actual guests of the Inn! They are known for their luxurious amenities, spa services, delicious food and relaxing environemnt making Berwhood Hill the perfect place for a romantic wedding or honeymoon Berwood Hill Inn Lanesboro. Situated on nine well-groomed acres overlooking the Mississippi River, the estate is walking distance from historic downtown Little Falls, MN.