She has one hand at her waist; the other holds a book beneath her swollen belly: she is almost holding her unborn child. The book seems something more than a handy studio prop. Somehow I feel she is a poet certainly not just a typical housewife of the period. Her curls remind me of Hariet Beecher Stowe. Her face has the quality of the finest daguerreian portraits, hinting at an inwardness that involves the engaged viewer each time the case is opened. I adore this daguerreotype.
