said that "misery makes a man acquainted with strange
bed-fellows." So, it would seem, do shillings and sixpences. To return to
Kitty: After admiring divers beauties, such as the New York Beauty, the
South Carolina Beauty, and the Pennsylvania Beauty, she fastened her own
pretty eyes on a nun, wondering who a female in such an attire could be.
In 1803, a nun and a nunnery would be almost as great curiosities, in
America, as a rhinoceros, though the country has since undergone some
changes in this respect.

"Grandmother," exclaimed Kitty, "who _can_ that lady be--it isn't _Lady_
Washington, is it?"

"It looks more like a clergyman's wife, Kitty," answered the worthy Mrs.
Wetmore, not a little '_non-plushed,_' herself, as she afterwards
admitted. "I should think Madam Washington went more gaily dressed, and
looked happier like. I'm sure if any woman could be happy, it was she!"

"Ay," answered her son, "there is truth in that remark. This woman, here,
is what is called a nun in the Roman Catholic quarters of the world."

"A nun!" repeated little Kitty. "Isn't that the sort of woman that shuts
herself up in a house, and promises never to get married, uncle?"

"You're quite right, my dear, and it's matter of surprise to me how you
should pick up so many useful idees, in an out-of-the-way place, like
Willow Cove."

"It was not out of _your_ way, uncle," said Kitty, a little reproachfully,
"or you never would have found us."

"In that partic'lar it was well enough, my dear. Yes, a nun is a sort of
she-hermit, a breed that I detest altogether."

"I suppose, Kitty," I inquired, "you think it wicked in man or woman to
take a vow never to get married."

The poor girl blushed, and she turned away from the nun without making any
reply. No one can say what turn the conversation might have taken, had not
the grandmother's eye fell on an indifferent copy of Leonardo's celebrated
picture of the Last Supper, receiving at the same time a printed
explanation, one got up by some local antiquary, who had ventured to affix
names to the different personages of the group, at his own suggestion. I
pointed out the principal figure of the painting, which is sufficiently
conspicuous by the way, and then referred the good woman to the catalogue
for the rest of the names.

"Bless me, bless me!" exclaimed the worthy mother, "that I should live
ever to see paintings of such people! Kitty, my dear, this bald-headed old
man is St. Peter. Did