you ever think that St. Peter was bald! And there is
St. John, with black eyes.--Wonderful, wonderful, that I should ever live
to see likenesses of such blessed men!"

Kitty was as much astonished as her grandmother, and even the son was a
little mystified. The latter remarked that "the world was making great
head-way in all such things, and, for his part, he did not see how the
painters and authors found out all they drew and recorded."

The reader may easily imagine that half a day spent in such company was
not entirely thrown away. Still, half a day sufficed; and I went to the
Old Coffee-house at one, to eat a sandwich and drink a glass of porter;
that being the inn then most frequented for such purposes, especially by
the merchants. I was in my box, with the curtain drawn, when a party of
three entered that which adjoined it, ordering as many glasses of punch;
which in that day was a beverage much in request of a morning, and which
it was permitted even to a gentleman to drink before dining. It was the
sherry-cobbler of the age; although I believe every thing is now
pronounced to be out of fashion before dinner.

As the boxes were separated merely by curtains, it was impossible to avoid
hearing any conversation that passed in the one adjoining my own,
especially when the parties took no pains to speak low, as happened to be
the case with my three neighbours. Consequently, I recognised the voices
of Andrew Drewett and Rupert Hardinge in an instant;--that of the third
person being unknown to me.

"Well, Norton," said Rupert, a little affectedly as to manner, "you have
got Drewett and myself down here among you traders, and I hope you will do
the honours of the place, in a way to confer on the latter some credit. A
merchant is nothing without credit, you know."

"Have no apprehensions for your gentility, Hardinge," returned the person
addressed. "Many of the first persons in town frequent this house, at this
hour, and its punch is renowned. By-the-way, I saw in a paper, the other
day, Rupert, that one of your relatives is dead--Miss Grace Wallingford,
your sister's old associate."

A short pause followed, during which I scarcely breathed.

"No, not a relation," Rupert at length answered. "Only my father's ward.
You know how it is in the country: the clergyman being expected to take
care of all the sick, and all the orphans."

"But these Wallingfords are people altogether above standing in need of
favours," Drew