On one stood Homer, a most striking likeness, Richard affirmed, “as
any one might see, for it was blind,” Another bore the image of a
smooth-visaged gentleman with a pointed beard, whom he called
Shakespeare. A third ornament was an urn, which; from its shape,
Richard was accustomed to say, intended to represent itself as holding
the ashes of Dido. A fourth was certainly old Franklin, in his cap
and spectacles. A fifth as surely bore the dignified composure of the
face of Washington. A sixth was a nondescript, representing “a man
with a shirt-collar open,” to use the language of Richard, “with a
laurel on his head-it was Julius Caesar or Dr. Faustus; there were
good reasons for believing either,”

The walls were hung with a dark lead-colored English paper that
represented Britannia weeping over the tomb of Wolfe, The hero himself
stood at a little distance from the mourning goddess, and at the edge
of the paper. Each width contained the figure, with the slight
exception of one arm of the general, which ran over on the next piece,
so that when Richard essayed, with his own hands, to put together this
delicate outline, some difficulties occurred that prevented a nice
conjunction; and Britannia had reason to lament, in addition to the
loss of her favorite’s life, numberless cruel amputations of his right
arm.

The luckless cause of these unnatural divisions now announced his
presence in the halt by a loud crack of his whip.

“Why, Benjamin! you Ben Pump! is this the manner in which you receive
the heiress?” he cried. “Excuse him, Cousin Elizabeth. The
arrangements were too intricate to be trusted to every one; but now I
am here, things will go on better. —Come, light up, Mr. Penguillan,