there were personages whom they could hardly forbear greeting with
reverence. They knew, indeed, that the whole assembly were but pictures,
yet felt it impossible to separate the idea of life and intellect from
such striking counterfeits. Several of the portraits were known to them,
either as distinguished characters of the day, or their private
acquaintances. There was Governor Burnett, looking as if he had just
received an undutiful communication from the House of Representatives,
and were inditing a most sharp response. Mr. Cooke hung beside the ruler
whom he opposed, sturdy, and somewhat puritanical, as befitted a popular
leader. The ancient lady of Sir William Phipps eyed them from the wall,
in ruff and farthingale, an imperious old dame, not unsuspected of
witchcraft. John Winslow, then a very young man, wore the expression of
warlike enterprise, which long afterwards made him a distinguished
general. Their personal friends were recognized at a glance. In most of
the pictures, the whole mind and character were brought out on the
countenance, and concentrated into a single look, so that, to speak
paradoxically, the originals hardly resembled themselves so strikingly as
the portraits did.

Among these modern worthies, there were two old bearded saints, who had
almost vanished into the darkening canvas. There was also a pale, but
unfaded Madonna, who had perhaps been worshipped in Rome, and now
regarded the lovers with such a mild and holy look, that they longed to
worship too.

"How singular a thought," observed Walter Ludlow, "that this beautiful
face has been beautiful for above two hundred years! O, if all beauty
would endure so well! Do you not envy her, Elinor?"

"If earth were heaven, I might," she replied. "But where all things