day, or their private acquaintances. There was Governor Burnet,
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 Phips 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
afterward 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 worshiped 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! Oh, 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
fade, how miserable to be the one that could not fade!"

"This dark old St. Peter has a fierce and ugly scowl, saint though he
be," continued Walter. "He troubles me. But the virgin looks kindly
at us."

"Yes; but very sorrowfully, methinks," said Elinor. The easel stood
beneath these three old pictures, sustaining one that had been recently
commenced. After a little inspection, they began to recognize the
features of their own minister; the Rev. Dr. Colman, growing into shape
and life as it were, out of a cloud.

"Kind old man!" exclaimed Elinor. "He gazes at me as if he were about
to utter a word of paternal advice."

"And at me," said Walter, "as if he were about to shake his head and
rebuke me for some suspected iniquity. But so does the original. I
shall never feel quite comfortable under his eye, till we stand before
him to be married."

They now heard a footstep on the floor, and turning, beheld the
painter, who had been some moments in the room, and had listened to a
few of