It is a shop now, in the market-place, but it was evidently once the mansion of some great personage.

A friend of mine, who lives at Kingston, went in there to buy a hat one day, and, in a thoughtless moment, put his hand in his pocket and paid for it then and there.
The shopman (he knows my friend) was naturally a little staggered at first; but, quickly recovering himself, and feeling that something ought to be done to encourage this sort of thing, asked our hero if he would like to see some fine old carved oak.

My friend said he would, and the shopman, thereupon, took him through the shop, and up the staircase of the house.

The balusters were a superb piece of workmanship, and the wall all the way up was oak-panelled, with carving that would have done credit to a palace.
From the stairs, they went into the drawing-room, which was a large, bright room, decorated with a somewhat startling though cheerful paper of a blue ground.

There was nothing, however, remarkable about the apartment, and my friend wondered why he had been brought there.