Upon a window-seat in his parlour lay two casts of faces; one of the Duchess of Devonshire, so noted in her day, and the other of Mr.Pitt, taken after his death--a ghastly resemblance, as these things always are, even when taken from the living subject, and more ghastly in this instance (of Mr.
Pitt) from the peculiarity of the features.

The heedless and apparently neglectful manner in which the faces of these two persons were left--the one so distinguished in London society, and the other upon whose counsels and public conduct during a most momentous period depended the fate of this great empire, and, perhaps, of all Europe--afforded a lesson to which the dullest of casual visitors could scarcely be insensible.

It touched me the more because I had so often seen Mr.Pitt upon his own ground at Cambridge and upon the floor of the House of Commons.
415._Nunnery_.

[XLI.] I became acquainted with the walks of Nunnery when a boy.

They are within easy reach of a day's pleasant excursion from the town of Penrith, where I used to pass my summer holidays under the roof of my maternal grandfather.