It is curious to notice that this invitation to Miss Eleanor Clifton, whose portrait proclaims her one of the beauties of the period, is dated but one day in advance of the _fête_, which would lead us to fear that this lady was tempted to commit the sin of sewing at her ball-dress on a Sunday, like that unfortunate damsel of Queen Elizabeth’s time whom Mrs. Jarley holds up as a waxen warning to all Sabbath-breakers, had we not good reason to infer that a verbal invitation had been given long before. The preparations for this magnificent entertainment, the erection of the numerous and vast pavilions around the old Wharton mansion, and their decoration by André, Delancey, and all the other gallant officers who took part in the affair, were doubtless the talk of the town for weeks. Yards and yards of painting must have been executed by the indefatigable André, as the ceilings, sides, and decorations of the long pavilions, designed for the supper- and ball-rooms, were to a great extent the work of his hands. Here he used unsparingly the pencil that had made its virgin essay on the features of lovely, unrequiting Honora Sneyd, lingering, with true artistic fervor, over festoons of roses and bouquets of drooping flowers. The owner of this property was dubbed by his contemporaries “Duke Wharton,” in consequence of the extreme haughtiness of his bearing and, it is said, from the following circumstance: “One winter’s day, when the sidewalks were rendered dangerously slippery from the accumulated ice upon them, Mr. Wharton, while attempting to make his usual dignified progress over the uncertain footing, was suddenly tripped up, and would have measured his length upon the pavement, had not a jovial Hibernian, passing at the moment, stretched forth a friendly hand to his aid, crying out, ‘God save my Lord the Duke!’” Another amusing passage of compliments, this time with Sir William Draper, is related by Graydon: “Sir William, observing that Mr. Wharton entered the room hat in hand, and remained uncovered, begged, as it was contrary to the custom of his Society to do so, that the Quaker gentleman would dispense with this unnecessary mark of respect. But the ‘Duke,’ feeling his pride piqued at the supposition that he would uncover to Sir William or any other man, replied, with entire _sang-froid_, that he had uncovered for his own comfort, the day being warm, and that whenever he found it convenient he would resume his hat.” These and other stories, all indicating a pride that seems to have been considered commendable in those days, repeated with embellishments, doubtless added to the merriment of many convivial after-dinner gatherings, and passing from mouth to mouth, served to establish the reputation and title of this old Quaker gentleman, whose death occurred more than a year previous to the British occupation of Philadelphia.[2] The fact that Walnut Grove was a country-seat, and in all probability