Such was the aspect which the Society wore to Millicent during the continuance of the great meeting, which lasted about ten days. She saw, wherever she went, abundant evidence of wealth in the houses of the leading Friends, united to a certain plainness of style. The furniture was good, handsome, and substantial, but made no pretensions to splendour or fashionable elegance. No works of art adorned those plain walls, except everywhere one large framed engraving, which, from its subject, had procured for it the privilege of breaking through the Friends’ law concerning painting and sculpture,—a law with them as strict as that of the Jews,—it was the Treaty of William Penn with the American Indians, from the picture by Benjamin West. This engraving was familiar to Millicent in her own father’s dining-room, and greeted her here in every considerable house that she entered. It was well worthy of such an honour, as the memorial, to use the words of Voltaire, “of the only treaty ever made without an oath, and the only one which never was broken.” It was deserving of its universal honour, as perhaps the grandest practical disproof which genuine Christian principle has ever triumphantly given to the sophistries and the aggressive crimes of _soidisant_ Christian governments. It was deserving of this pre-eminent distinction, for that great action represented by it still towers aloft, high above the highest moral reach of the most vaunted statesman. Well, therefore, was it in the Friends to break a little law regarding art, in order to exalt that great eternal law of God, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,”—whether that neighbour be found in the city dwelling or in the wild forest of untutored man. It was an everyday testimony of the Friends that they at least, on some occasions, really believed the words of the Universal Father, that he is no respecter of persons. But the Yearly Meeting was over, the Friends were hurrying simultaneously away to their different, and many of them very distant, homes by the long coach journeys of those days. Mr. and Mrs. Heritage had taken a loving leave of their dear child, and she was the guest of Mr. Samuel Barrington, at his suburban house. This was truly a very pleasant home. It was a large old country brick-house, in extensive grounds. The family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Barrington, one son, Edmund, and three daughters, all grown up. Two other sons were married, and lived not far off.