The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1856-09-25

x
ment persuaded him to give me the address, i
Seven Dials, of a certain little Jew, who was
broker and bailiff, and kept shop that ha
all its goods turned out upon the pavement, a
II ne had been serving an execution O.
himself for practice. He swore, OBJECTIONABLE
that be knew nothing of any 6Catherine
l845." female figure, such as had dc
scribed, but with no name, he had indeed dis
posed of lately, to my friend of Leiceste
Square-who did not make 80 bad a thing on
OF me, after aIl-for six-and.thirty shillings
without frame. He thought it not bad strok
OF business. 1t was part of the effects of
poor painter lately deceased, and had been dis
posed OF with other almost worthless property
OF his. Now, here was noble scheme of mine
Knocked on the head at once / had intended
to have been the patron of an unknown bu
mighty genius. had pictured myself as tn,
tree to which his delicate and sensitive nature
like parasitic plant, should cling; and Il
which, after venturing its tender limbs on thi
side and on that, and meeting everywhere will
rule repulse, they should return for new strength
and consolation. I-who could feel the power
| though had it not myself-the cherisher of thu
| sacred fame, although myself unconsecrate-
had intended to have placed the laurelcrowr
upon bis head who lacked one subject, and tc
have proclaimed him sovereign whom not one
voice acknowledged. Alas came too late
but not to hear his history, and the history Of
my picture.
The Jew said there we're other paintings, but
not worth any mans removal: 1 might see
them in the lodgings where the dead man had
dwelt. With my heart beating high at the
thought of rescuing the works of some new
Velasquez from desecration, l accompanied
the broker to neighboring court, and up three
ma nf eto.r To a
skylght in it, certainly, but it did not look like
the painting room of a great artist of the mod
ern time.
The woman of the house, a loud, expectant
person, was loquacious enough concerning her
late lodger.
A young man he was, or leastways not an
old man; maybe thirty, but he looked forty
always painting, painting, and drawing, and
humming to himself, like had no name ex-
cept Mr.. Richard, as ever she heard on nobody
had ever asked about him and It was twelve
months, come Christmas, since he'd lived there
Didn't think he had any friends but her son
Jackey; didn't know what he died of; didn't
know anything, except that she was owed q
matter of six-and-forty shillings by him, and
that she was a poor, lone widow, and couldn't
afford to lose it."
Her "son Jackey," rather pretty, curly.
headed boy of eight or ten, was examined, and
deposed:
"Knew Mr.. Richard very well indeed
didn't know his surname; didn't know what
surname was, himself; liked to see him
paint, which he did beautiful, very much was
very sorry he was dead, because he had prom
ised to paint o picture for him, Jackey, which
he began, but, being dead, of course could dc
no more to it." Picture produced, wherein the
same mastery hand was recognised here and
there only; not a good likeness, but the details
admirably and carefully worked up. "Was
quite certain Mr.. Richard had never spoken of
anybody by name, except of his, Jackey's,
mother-perfectly certain. Now the gentle
ard did say, over and over again, and many
times, Catherine! Catherine!' Used to
speak to picture of woman in that manner,
which was sold at the sale. He used to do
summit or other to that picture every day
particularly remembers fetching him it, as Mr.
Richard lay a-bed, dying, that he might write
summit at the back of it."
AT this point, Jackey's narrative dissolves in
who perceives "the stranger geht}ethgh gh'}}ssAss h &
friend of the dead gentleman, and is come to
see her righted," or on his own account, can.
not tell. There are a good many unframed
q pretty country scene or two, evidently from
nature, and few portraits, apparently from
memory but nothing to be mentioned in the
same breath with the :" Catherine" A rather
large historical picture, just sketched in, the
intention good and evident, but the figures in
differently drawn, it seemed scarcely possible
could have been the work of the same hand;
little sketches, all clever, principally of the
humorous sort, were scattered here and there.
The whole convinced me that their author was
one who had not given up existence without
much struggling; had tried every branch of
his profession to gain livelihood, and that
efficiently well to have succeeded almost in
any one of them. That almost had ruined
him. There was talent, genius, even perIeo-
ton, in many things, out there was lstless-
ness, ennui, and despair, in every one. But
the "Catherine ?" That was no clever "
performance, no excellent attempt" no 'n-sn
tice work of any kind; and now be could
have painted that, ,SSas an enigma was deter,
! LINED to solve. Woman re-e-amined, de.
posed-that thsre were bundles and bundles OF
letters burnt by Jackey, at Mr.. Richards de.
sire, as he lay a-dying. A few, not burnt,
that she had opened, in hopes to find his
| friends, in order that she might recover her
rent and other matters, had the names at the
i
could have them all for a shilling. So invest
that capital, and promise to call again about
the pictures; and, rewarding her for her inform.
alton, and the Jew for his assistance, return
home with my second purchase.
had no doubt, in my own mind, of the pro-
priety of examining these letters. 1t was,
persuaded myself, with the intention Of discov.
ering the friends or this poor artist, and of rem
dering up to them the effects which would have
a value, in their eyes, greater than in those oi
stranger, for it could not be but such man
as he must have had friends at one time, if not
sympathizers. Besides this, confess my de-
sire to discover the original of my Catherine y
passed all bounds.
A small packet of letters it was that had
either been transmitted by hand, or from which
the directions and postmarks had been care
fully erased-some of them apparently of re-
cent date; but most of them, to Judge by the
wornout edges of their foldings and their faded
characters, written years ago. They were in
no order whatever, and had been taken hap
hazard, as the woman said, from heap ot
others. Here is one yellow With age, and
ell the handwriting is a woman's, but not re-
semhling the poets description
As when field of corn bows all its ears before the
but decided aud distinct in every letter:
"DEAREsr RICHARD: am sorry to find you
so cast down by your fathers resolve. ! do
not think it less mistaken than you 6o but il
must be obeyed. Set yourself steadily to work
at this distasteful matter do your very best
at whatever cost. Depression and irksomeness
you must expect; disappointment and disgust
indeed, you are like enough to feel; but you
know one who sorrows yet more deeply, through
whose heart affection must strike first, ere II
reaches yours and the blow should be surely