The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1857-10-08


/ ling to his young wife's side.
| "What!-do you keep that still? Why,
Jean, what boyish job it is The features
nearly approach Queen Elizabeth's beau ideal
of art, as she commanded her own protrait to
be drawn-'tis one broad light, without sin
gle shadow. And look, how ilLdrawn are the
shoulders, and what an enormous awkward
string of pearls
Jean snatched me up and kissed me. +" You
shall not, Norman will hear no blame of
the poor miniature. love it, tell you-and
you love it, too. All there" And she held
me playfully to my makers lips, which now l
touched not for the first time, as he knew well.
"When we grow rich, it shall be set in gold
and garnets, and will wear it every time my
husband ceases to remember the days when he
first taught me to love him, and, in loving him,
to love all that was noble in man."
And then Norman. But do not see
that have any business to reveal further.
l did attain to the honor of gold and garnets,
and, formed into bracelet, figured many a
time on the fair arm of Jean Bethune, who,
when people TESTED with her for the eecentrici-
ty of wearing her own likeness, only laughed,
and said that she did indeed love the self that
her husband loved, for his sake. So years
went by, until fairer things than bracelets
adorned the arms of the painters wife, and she
came TO see her own likeness in dearer types
than my poor ivory. So her ornaments-my-
self among the rest-were slowly put by; and
at last used to lie for months untouched, save
by tiny baby fingers, which now and then poked
into the casket to see mammals picture"
AT last there came change in my destiny.
1t was worked by one of those grandest Of rev.
olutionists-s young lady entering her teens.
Mo xvh ,af g tlat ,,r,Ir, hroa
let?" heard one day. "Give me the miniature,
to have made into brooch. l am sixteen
quite old enough to wear one, and ii will be so
nice to have the likeness of my own mamma"
Mrs. Bethune could refuse nothing to her
eldest daughter-her hope-her comfort-her
sisterlike companion. So, with many an anx-
ious charge concerning me, was despatched
to the jewellers. Ihate to be touched by stran-
gers, and during the whole time of my soiourn
at the jewellers shut up my powers of observa-
ton in dormouse-like doze, from which was
only awakened by the eager fingers of Miss
Anne Bethune, who had rushed with me into
the painting room, calling on papa and mamma
to admire an old friend in a new face.
sis that the dear old miniature ?" said the
artist
The husband and wife looked at me, then at
one another, and smiled. Though both now
smile l saw revive the faces of Norman Be-
thune and the Lady Jean.
Il do believe there is something talismanic
in the portrait" said young Anne, their daugh-
ter. To-day, at the jewellers, / was stopped
by disagreeable old gentleman, who stared at
me, and then at the miniature, and finally ques-
toned me about my name and my parents, until
l was fairly weary of his impertinence. A con
temptible, malicious-eyed creature he looked !;
but the jeweller paid him all attention, since, as
| afterwards learnt, he was Sir Anthony A,
who succeeded to all the estates Of his cousi n,
the Earl of -"
Mrs. Bethune put me down on the table, and
leaned her head on her hand perhaps some
memories of her youth came over her on hear
ing those long-silent names. Her husband
glanced at her with restless doubt-some men
will he so jealous over the lightest thought of
one they love. But Jean put her arm in his,
with lock so serene, so clear, that he stopped
down and kissed her yet scarcely faded cheek.
=" Go, my own wife-go and tell our daughter
ALL"
Jean Bethune and her child went out together,
and when they returned, there was proud
glow on Anne's cheek-she looked so like her
mother, or rather so like me. She walked down
the studio; it was large room where hung pic
lures that might well make me fear to claim
brotherhood with them, though the same hand
created them and me. Anne turned her radiant
eyes from one to the other, then went up to the
artist and embraced him.
Father, had rather be your daughter than
share the honors of all the Douglasses"
Anne Bethune wore me, year after year, until
tie fashion of me went by, till her young daugh-
tiers, in their turn, began to laugh at my ancient
setting, and-always aside-to mock at the rude
art of grandmamma's" days. But this was
never in grandmamma's presence, where still
found myself at times; and my pale eyes be-
held the face of which my own had been mere
as the only memorial.
"And was this indeed you, grandmamma ?"
many an eager voice would ask, when my poor
self was called into question. "Were you ever
this young girl and did you really wear these
beautiful pearls, and live in castle, and hear
yourself called the Lady Jean o"
And grandmamma would lay down her spec
tacles and look pensively out with her calm,
beautiful eyes. Oh how doubly beautiful they
seemed in age, when all other loneliness had
gone. Then she would gather her little flock
round her, and tell, for the hundredth time,
the story of herself and Norman Bethune-
leaning gently, as with her parent feelings
she had now learnt to do, on the wrongs re-
ceived from her own father, and lingering with
inefable tenderness on the noble nature of him
who had won her heart, more through that
than even by the fascination of his genius.
She dwelt ofteuer on this, when, in her closing
years, he was taken before her to his rest !;
and while the memory of the great painter was
honOred on earth, she knew that the pure soul
of the virtuous man awaited her, his beloved
in heaven.
I "And yet, grandmamma," once said the
most inquisitive of the little winsome elves
whom the old lady loved, who, with me in her
hand, had lured Mrs. Bethune to a full hours
converse about olden days" grandmamma,
looking back on your ancient lineage, and
would you not like to have it said of you that
you were an Earl's daughter"
"No!" she answered. "Say, rather, that
| was Norman Bethune's wife,"
walked and found myself gazing on the
blank white curtains from whence the fantas.
NAL image of the Lady Jean had all melted
away. But still, through the mystic stiffness
of dawn, / seemed to have melancholy ring
ing in my ears-a sort of echo of Gylbyn's
cry, "lost-lost-lost +" Surely it was the un.
quiet ghost of the miniature thus beseeching
restitution to its original owners {" Rest thee,
perturbed spirit y said l, addressing the orna-
ment that now lay harmlessly on my dressing ia
ble-a brooch, and nothing more !" Peace
Though all other means have failed, perhaps thy
description, going out into the world of letters,
may procure thy Identification. Hal-I have
it will write thy autobiography"
Reader, it is done. have only to add. that
the miniature was found in Edinburgh, in Au-
gust, ls49, and will be gladly restored to the
right owner, lest the unfortunate author should
be again visited by the phantom of Lady JEAN