The Cecil Whig., 1873-03-15


he came to the Jones.
Once more he shook his head and
pondered.
"There must be something in this
thing" he thought, half aloud. "Peoplt
don't run up picture to eighty thousand
pounds and the offer to buy it for eighty
five thousand guineas without a reason
Sentiment! Pooh! No one ever wanted
to spend that on sentiment: and besides,
know that erode couldn't raise it at once
if he realized everything he's got in the
world. A warm man, erode: but he was
not christened Fortunatus. Eighty thous
and! It's as much as can manage myself
in these hard times. Suppose this should
turn out rubbish after all ~ His red hail
almost stood on end with panic at the idea
1t was all very we'll to run risks; but tc
risk a princely fortune on dead magpie
by Jones. But not could not be: ii
must not be.
His anxiety may not be easily compre-
hended by one to whom pounds are as
pence and who can afford to risk any num-
ber of them on whm. But Nathan Levi,
rich man as he was, was by no means in
this position. To one who made and spent
and risked money after his apparently
reckless fashion, the incest calculations, the
most accurate balancing of chances, was
necessary in order to eliminate the element
of recklessness in his speculatiens. He
happened just now to have many grand
coups on hand, the result of which, taken
altogether, would prove certain gain, as
they were at present arranged, but would
prove most certain ruin if combined with
the failure of an additional venture like
this for which he had not provided when
he had arranged his present financial cam
paign. Still, on the whole he had acted
like prudent man, though a bold one
His logic had been perfect-it was morally
impossible that Mr.. erode should have
fought so desperately to get this picture
without an adequate motive.
And yet
So he took fine sponge, which he dip
ped into some preparation, the secret of
which he had bought for nothing from
some needy inventor, and wetted and gent
ly wiped the cracked surface to find some
masterpiece of art. There must be some
thing! Perhaps, even-wild and glorious
thought.-it might be the very Venus Ana
dyomene of Apelles-that, indeed, would
be cheap at hundred thousand pounds.
For many minutes he sponged and rub
bed, first in one place and then in another
first delicately, then more decidedly.
At last, as if he had been working at a
forge, huge beads of perspiration began to
gather where his forehead ought to have
been, and to roll down into his grizzly red
beard. 1t was only too true. The picture
was only worth the price of the canvas
now, and of the fy-blown frame. Even
the magpie was spoiled by the rubbing and
was magpie no more.
He let his head drop for a moment heavi-
ly upon the table, and then rose from his
seat in unutterable despair. The process
had not been long, but it had been final
His admirable logic was scattered on the
winds; and, if he had not been mad before,
he felt that he must be mad now. He had
better have realized his capital and thrown
it, or himself, into the sea. Could Mr..
erode have done this to trick-toruin him
Could Mr.. erode himself have been de-
ceived?
He raised his head and gazed in despair
at the wretched evidence of his madness.-
Then he kicked away his chair violently,
and with groan and sort of spring, dash
ed himself down upon the floor. He was
grotesque even in his rage, rolling about,
and wringing and gnawing his hands with
his savage teeth till they bled, and groan-
ing as if he were at the door of death. If
with his successful rival it had been go
my ducats-O my daughter" with him it
was 20 my ducats-O my ducats - unmix-
ed with any human sentiment whatever
And the worst of it was that it was his
own cunning that had betrayed him. A
good man of business had been eager to
spend a fortune upon this trash. Surely it
ought to have been a grand coup indeed
grand enough to make him ruined man.
Then he rushed at what had once been a
picture once more: rubbed it all over again
till the canvas showed, examined front and
back and sides, looked at it in every pos
sible light, held it to the fire, tried upon it
all sorts of chemical compounds, which he
seemed to know well how to use, and of
which he had good store; but all was in
vain. Neither picture nor palmpsest was
it; even the poor magpie had vanished
into nothingness under all this treatment.
Finally he overthrow the table, candle and
all, gave portentous groan, and finally
dashed his fist through the canvas, which
he hurled with all his force, frame and all,
right to the other end of the room.
The room was now buried in darkness,
except for the dull light of the fire that was
almost dead for want of attention. He
threw himself into low armchair that
stood by its side, gazed absently into the
embers, grasped his huge head with his
torn and stained hands and delivered him
self up to misery.
1t was fearful sight to see this hideous
piece of humanity, rendered by sordid
despair more hideous still. And yet the
loss of life's labor is always tragic, to
whatever end the labor may have been
directed. 1t was not, after all, so much
the loss of the mere gold that affected him
thus, though the loss of the mere gold
meant simple ruin. He was in the posi-
tion of lover who has lost the mistress of
his whole soul-of king who has lost his
kingdom. 1t was not his fault that he
could not look sublime in his distress; that
the martyrdom which his whole form ex-
pressed to the full was only the martyrdom
of Mammon. But there was no help for ii
now. He could not get out of his bargain.
The sale had been made publicly in open
day, and was notorious to all the world
There was nothing left for him but to
groan over his spilled milk, and either cut
his throat or hang himself, if he could find
crffic icient cnacn hetween his breast and chin