Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1880-09-23
The Stnrp Teller.
A TERRIBLE ALTERNATIVE.

A TERRIBLE ALTERNATIVE.
"You seem to be very much struck by that
picture" said my old friend, the Colonel (for,
as don't mean to betray family secrets, l
shall speak of him as the "Colonel" only, at
whose cosy nook in Buckinghamshire had
quartered myself for few days. The pic.
ture he alluded to certainly had attracted an
unusual amount of my attention, considering
that, as a rule, am strangely deficient in
artistic taste.
"Well, yes" 1 answered, my eye return
ing to rest on that particular object which
had attracted it many times before; ere
gardiDg it as picture I should say it is by
no means the best of your collection. but,
regarding it as portrait, there is something
about it that 'fetches' me- 1t is not that the
face is either handsome or intellectual, but
there is strange, weird something about it
which the artist seems to have caught fresh
from the living face and transferred to the
canvas, and which all his after art had failed
to paint out"
The picture which gave rise to these OBJ.
servations was that of man, certainly not
past middle age, dressed in the fashion Of
the earlier period of the reign Of George
III. The face and figure, as regarded mere
form and feature, were commonplace enough |;
there was nothing sufficiently remarkable in
the portrait to attract more than a passing
observation indeed, on looking at it, you
felt it ought to represent kindly, genial
gentleman but somehow it didn't. There
seemed to be something behind it, working
out through the painted eyes as though it or
they had seen what they should not, and
were haunted by some awful mystery that
would not be hidden even in the grave.
Turning my back upon it shifted the con.
versation, and my friend seemed by no means
displeased to dismiss the subject We had a
long, gossipy chat on many matters interest
Ing to old friends who meet but seldom. and
with long lapses Of time between. 1t was late
before we could make up our minds to sepa-
rate. At last, as left the room, candlestick
in hand, could not help, against my will,
casting furtive glance at the portrait, and
hastily shut the door behind me. | was dead
tired, for had come off a long journey but
when got to bed it was long time before
could compose myself to sleep, and when |
did l was troubled in my dreams. The por-
trait had followed me up stairs, slipped into
the room after me, and tried to get into the
bed beside me- but, failing in that, went and
leaned against the wall, and came out of the
frame and climbed up to the top of my bed,
hid in the curtain folds, and multiplied itself
by thousands, till the whole atmosphere above
and around me was filled with the one weird,
strange face. In the morning my friend
hoped had slept we'll told him the sort
of purgatory I had endured, adding:
81 am sure there is some grim secret con-
nected with that picture. You may as we'll
tell me what it is. If it is family secret l
promise to keep it sacred"
"Well," he answered, after a moments
reflection, "there is painful story connected
with it. The portrait is that of my grandfa.
ther-Dr. Matthias, let US call him. He was
one of the physicians-in ordinary to George
ILL.,, which position he occupied long before
he had reached middle.age. He was cour-
teous, genial, kindly man, full of those So
cial qualities which make man fsvorite
of society. So much have heard. When
l knew him things were different. In the
year ITO, full Of high spirits and pleasant
anticipations he went on the Continent for
months holiday; he came back at the end
of it an altered man-his genial nature
clouded with an ineradicable gloom. He
gave up all practice, all society bought this
place and settled here; he received no visits,
paid none he lived in his library among
his books, occasionally taking long, solitary
rambles about the country. His nature did
not degenerate into harshness, but strange
melancholy possessed him; its cause was un.
known, so was its cure He turned his back
upon the world, and, though he was no world
scorner, nothing would induce him to enter
it again. He was widower, and his only
SONNY father-was then boy at Harrow.
You may imagine this was not lively place
for high spirited young fellow to come home
to; thev saw little of each other. In due
time my father married, and 1 was born.-
Years passed, and one wintry night, when
l was about eighteen years old, we received
a telegram summoning us here. We came
and were shown into the room where you
slept last night. The old man with the
stamp of death on his face, was propped up
on pillows, where he had lain for hours, his
eyes fixed on the door, watching for US. AS
we entered the room his flmy eyes bright
ened; his eager. outstretched hands trem
bled as we touched them. With the damp
death.dew on his brow, his voice quaking
and his whole soul shuddering as he lived
over again those terrible moments of his life
he told us the story, which had better pu
together in my own words. -.
1t appears that during that momentous visi
to the Continent he went to Naples. He wa!
received by the best society, and was hosPlta
bly, entertained in the most distinguished so
cial and political circles, where he passed
many pleasant hours discoursing and discus
sing intellectual and scientific ubjects-chem
istry, surgery, and once, among other things
the use and misuse of poisons cropped up in th'
course of conversation and some one present
a gentleman of some note and Importance
asked what was the quickest and easiest deatf
to die. The subject was freely debated
One evening he returned from one of those
pleasant gatherings and in reflective mooe
ofmind sat for an hour looking over the moon
lit city, and the beautiful world.famous bay
1t was near midnight, when two stranger
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