The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1883-11-03
THE HOUSE IN THE MIRROR.

The storm was carrying on wild sport round
the house, shaking the windows, beating
against the thick walls and murmuring in
deep, hollow tones in the chimueys 1t was
a night for warm, coy, substantial indoor
comfort and such resolved to make it.
At the period of which L am writing was
still young man, and was practicing sue
cessfully as a doctor in a town in the west of
England-a tolerably large busy country
town which lies very near the borders of
both Devonshire and Somersetshire. was
unmarried, and was living with an old
housekeeper and one servant girl, who
helped her by turns, now above stairs, now
below, with complacent submission, because
the semi-blindness and deafness OF
the good lady made interviews with her
true swain, the butchers boy, in the scullery
not only practicable but easy. On the even
ing in question 1 had come in what we med
ical men call 'healthily tired" after a hard
days work in my professional duties, and 1
was now sitting costly by the blazing fire in
my dining-room, with glass of good claret
on the little round table at my side.
My thoughts went wandering to and fro
| ldZlly. HOW TeSll1iS upon SOIuc VI Vic AlOoI
interesting cases among my patients. now
futtering around a pretty picture OF my only
sister and her first baby, which her letter, re-
ceived this morning from India, had called
up; now straying into the stable to visit my
bay horse-a new purchase, which | hattered
myself did no small honor to my judgment
in horse-fesh. Gradually, however, all these
subjects of pleasant reflection slipped into
mass, and got confusedly mixed together. l
found myself gazing, without feeling the
| least surprised at an odd vision, which showed
me my sister mounted on my pet bay with
the baby in her arms, who, instead of
baby's face, had the face of my negh bor and
patient, old Mr.. Spicer, the grocer, and soon
after that was sunk into a peaceful slum-
| Der, where no dream even came to disturb
me.
How long 1 slept do not exactly know,
but recollect 1 woke with start, reused
by the clock on the chimney which
! had peculiar ringing, clear sound, striking
g. | sat upright with a jerk and looked
with that vaguely uncomfortable feeling
which often follows sudden waking My
glance happened to wander up to the mirror
which was over the chimney-piece. Why
was it that, as | gazed at it, uttered low
exclamation, and then shut my eyes, think
ing that sleep must still be retaining its
power over me, and that l must be dreaming
a strange, fantastic dream?
But no, | certainly was not dreaming, for
there it was. just as it had been before. Fix
my eyes as steadily as [ might upon the
mirror, with all my wakeful faculties con-
centrated upon it in eager earnestness, it was
still there. l looked away, and fastened my
| look for minute or more upon my moth
er's picture, which hung over the sdeboard
! Then my eyes were allowed to return to the
! glass but this maneuver was useless alSo-it
would not go, do what l would.
| What / saw was certainly no alarming vi
sion, though its appearance, there in the mir
Il inIp al, mia
was remarkable and startling enough, to say
| the least of it, In the middle of the glass
which in its other parts reflected simply and
| naturally the commonplace objects IN the
room, chairs and tables and window curtains
! there appeared Al small but wildly distinct
picture of a house and garden. 1t was a very
| pretty house. its front covered on one side
! with green creeper, which was spangied
with starry white blossoms, and on the other
| with a iresco such as | had heard described
! as existing the walls of houses III Italy,
| where had never been-a fresco represent
| ing an old woman sitting with a basket of
| oranges at her feet. There were four windows
| two upstairs, two down, exactly over each
other; they were all half shaded with green
! blinds, and could see that the top one, on
the right hand side. was slightly
open. Up the garden there ran
broad gravel walk with soft
fresh turf, gemmed with flower beds on either
side OF it. The Enclosure was fenced round
with a rather high wooden pailing, and in
| one corner of it there stood a summer-house.
with quaintly-shaped roof that had some
! thing of pagoda about it. Over the whole
there was spread a soft, silvery light as
though a bright full moon was shining
down upon it. A yellow CLEAN, as of lamp
burning within, stole through the open win
dow, aud mingled with the white rays with
out.
laid my fingers on my pulse Was going
fast into raging feverl My pulses were as
steady as they were when l rose that morning
after nights sound sleep. | tested my brain
by going through in my mind, all the symp-
toms and features in a difficult and perplex-
ing case which had been lately under my
care; my mind acted as coolly and calmly
and regularly as it had ever done. l re-
peated to myself several passages OF poetry
from different authors in different languages;
| thev came as quickly and easily TO
my tongue as if l had been reading
them from printed book. 1 gazed around,
and fixed my eyes various objects in the
| room to see whether should be subjected to
other optical illusions, but in all other points
nv eyes were as reasonable as they usually
| were They showed me nothing but the ia
miliar chairs and table, and the well-known
| pattern of the paper Oh the wall Then |
! looked back at the mirror. The house was
! still there.
Had been reading lately description of
| such house, or had | lately seen anywhere
a picture like it? Either of these things
might possibly have lett vivid impression
on my mind which might have accounted
! for the strange delusion. | was not, how
| ever able to recollect, search my memory as
would, that a book or painting had
| brought such house and garden before my
| thouahts. l was naturally neither excitable
nor imaginative: indeed, l was generally re-
| garded by everyone VINO knew me, and by
myself inton the bargain, as one of the most
prosaic, rational beings in the
world. My fancy had never
before played me the smallest trick
even as l rode home, worn out with watch
ing by sick bed. on the darkest night; even
in the many painful scenes full of death and
| gloom through which my professional life