Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1886-04-01
MechanEsown Frederick County, Maryland Thursday April l. 1885,

| WHlspeIeu, laStIly, anu DIS Illey pdsSee
through the door he kissed them ten
derby, but softly, lest his visitor should
hear. Then he aaid, with great gen.
tleness:
"As the little child of whom you
speak is dead, 1T is, conclude, a pos
thumous portrait you wish to have
taken-the picture of the little crea-
ture whose innocent soul has fled, lying
in his white bed, cross in his hands, a
crown of white roses on his colorless
forehead. I shall be happy if you will
give me your address, to proceed as
soon as possible to your residence
"Thank you monsieur" she said
"My child has been dead six years
you have then already a portrait
of your son?' he said, after a pause
"a painting, perhaps, that you wish
photographer
"A painting Of him!-I?' exclaimed
Dame Yvonre. Mon Dieu, no. 1t is
the hope Of obtaining one that has in.
duced me to make this long Journey
"What, madame! And do you i'm
agne that without the original, with
out another portrait, without any sort
of indication or guide, l can produce a
likeness of a child dead six years ago.
what, monsieur!' cried Dame
Yvonne, in her turn; land do mean to
say it is impossible? People vaunt on
every side the prodigles, the miracles
Of photography. Cannot the art that
accomphshes these marvels reproduce a
vestiCe, u shadow of my son? Cannot it
give ever so perfect a resemblance Of
her child to IA dcsolate mother, Who
Sobs broke the sentence. Dame
Yvonne could say no more.
The kind-hearted photographer did
not wish the simple peasant to return
to her Breton village disappointed SO
reflected awhile.
Madam" he said, thoughtfully,
nothing is absolutely impossible
"Ah, she cried, quickly, then you
can give me a portrait of my darling?"
"Who knows" he said, II will try
at any rate
You have preserved the clothes of
the child you have lost?' he asked.
Preserve them" she echoed; have
the very little garments still as good as
new, in which | dressed him the last
time he ran chasing the butterflies in
the green fields.
Send them to me DIRECTLY said the
artist
"You shall have them in an hour,
monsieur" she replied.
The clothes were sent, the work was
begun, and two days afterward Dame
Yvonne received the first proof of the
portrait. She uttered a cry of joy.
at is he!' she exclaimed. II know
him again. 1t is my son See, there
is the little vest with the silver but
tons-the little trousers | made with
my own hands; there are his little
arms, his tiny fingers, his long, golden
hair, falling over his soulders Oh, yes,
it is-it is my little child! Oh, mon
sieur, how much do owe your
"Madam,' SAID the photographer,
"in presenting to YOU an image which
you recognize as your son, dead six
years ago, | have accom- rlished a MIRA
Gle. Miracles are not paid for
For US, the miracle is not difficult to
explain. Nothing is so like, in figure,
air and attitude, to child five years
old as another child of the same age
The photographer merely placed before
the camera one OF his own chllurcn,
dressed in the pretty Breton costume
Of the dead boy. He was represented
kneeling on cushion, his head bent,
his face hidden by his bands, which
were raised and clasped together in the
noble and graceful attitude of prayer.
Dame Yvonne returned to Brittany.
She showed the portrait to every one
she knew; and to all who would listen
she enlarged, on the marvellous power
of photography, which had produced
the likeness of boy who had been
dead six years