The Penn's Grove record., 1888-09-22
THE MYSTERY OF A PICTURE,

The MYSTERY OF A PICTURE.
Many years ago my brother and l
made u first trip East, to Join some
artist friends who were spending the
summer among the White Hills. Beth
lehem was not the fashionable resort
it has since become, as it was but a
few years before that Governor How
ard, of Rhode Island, met with the
carriage accident, and consequent de.
tention, which resulted in calling at
tention to the advantages of this lovely
spot, and making it famous. The old
Howard House was still standing, and
when stage-coach ratified up to its
door, on the night of our arrival, there
sat one of our friends on the broad
piazza making a study of a trout which
he had that morning caught, on an
improvlsed bank of grass and ferns in a
chair before him. He fastened to give
us a hearty welcome, and then returned
to add q few more touches to his paint
ing while daylight lasted. Blissful
weeks followed. Four of us used to
drive off in the early morning in a
double blackboard with our traps"
and a light lunch, while the fifth can
tered alongside on his great bay. We
sketched all day, taking a short rest at
noon, and then as the SUI was setting
drove home to Il warm supper, a group
OF charming guests, and, if cool, a
brisk fire Of logs in the cosey parloT.
III. H., afterward Mrs. Jackson, Occu-
pied a sunny corner room. which was
even after regarded as a sort of shrine
by those who had already learned to
love her as a woman and an author.
One day, Just after dinner, there was
a knock at the door and some INT re-
ported that a man at the Howard was
asking for zone of the artists" Frank
went over to meet a sandy-haired man
of 40, who announced that he was a
Canadian artist taking a tramp through
the mountains, and had been overtaken
by a thunder shower down in the
Notch, far from dry raiment and sur
plus funds; he had lost his way and
found himself quite exhausted. We
supplied him with dry clothing, and
admitted him to studio fellowship. He
had managed to keep his portfolio and
painting case unframed, and W. were
sOon interested In looking over his
really fine water-color sketches. Seye-
raj guests of the house ordered pictures
from him, and he spent some time in
our company fulfilling their commits
sions. He proved to be a genial, pleas
ant fellow. a graduate from an English
University, and made himself an agree
able addition to u party. Frank
persuaded him to attempt oils on II
~ II, axnnIttinno Init affAg. trying IN
point his brush in the familiar way,
and thereby filling his mouth with oil
paint two or three times, he threw aside
the canvas and again returned to water
color.
One night there was a terrible storm.
A waterspout burst up OIL the noun
tain and did much damage; the road to
Littleton was washed out, leaving
rents fifteen feet deep, and laying bare
huge powders which, perhaps, had
never before seen the sum-. We were
confined to the studio next day.
Somers, the Canadian, employed the
time In finishing some orders; Harry
sat down to a portrait which had been
turned face to the wall during the fair
weather, and we all took turns in tell
ing stories.
"Well," drawled Somers, holding
his work at arms length, and then
setting 1t down for a fresh wash to dry,
''Of all the strange true stories that l
ever heard, the stIangest was told me
by my friend Norton, three years ago
in London. We were looking at a col
lection of pictures put up for sale,
when, as we paused before a large one,
marked in the catalogue as "Behead-
ing Of John Baptist" an old Spanish
picture, artist unknown, Norton sud-
denly seized my arm and seemed about
to faint.
"'Don't be frightened. old fellow
he gasped at length, 1T will soon pass,
would you mind going home with mep'
He leaned heavily on my arm as we
went down into the street, where l
called a cab and we were soon at his
studio. After he had taken a little
wine and vas somewhat recovered, he
said: Il must tell you the story of that
painting, Somers, the story of my life.
To begin with, Norton is not my real
name, land he told me the name of M
Of the proudest families in England,
which / promised lever to ~reveal). Il
was the youngest son of a large family
he added, and my father seemed
TO care particularly for me, while my
mother vas my dearest companion.
She died when l was fifteen, and all the
brightness of my life went with her. l
was ~passionately fond of pictures. and
she had praised and taken pleasure in
the drawings 1 was constantly making,
and taught me how to appreciate the
best works of art"
latter my mothers death, 1 was
left to spend my days as l chose in
the old country seat where l was born
and where my mother died. Some
times 1 think l should have been de-
ranged had it not been for my drawing.
Though there was now no n to praise
or care what l did; the only pleasure l
had was in working from nature either
out of doors or in, and try to make
studies which l thought my mother
would have liked. Once when my
father was down from London, and
had seemed kinder than usual, or rather
less Indifferent than usual, l ventured
to ask him if | could not take painting
lessons, as | had when my mother was
alive. He seemed greatly annoyed and
BALD that 1t was time l was sent to
ehoOl and made q man on and that in