The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1897-03-12

the hag towards Ernest was soon
absorbed by the interest he felt to
known more of that beautiful girl,
who seemed strangely to dwell in
that loathsome den, shut out from
all other society save its depraved
occupants, whose dark and evil pas
sions reigned paramount over the
better and noble impulses of human
nature. Yet belying the old adage,
she seemed to dwell among pitch
undefled, in spirit as in beauty,
and to Ernest appeared moving
amid these revolving scenes around
her, as an angel of light in the
regions of darkness, and he uncon-
sciOusly warbled with Peri
'No pearl e'er lay under Oman's green water,
More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee"
A vague recollection haunted
him of having seen that face some
time and elsewhere before but the
more he pondered and tried to
divine where and when, the more
confused and mystified became his
thoughts. Was it some statue or
painting he had gazed upon in the
galleries of the East? No-there
was nothing there the masters of
antiquity had embodied in a
Nymph, Sybil, or Pagan goddess
nothing but maidenly Anglo-Amer-
lean beauty. With his romantic
curiosity excited to the utmost to
know something more relative to
the beautiful apparition which had
that morning appeared before him,
Ernest reached home, still ponder
ing on what he had seen. He
assembled to what he pleasantly
styled his portrait gallery, a recluse
room in the upper and unfrequented
part of the building, which Ernest,
since his return, had fitted up.
Round the walls hung the anti
quated portraits of the family,
mingled with gleanings of his
travels. On the mantel, in wild
melee, lay various sea shells, bits
of basalt, variagated crystals, ruby
amber, and other mummeries of
genealogical and geological descrip-
ton, mingled with relics and broken
specimens of ancient sculpture, ex
tracted from the great depots of art
and antiquity.
Ernest's great-great- grandfather,
with his hair trimmed like Round
head in the time of Cromwell,
dressed in straight, jacket and
breeches, with broad silver knee
buckles-his extremities terminal
ing in a military hat and heavy
jack boots-grimly smiled from the
wall on his posterity. On the oppo-
site side, suspended, were the rep
resentatives of less remote period,
with cued hair and cooked hats
in broad skirted coats, with capa.
ciOus flaps, bezenied in front with
gilt buttons, gray small clothes, and
blue stockings, ending in low shoes,
ornamented with broad silver
buckles. And down to the last
generation but one, with frilled
shirts and powdered wigs; decked
in coat, vest and pantaloons.
Mingled among the masculine
portraits We're the bellies of antiquity,
with long stayed waists, parthingale
skirts, or sweeping trains, and
high h-heeled shoes, contrasted with
some tri1ing specimen of the fine
arts, which Ernest had contrived
to pick up in his perigrinations
through the world.
But our hero vainly searched
among the memorials of the past
for resemblance of those living
features he had beheld in the morn
ing. A velvet covered case, edged
with satin, or rather had been in
its better days but now cruelty
embossed with cobwebs and dust,
lay ON the table. This he took
carelessly in his hand, and lifting
the cover that was secured with
leather hinges, he put aside the
gauze which concealed the portrait.
Bismilla! He started back as his
eyes met those of the picture, that
seemed smiling upon him from the
canvas.
Whose face and form, whose soft,
winning smile and expressive
features are those? 'Tis she tbs
that same countenance in miniature
he had beheld in the morning in
living perfection, or as near it as
the painters ar. would suffice to
portray. Hesearched for the name,
and family shaded, in small capitals,
at the bottom, was MARY NEvRA.
Ernest gazed long and intently on
those smiling features, and at
length replacing the gauze, closed
the lid, more puzzled, if possible,
than before.
"Mary Nevra and the maid of
O'Ferguson Hall-what cause for
so striking resemblance"
He pondered, but pondered in
vain, to divine why such a striking
analogy should exist between entire
strangers in friendship and in blood.
True, however, to the spirit of
knight-errantry, when mysterious
lady had crossed his path, he could