Year: 1875

From the Pictorial World.


seYou seem to be very much struck by
that picture" said my old friend the
colonel for as I don't mean to betray
family secrets, I shall speak of him as
the colonel only, at whose cosy nook
in Birmingham had quartered myself
for few days. The picture he allued
to certainly had attracted an unusual
amount of attention considering that, as
a rule, I am strongly deficient in artistic
taste.


"Well, yes," answered, my eye re-
turning to rest on that particular object
which had attracted it many times be-
fore; regarding it as picture, 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. It is not that the face is either
handsome or intellectual, but there is a
strange, weird something about it which
the artist seems to have caught fresh
from the living face and transferred it to
canvas, and which all his after art had
failed to paint out. -


The picture which gave rise to these
observations was that of a man certainly
not past middle age, dressed in Gne fash





George III. The face and figure, as
commonplace enough; there was moth
ing sufficiently remarkable in the por-
trait to attract more than a passing OBJ
servation; indeed. on looking at it, you
felt it ought to represent a kindly, genial
There seemed to be something behind
- to1
eyes, as though it or they had seen
what they should not, and were haunted
by some awful mystery that could not be
hidden, even in the grave. Turning my
back npon it / shifted the conversation,
and my friend seemed by no means dis
pleased when we dismissed the subject.
We had long gossipy chat on many
matters interesting 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 separate.
At last, as I left the room, candlestick
in hand, I could not help, against my
will, casting furtive glance at the por-
trait and hastily shut the door behind
me. 1 was dead tired, for I had come
off long journey, but when L got to bed
it was a long time before 1 could COM
pose myself TO sleep, and when did L
was troubled in my dreams. The por-
trait had followed me upstairs, slipped
into the room after me, and tried to get
into 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 filed with their one
weired strange face. In the morning my
friend hoped I had slept well. I told
him the sort of purgatory l had endur-
ed, adding:


ssI am sure there is some grim secret
connected with that picture; you may
as well tell me what it is. If it is a
family secret, I promise to keep it sa-
cred.


ssWell," he answered after moments s
reflection, '.there is painful story con-
nected with it. The portrait is that of
nv andfather-Doctor Matthias, let us
call him. He was one of the physicians
in ordinary to George Ill, which posi-
ton he occupied long before he reached
middle age. He was courteous, genial,
kindly man, full of those social qualities
which make a man a favorite 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--hls GENIAL
nature clouded with an ineradicable
gloom. He gave up all practice, oil So
ciety; bought this place and settled here; !;
he received no visits; paid none; he lived
in this library among his books, oc-
casionally taking long solitary Iambies
about the country. His nature did not
degenerate into harshness, but strange
melancholy possessed him; its cause was
unknown. SO was its cure. He turned
his back upon the world, and though he
was no world scorner, nothing would IN
duce him to enter it again. He was a
widower, and his only son, my father,
was then a boy at Harrow. You may
imagine this was not a lively place for a
high spirited young fellow to come
home to; they saw little of each other.
In due time my father married and L
was born. Years passed, and one wind
try night when / was about eighteen
wears old, we received telegram sum-
moning us here. We came and were
shown into the room where You slept
last night. The old man, with the
stamp of death upon his face, was prop
ped up on pillows where he had LAIN
for hours, his eyes on the door, watch
ing for us. As we entered the room his
filmy eyes frightened, his eager, out
stretched hands trembled as we touched
them. With the damp death dew on
his brow. his voice quakng, and his
whole soul shuddering as he lived over
again one terrible moment OF his life, he
told as the story, which I had better put
together in my own words.


1t appears that during that moment
Gus visit to the continent he went to
Naples. He was received by the best
society, and most Hospitality entertain,
ed in the most distinguished social and
political circles, where he passed many
pleasant hours discoursing ano- discuss
ing intellectual and scientific subjects
chemistry, surgery, and once, among
these things, the use and misuses OF
poison cropped up in the course OF con-
yersation; and some one present.
gentleman of some note and Importance
asked what was the quickest death to
dia The gubiect was freely debated.