Year: 1875

that picture" said my old friend, the
Colonel, (for, as don't mean to betray
family secrets, shall speak of him as the
Colonel" only, at whose cosey nook in
Buckinghamshire l had quartered my
self for few days. The picture he al
luded to certainly had attracted an un-
usual amount of my attention, consider
ing that, as a rule, am strangely def
cient in artistic taste.


"Well, yes,"I 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. 1t is not that the face is either
handsome or intellectual, but there is
strange, weird something about it which
the artist seems to have caught fresh
from the living face and transferred to
the canvas, and which all his after art
had failed to paint out"


The picture which gave rise TO these
observations was that of man certainly
not past middleage, dressed in the fashion
of the earlier period of the reign of
George III. The face and figure, as re-
garded mere form and feature, were COM
monplace enough there was nothing
sufficiently remarkable in the portrait to
attract more than a passing observation
indeed, on looking at it, you felt it
ought to represent kindly genial gen.
tleman; but somehow it didn't. There
seemed to be something behind it, work
ing out through the pointed eyes as
though it or they had seen what they
should not, and were haunted by some
awful mystery that would not be hidden
even in the grave. Turning my back
upon it / shifted the conversation, and
my friend seemed by no means displeased
TO dismiss the subject. We had long,
gossipy chat on many matters 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 left the room,
candlestick in hand, l could not help,
against my will, casting furtive glance
behind me. / was dead tired, for / had
come off long journey; but when / got
to bed it was long time before l could
compose myself to sleep, and when / did
i was troubled in my dreams. The por-
trait had followed me upstairs, slipped
into the room after me, and tried 10 get
into the. bed beside me; but, failing in
that, went and leaned against the wall
and came out of the frame and climbed
upto the top of my bed and hid in the
curtain folds, and multiplied itself by
thousands, till the whole atmosphere
above and around me, was filled with the
one weird, strange face. In the morning
my friend hoped had slept we'll. told
him the sort ofpurgatory had endured,
adding:


"I am sure there is some grim secret
connected with that picture; you may as
we'll tell me what it is. fit is family
secret, promise to keepit sacred"


"Well," he answered, after a moments
reflection, "there is painful story con-
nected with it. The portrait is that of
my grandfather-Doctor Matthias, let us
call him. He was one of the physicians
in-ordinary to George III, which position
he occupied long before he had reached
middle age. He was courteous genial,
kindly man, full of those social quail
ties which make a man favorite of
society. So much have heard. When
] knew him things were different. In the
year ITO, full Of high spirits and pleas
ant anticipation, he went on the Cont
nent for a months holiday; he came
back at the end of it an altered man-his
genial nature clouded with an ineradi-
cable gloom. He gave up all practice,
all society; bought this place and settled
here; he received no visits, paid none;
he lvedin his library among his books,
occasionally taking long solitary rambles
about the country. His nature did not
degenerate into harshness, but a strange
melancholy possessed him; its cause was
unknown, 30 was its cure. He turned his
back upon the world, and though he was
no world scorner nothing would induce
him to enter it again. He was awidower,
and his only sonny father-was then
a boy at Harrow. Youma imagine this
was not lively place for high-spirited
young fellow to come home to; they saw
little of each other. In due time my
father married and / was born. Years
passed and one wintry night when / was
about eighteen years old, he received tel
egram summoning us here. We came,
and we're shown into the room where
you slept last night. The old man, with
the stamp of death upon his face, was
propped up on pillows where he had lain
for hours, his eyes fixed on the door,
watching for us. As we entered the room
hisfilmy eyes frightened; his eager, out
stretched hands trembled as we touched
them. With the damp death dew on his
brow, his voice quaking, and his whole
soul shuddering as he lived over again
one terrible moment of his life, he told
us the story which i had better put to-
gether In my own words.


1t appears that during that moment
GUS visit 10 the Continent he went TO
Naples. lie was received by the best
society, and most Hospitality entertained
in the most distinguished social and polit-
ical circles, where he passed many pleas