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favor the direction in which their occu- wrinkled and bowed and broken, he looks pants love to look.

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her in her fair youth, he sees That bland, quiet old gentleman, of in the sweet image he caresses, not his whom I have spoken as sitting opposite parent, but, as it were, his child. to me, is no exception to the rule. She If I had not seen all this in the old brought down some mignonette one morn- gentleman's face, the words with which ing, which she had grown in her cham- he broke his silence would have betrayed ber. She gave a sprig to her little neigh- his train of thought. bor, and one to the landlady, and sent -If they had only taken pictures another by the hand of Bridget to this then as they do now!— he said. — All old gentleman.

gone ! all gone! nothing but her face as Sarvant, Ma'am! Much obleeged, she leaned on the arms of her great chair; - he said, and put it gallantly in his but- and I would give a hundred pound for ton-hole. - After breakfast he must see the poorest little picture of her, such as some of her drawings. Very fine per you can buy for a shilling of anybody that formances, – very fine !- truly elegant you don't want to see. — The old gentleproductions,— truly elegant!— Had seen man put his hand to his forehead so as to Miss Linley's needle-work in London, in shade his eyes. I saw he was looking at the year (eighteen hundred and little or the dim photograph of memory, and turnnothing, I think he said,)-patronized by ed from him to Iris. the nobility and gentry, and Her Maj- How many drawing-books have you esty,- elegant, truly elegant productions, filled, I said, -since you began to take very fine performances ; these drawings lessons ?- - This was the first,—she anreminded him of them;- wonderful re- swered, -since she was here, and it was semblance to Nature ; an extraordinary not full, but there were many separate art, painting ; Mr. Copley made some sheets of large size she had covered with very fine pictures that he remembered drawings. seeing when he was a boy. Used to re- I turned over the leaves of the book member some lines about a portrait writ- before us. Academic studies, principally ten by Mr. Cowper, beginning, of the human figure. Heads of sibyls, "Oh that those lips had language! Life has prophets, and so forth. Limbs from statpast

ues. Hands and feet from Nature. What With me but roughly since I saw thee last."

a superb drawing of an arm! I don't And with this the old gentleman fell to remember it among the figures from Mithinking about a dead mother of his that chel Angelo, which seem to have been he remembered ever so much younger her patterns mainly. From Nature, I than he now was, and looking, not as his think, or after a cast from Nature. — mother, but as his daughter should look. Oh!The dead young mother was looking at Your smaller studies are in this, the old man, her child, as she used to I suppose, — 1 said, taking up the drawlook at him so many, many years ago. ing book with a lock on it. —-Yes, she He stood still as if cataleptic, his eyes said. — I should like to see her style of fixed on the drawings till their outlines working on a small scale. - There was grew indistinct and they ran into each nothing in it worth showing, — she said; other, and a pale, sweet face shaped it and presently I saw her try the lock, self out of the glimmering light through which proved to be fast. We are all which he saw them.-What is there quite caricatured in it, I haven't the least so profoundly human as an old man's doubt. I think, though, I could tell by memory of a mother who died in his her way of dealing with us what her fanearlier years ? Mother she remains till cies were about us boarders. Some of manhood, and by-and-by she grows, as it them act as if they were bewitched with were, to be as a sister; and at last, when, her, but she does not seem to notice it much. Her thoughts seem to be on her and locked, and presently I heard the little neighbor more than on anybody peculiar dead beat of his thick-soled, miselse. The young fellow John appears shapen boots. The bolts and the lock of to stand second in her good graces. I the inner door were unfastened, — with think he has once or twice sent her what unnecessary noise, I thought, ---- and he the landlady's daughter calls bó-kays of came into the passage. He pulled the flowers, — somebody has, at any rate. — inner door after him and opened the outI saw a book she had, which must have er one at which I stood. He had on a come from the divinity-student. It had flowered silk dressing-gown, such as “Mr. a dreary title-page, which she had en- Copley” used to paint his old-fashioned livened with a fancy portrait of the au- merchant-princes in; and a quaint-lookthor,— a face from memory, apparently, ing key in his hand. Our conversation - one of those faces that small children was short, but long enough to convince loathe without knowing why, and 'which me that the little gentleman did not want give them that inward disgust for heaven my company in his chamber, and did not so many of the little wretches betray, mean to have it. when they hear that these are “good I have been making a great fuss about men,” and that heaven is full of such. what is no mystery at all, - a schoolgirl's - The gentleman with the “ diamond” secrets and a whimsical man's habits. I - the Koh-i-noor, so called by us — was mean to give up such nonsense and mind not encouraged, I think, by the reception my own business. — Hark! What the of his packet of perfumed soap. He pulls deuse is that odd noise in his chamber? his purple moustache and looks appre

I think I am a little superstitious. ciatingly at Iris, who never sees him, as There were two things, when I was a boy, it should seem. The young Marylander, that diabolized my imagination,--I mean, who I thought would have been in love that gave me a distinct apprehension of with her before this time, sometimes looks a formidable bodily shape which prowlfrom his corner across the long diagonal ed round the neighborhood where I was of the table, as much as to say, I wish born and bred. The first was a series you were up here by me, or I were down of marks called the “ Devil's footsteps." there by you,-- which would, perhaps, be These were patches of sand in the pasa more natural arrangement than the tures, where no grass grew, where even present one. But nothing comes of all the low-bush blackberry, the “ dewberthis, — and nothing has come of my saga- ry,” as our Southern neighbors call it, cious idea of finding out the girl's fancies in prettier and more Shakspearian lanby looking into her locked drawing-book. guage, did not spread its clinging creep

Not to give up all the questions I was ers, — where even the pale, dry, sadlydetermined to solve, I made an attempt sweet “ everlasting” could not grow, but also to work into the little gentleman's all was bare and blasted. The second chamber. For this purpose, I kept him was a mark in one of the public buildin conversation, one morning, until he ings near my home, — the college dorwas just ready to go up-stairs, and then, mitory named after a Colonial Goveras if to continue the talk, followed hiin nor. I do not think many persons are as he toiled back to his room. He rested aware of the existence of this mark, on the landing and faced round toward little having been said about the story in me. There was something in his eye print, as it was considered very desirable, which said, Stop there! So we finished for the sake of the institution, to hush it our conversation on the landing. The up. In the northwest corner, and on the next day, I mustered assurance enough level of the third or fourth story, there to knock at his door, having a pretext are signs of a breach in the walls, mendready.- No answer. – Knock again. A ed pretty well, but not to be mistaken. door, as if of a cabinet, was shut softly A considerable portion of that corner was,

must have been carried away, from with- the British officers' rapiers, -and the tall in outward. It was an unpleasant story; mirror in which they used to look at their and I do not care to repeat the particu- red coats, — confound them for smashlars; but some young men had been using ing its mate !-- and the deep, cunningly sacred things in a profane and unlawful wrought arm-chair in which Lord Percy way, when the occurrence, which was va- used to sit while his hair was dressing ;riously explained, took place. The sto- he was a gentleman, and always had it ry of the Appearance in the chamber covered with a large peignoir, to save the

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suppose, invented afterwards ; but silk covering my grandmother embroidof the injury to the building there could ered. Then the little room down-stairs, be no question; and the zig-zag line, from which went the orders to throw up a where the mortar is a little thicker than bank of earth on the hill yonder, where before, is still distinctly visible. The you may now observe a granite obelisk, queer burnt spots, called the “ Devil's — “the study," in my father's time, but footsteps," had never attracted attention in those days the council-chamber of before this time, though there is no evi- armed men, — sometimes filled with soldence that they had not existed pre- diers ; - come with me, and I will show viously, except that of the late Miss M., you the “dents” left by the butts of a “Goody,” so called, or sweeper, who their muskets all over the floor.-With was positive on the subject, but had a all these suggestive objects round me, strange horror of referring to an affair aided by the wild stories those awful counof which she was thought to know some- try-boys that came to live in our service thing. - I tell you it was not so pleasant brought with them, — of contracts writfor a little boy of impressible nature to ten in blood and left out over night, go up to bed in an old gambrel-roofed not to be found the next morning, - rehouse, with untenanted, locked upper- moved by the Evil One, who takes his chambers, and a most ghostly garret, — nightly round among our dwellings, and with the “ Devil's footsteps” in the fields filed away for future use, - of dreams behind the house, and in front of it the coming true, -- of death-signs, – of appapatched dormitory where the unexplain- ritions, - no wonder that my imagination ed occurrence had taken place which got excited, and I was liable to superstistartled those godless youths at their mock tious fancies. devotions, so that one of them was an Jeremy Bentham's logic, by which he idiot from that day forward, and another, proved that he couldn't possibly see a after a dreadful season of mental conflict, ghost, is all very well — in the day-time. took holy orders and became renowned All the reason in the world will never get for his ascetic sanctity.

those impressions of childhood, created by There were other circumstances that just such circumstances as I have been kept up the impression produced by these telling, out of a man's head. That is the two singular facts I have just mentioned. only excuse I have to give for the nerThere was a dark storeroom, on looking vous kind of curiosity with which I watch through the keyhole of which, I could my little neighbor, and the obstinacy with dimly see a heap of chairs and tables, and which I lie awake whenever I hear anyother four-footed things, which seemed to thing going on in his chamber after midme to have rushed in there, frightened, night. and in their fright to have huddled to- But whatever further observations I gether and climbed up on each other's may have made must be deferred for the backs,- as the people did in that awful present. You will see in what way it crush where so many were killed, at the happened that my thoughts were turned execution of Holloway and Haggerty. from spiritual matters to bodily ones, and Then the Lady's portrait, up-stairs, with how I got my fancy full of material imthe sword-thrusts through it, - marks of ages ---faces, heads, figures, muscles, and so forth,- in such a way that I should farther, into our face, and each sees in it have no chance in this number to gratify the particular thing that he looks for. any curiosity you may feel, if I had the Now the artist, if he is truly an artist, means of so doing.

does not take any one of these special Indeed, I have come pretty near omit- views. Suppose he should copy you as ting my periodical record this time. It you appear to the man who wants your was all the work of a friend of mine, who name to a subscription-list, you could would have it that I should sit to him for hardly expect a friend who entertains my portrait. When a soul draws a body you to recognize the likeness to the in the great lottery of life, where every smiling face which sheds its radiance at one is sure of a prize, such as it is, the his board. Even within your own family, said soul inspects the said body with the I am afraid there is a face which the rich same curious interest with which one who uncle knows, that is not so familiar to the has ventured into a “gift enterprise ” ex- poor relation. The artist must take one amines the “massive silver pencil-case" or the other, or something compounded with the coppery smell and impressible of the two, or something different from tube, or the “ splendid gold ring” with either. What the daguerreotype and the questionable specific gravity, which it photograph do is to give the features and has been his fortune to obtain in addition one particular look, the very look which to his purchase.

kills all expression, that of self-consciousThe soul, having studied the article of ness. The artist throws you off your which it finds itself proprietor, thinks, af- guard, watches you in movement and in ter a time, it knows it pretty well. But repose, puts your face through its exerthere is this difference between its view cises, observes its transitions, and so gets and that of a person looking at us :- the whole range of its expression. Out we look from within, and see nothing of all this he forms an ideal portrait, but the mould formed by the elements which is not a copy of your exact look at in which we are incased; other observ- any one time or to any particular person. ers look from without, and see us as Such a portrait cannot be to everybody living statues. To be sure, by the aid what the ungloved call “as nat'ral as of mirrors, we get a few glimpses of our life.” Every good picture, therefore, must outside aspect; but this occasional im- be considered wanting in resemblance by pression is always modified by that look many persons. of the soul from within outward which There is one strange revelation which none but ourselves can take. A por- comes out, as the artist shapes your featrait is apt, therefore, to be a surprise to tures from his outline. It is that you reus. The artist looks only from without. semble so many relatives to whom you He sees us, too, with a hundred aspects yourself never had noticed any particuon our faces we are never likely to see. lar likeness in your countenance. No genuine expression can be studied He is at work at me now, when I by the subject of it in the looking-glass. catch some of these resemblances, thus:

More than this; he sees us in a way in There! that is just the look my father which many of our friends or acquaint- used to have sometimes; I never thought ances never see us. Without wearing I had a sign of it. The mother's eyebrow any mask we are conscious of, we have a and grayish-blue eye, those I knew I had. special face for each friend. For, in the But there is a something which recalls a first place, each puts a special reflection smile that faded away from my sister's of himself upon us, on the principle of lips — how many years ago! I thought assimilation referred to in my last record, it so pleasant in her, that I love myself if you happen to have read that docu- better for having a trace of it. ment. And secondly, each of our friends Are we not young? Are we not fresh is capable of seeing just so far, and no and blooming? Wait a bit. The artist takes a mean little brush and draws three can seize all the traits of a countenance fine lines, diverging outwards from the is building it up, feature after feature, eye over the temple. Five years. The from the slight outline to the finished artist draws one tolerably distinct and portrait. two faint lines, perpendicularly between I am satisfied, that, as we grow the eyebrows. Ten years.—The artist older, we learn to look upon our bodies breaks up the contours round the mouth, more and more as a temporary possesso that they look a little as a hat does sion, and less and less as identified with that has been sat upon and recovered ourselves. In early years, while the child itself, ready, as one would say, to crum- “feels its life in every limb,” it lives in ple up again in the same creases, on the body and for the body to a very great smiling or other change of feature.- extent. It ought to be so. There have Hold on! Stop that! Give a young fel- been many very interesting children who low a chance! Are we not whole years have shown a wonderful indifference to short of that interesting period of life the things of earth and an extraordinawhen Mr. Balzac says that a man, etc., ry development of the spiritual nature. etc., etc.?

There is a perfect literature of their biogThere now! That is ourself, as we raphies, all alike in their essentials; the look after finishing an article, getting a same “ disinclination to the usual amusethree-mile pull with the ten-foot sculls, ments of childhood ”; the same remarkaredressing the wrongs of the toilet, and ble sensibility; the same docility; the standing with the light of hope in our same conscientiousness; in short, an aleye and the reflection of a red curtain most uniform character, marked by beauon our cheek. Is he not a Poet that tiful traits, which we look at with a painpainted us?

ful admiration. It will be found that

most of these children are the subjects of “ Blest be the art that can immortalize!”

some constitutional unfitness for living, COWPER.

the most frequent of which I need not -Young folks look on a face as a mention. They are like the beautiful, unit; children who go to school with any blushing, half-grown fruit that falls begiven little John Smith see in his name fore its time because its core is gnawed a distinctive appellation, and in his fea- out. They have their meaning,— they tures as special and definite an expres- do not live in vain,— but they are windsion of his sole individuality as if he were

falls. I am convinced that many healthy the first created of his race. As soon as children are injured morally by being we are old enough to get the range of

forced to read too much about these little three or four generations well in hand, meek sufferers and their spiritual exerand to take in large family histories, we cises. Here is a boy that loves to run, never see an individual in a face of any swim, kick football, turn somersets, make stock we know, but a mosaic copy of a faces, whittle, fish, tear his clothes, coast, pattern, with fragmentary tints from this skate, fire crackers, blow squash “ tooters," and that ancestor. The analysis of a face cut his name on fences, read about Robinto its ancestral elements requires that inson Crusoe and Sinbad the Sailor, eat it should be examined in the very earliest the widest-angled slices of pie and untold infancy, before it has lost that ancient cakes and candies, crack nuts with his and solemn look it brings with it out of back teeth and bite out the better part the past eternity; and again in that brief of another boy's apple with his front ones, space when Life, the mighty sculptor, turn up coppers, “ stick” knives, call has done his work, and Death, his silent names, throw stones, knock off hats, set servant, lifts the veil and lets us look at mousetraps, chalk doorsteps, “cut bethe marble lines he has wrought so faith- hind” anything on wheels or runners, fully; and lastly, while a painter who whistle through his teeth, “ holler” Fire !

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