Page:The Lady's Book Vol. V.pdf/49

 THE PORTRAIT PAINTER.

47

THE PORTRAIT PAINTER.

“HAUGHTY lady, why shrunk you back, when your poor frail one drew near? Was the air infected by her errors? Was your purity soiled by her passing breath? Ah, lady! smooth that insulting brow; stifle the reproach just bursting from your scornful lip: wound not a soul that bleeds already! She has suffered-

“Lady, to look with mercy upon the conduct of others, is a virtue no less than to look with severity on your own.”

M. G. LEWIS.

In the course of a tour through England, business of importance compelled my friend, Charles Lawrence, and myself, much against our inclinations, to revisit, for a while, the smoke impregnated air of the metropolis; and having given up our apartments in town, when we first set out on our expedition, we were under the necessity of seeking for others, during our temporary stay. In our peregrinations we were attracted by a bill in the parlour window of a respectable looking house in street, announcing “lodgings to let,” and, on enquiry, found them to be exactly what we were in search of. The person of our destined landlady was far from deficient in bulk or rotundity, and her carbuncled visage seemed to argue her as one not in the least disinclined to the enjoyment of creature comforts.

Somewhat fatigued with the journey, I was sitting by the open window soon after our arrival, contrasting the view of sundry stacks of chimneys, which it afforded, with the expansive prospects we had so recently quitted, and drawing a comparison between the odour arising from the workshop of a neighbouring tallow melter, and that of the keen and wholesome air which sweeps from the Northern hills, extracting, as it flies, the perfume of every flower that graces its course. I was also speculating on the I am at a loss for a name but our good hostess applied the epithet of “garden,” to a piece of ground, about fifteen feet square, considering, probably, that as the gravel, which formed the principal part, was bordered by some sterile mould, through which a few odd looking things, of the vegetable world, were with difficulty fighting their way about two months after the proper season for their appearance; and the middle of it was decorated by some half dozen flower pots, containing drooping unwatered geraniums, that it was well entitled to that honourable designation, and she, no doubt, flattered herself with the idea, that it imparted a highly rural air to her premises, and rendered them as completely rus in urbe as could be expected in London. Whilst enjoying my cogitations, I was interrupted by Lawrence, who had just opened a drawer with the intention of depositing something in it, and, uttering an exclamation of surprise, he advanced towards me, holding in his hand a small, but exquisitely finished coral necklace.

“See,“ said he,” what our good hostess has left.”

I examined the necklace closely, and found engraved on the clasp, H. F. to M. C.

“A love token, no doubt,“ said I.

“I think so too,” replied my friend, “let us ring for the landlady, and restore it to her.”

He accordingly did so, and on Mrs. Watkins attending the summons, I placed the trinket in her bands, telling her where we had found it.

“Alack! sir,” said the old woman, “it belonged to my last lodger, poor thing.”

“It was careless to leave it behind,” I observed, ”the more especially as it appears, from what is engraven on the clasp, to have been a gift.”

“Ah! sir, the poor misfortunate inhappy cretur couldn't help it,” and a tear started into the old woman's eye as she spoke.

“Was she unfortunate then?” inquired Lawrence.

“Alas, sir, it would make you melancholy to hear her sad tale.”

“Perhaps you will oblige us by narrating it,” said I,” and as we have nothing at present to attend to, it will serve to guile away an hour.”

There needed but little persuasion to induce our good hostess to comply with our request, and seating herself in an arm chair opposite, she commenced her relation; prefacing it, however, with the observation, that it was lately that the facts had come to her knowledge for “had she known the rights on it afore, she wouldn't have let the lodgings to ' em.” From a vast proportion of circumlocution and redundancy, we succeeded in extracting the following matter: -

Maria C was the daughter of a deceased clergyman of the highest character. Like too many of his sacred profession, it was his lot to struggle with poverty; nevertheless, he had contrived to give his beloved and only daughter an excellent education. But his death occurring when she was little more than seventeen, left her alone, unprotected, and moneyless. By her indefatigable industry, however, aided by the exertions of one or two friends, she was enabled to form a connexion as a portrait painter; and the merits of her private character, together with the talent, assiduity, and perseverance she displayed in her profession, soon deservedly procured her employment. Her means, consequently, were rapidly increasing, when a circumstance transpired, which at once crushed her budding fortune.

She was unfortunate enough, one morning, whilst making some purchases at the Bazaar, to attract the notice of Henry Fitzgerald, who followed her, unperceived, through all the interstices of the stands, ogled her through the intervening array of caps, frills, & c., and finally watched her home, when, to his surprise, he discovered, by the plate upon the door, that it was no other than his own mamma's protegee.