1832.] t 265 ] 



THE PORTRAIT : A SKETCH. 



YES ; at last I was fairly in love ! and with what ? A portrait ! 

 but such a one ! 



The Exhibition had only just opened ; I had gone to see it on the 

 third day, and scarcely had I advanced a dozen paces into the grand 

 room, when I felt myself riveted to the spot. " What's the matter ?" 

 inquired Armstrong. I heard him, but felt as if the faculty of speech 

 were suspended. He repeated the question, but to no purpose. " Are 

 you dreaming ?" at length he exclaimed " What is the matter with 

 you ?" 



<e Do you know the original of that portrait ?" inquired I. 



" No." 



" Look at the number in the book. Well, what says it ?" 



" Portrait of a young lady, by E. F." 



And who is E. F. ?" 



te I know not." 



" A plague upon all initials," exclaimed I ; " I would give the world 

 to know the name of the artist." 



<e I'll try and find him out for you, my boy/' rejoined the kindest- 

 hearted fellow in Dublin. 



" O, there are tones and looks that dart 

 An instant sunshine through the heart ; 

 As if the soul that minute caught 

 Some treasure it through life had sought ; 

 As if the very lips and eyes 

 Predestined to have all our sighs, 

 And never be forgot again, 

 Sparkled and spoke before us then \" 



repeated I to myself, as I stood gazing upon the voiceless, sightless 

 picture ! 



'Twas a full-length a front view, in the attitude of advancing a 

 maid of auburn tresses ; the complexion fair ; the eyes, a deep blue ; the 

 lips carnations slightly apart, as though the sweet breath were issuing 

 through them ; the bosom delicately full- veiled by a kerchief of gauze, 

 all but one spot of dazzling whiteness ; the waist, tapering to the critical 

 point, beyond which firmness and grace take leave of tenuity, and from 

 the zone of which the lines of the lower part of the figure flowed out- 

 wards and downwards in a curve of noble richness ; an ankle and an 

 instep, like the rest symmetry ! The arms which were bare from 

 something more than half way above the elbows were beautiful ; her 

 right hand was covered with a glove, and held another, leaving her left 

 one the voucher of a virgin palm ! No ring was on the finger. 



" 'Tis time to go," said Armstrong, slapping me on the shoulder; 

 " the Exhibition closes at four." 



Three hours had I been poring upon it ! " Four !" exclaimed I. 



" It wants but ten minutes of it." 



" And have you found out the artist?" 



" No." 



******* 



Not a day did I miss the Exhibition. As soon as I entered the room 

 I took my seat before the portrait, and there I remained till every one 

 else was gone. No doubt I was the object of frequent remark. I often 



M.M. New Series VOL. XIII. No. 75. T 



