What a feather in the good doctor's cap
it was when he saw the sallow, sunken face fill out, the rose of perfect
health once more return to her cheek, the elasticity to her step, and
the merry ring to her voice. No wonder he blew his own trumpet. Who
would not have done the same? But there was one among the members who smiled quietly, and with an air
of superiority, whenever the doctor vaunted himself. "I don't know what you mean, sir," said Dr. Bleedem, one day, irritated
at what he conceived to be an expression of incredulity on our
antiquary's countenance, "but if you think that my medicine did not
effect the marvellous cure we have been discussing, I should like to
know what did, that's all." "Well, sir," replied Mr. Oldstone, still with a quizzical look in his
eye, "I said nothing." The doctor, far from being pacified, gave a snort, then resumed
severely, "And I'll tell you what it is, Oldstone, if you don't take
more care of your constitution, you won't last much longer. You may
depend upon that. If you pass many more nights like that one on the eve
of Mr. McGuilp's departure, and think that you know better than I do,
your sand will run speedily down. Then will follow a state of utter
prostration--the death rattle--the silent tomb. Ha! ha! how will you
like that?" Having thus delivered himself, this son of Æsculapius felt better, and
deeming he had completely vanquished his antagonist, he proceeded to
fill his yard of clay with some of his most pungent tobacco, lighted it,
and throwing himself back in his chair, and crossing his legs, gave
several defiant puffs at his pipe, causing the smoke to stream through
his nostrils, which gave him somewhat the appearance of a fiery dragon. "Well, man," said Mr. Oldstone, meekly, "don't croak like a bird of ill
omen. It is like having the skeleton at the feast, as was the custom
amongst the ancient Egyptians." "Yes, by Gumdragon! it is," assented the leech, "and it would be good
for several of you if you profited by the lesson, for I could mention
some who have progressed precious little since those times." "Come, come, doctor," insisted Oldstone, "I've seen you yourself take
very kindly to your little glass of punch at our convivial meetings." (Here the antiquary winked furtively at some of the older members, as if
he had scored something.) "No, sir; never to the extent of being carried to bed helplessly drunk,
as I have seen you, sir--not unfrequently, I regret to say," replied the
doctor, indignantly. A general laugh from all the members of the club, in which our antiquary
heartily joined, was a signal for a cessation of hostilities, and good
humour was restored. It may interest our readers, before we go further, to learn some news of
our artist since his departure. According to his promise he had written,
first from London and later from Rome, to announce his safe arrival. He
had written many times since, and always to Mr. Oldstone. His first
letters had been short, and contained little more than the bare news we
have stated; desiring, at the same time, to be remembered to all the
inmates of the hostel, including our landlord and his family. These letters were promptly and voluminously replied to by our
antiquary, who, besides local news, of which there was certainly a
dearth, managed to fill up his letters with wise saws and some fatherly
advice, delicately, not obtrusively given--such as is not unbecoming
from an elderly man towards one considerably his junior. The tone of
these letters seemed to call for a reply something in the same spirit. It was impossible for our artist to ignore the fact that the old man had
taken a prodigious liking to him--loved him, in fact, as we have said,
like a son. He could not reply curtly or coldly to words that so
evidently came from the good man's heart, so he sat him down and penned
equally long epistles, relating his adventures, the people he had met,
and the places he had seen; thanking our antiquary at the same time for
the kindly interest he had always taken in him. It soon became apparent to our artist, from sundry hints carefully
worded by his antiquarian friend, that the latter was no stranger to the
secret he held within his breast. He doubted not but that all the
members of the club knew it, and this thought caused him some annoyance;
but there was something in the veiled sympathy of this fatherly old man,
with his covert innuendos, his tact and discretion, that touched him
deeply, and made it impossible not to open his heart to him and pour
forth the secrets of his soul. The ice was broken. Letters poured in thicker than ever, and the other
members, recognising always the same handwriting, wondered what there
could be so much in common between a young man like McGuilp and one of
Mr. Oldstone's years. Moreover, they noticed that the antiquary never
vouchsafed to read these letters aloud, merely certain portions here and
there, where it referred to themselves, and these were short enough,
while they watched their aged member as he gloated over page after page
of close writing with evident satisfaction. There seemed a certain want
of confidence in this, which each secretly resented; but they said
nothing, merely venting their spleen among themselves by alluding to our
artist as "the old un's protégé." Now, about a year previous, Mr. Oldstone had received some important
news from his young friend in Rome. He had lately completed a life-size
half-length portrait, in which he had made use of the study he had taken
of our landlord's daughter. The head he had copied from this study, but
he had added a figure, which made it more interesting as a picture. The
work had been finished in Rome, and sent to England to be exhibited at
the Royal Academy, then held at Somerset House. It had not only been
accepted, but hung upon the line, besides receiving high eulogiums from
the President, Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, on a private view day, had been
observed holding forth before a knot of students and expatiating upon
the merits of this _chef d'oeuvre_. One of the students, a friend of our artist, had written to him to
congratulate him on his success, at the same time enclosing him a slip
from the _Athenæum_, being a critique in which his work was extolled to
the skies, and alluded to as _the_ picture of the season, and the
painter as "a great genius who had taken the world by storm, and had
already reached the temple of fame." This excerpt our artist in his turn enclosed to his friend Oldstone, and
wound up his letter by saying that the picture had already been sold for
a considerable sum to Lord Landborough, a great patron of art, who
possessed a magnificent gallery at his country seat, Feathernest, in
Middleshire, filled with the choicest specimens of ancient and modern
art, in which company our artist's picture, which he had chosen to
designate "The Landlord's Daughter," was destined to find a place.