Alfred Henry Lewis

JEAN MICHAUD'S LITTLE SHIP . . . . . . . . . By Charles G. D. Roberts

THOSE OLD LUNES! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . By W. Gilmore Simms

THE CHIROPODIST . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . By Bayard Taylor

"MR. DOOLEY ON CORPORAL PUNISHMENT" . . . . . . . . . By F. P. Dunne

OVER A WOOD FIRE . . . . . . . . . . . Donald G. Mitchell--"Ik Marvel"

THE PROPHETIC PICTURES[1]

By NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

[1] This story was suggested by an anecdote of Stuart, related in
Dunlap's "History of the Arts of Design"--a most entertaining book to
the general reader, and a deeply interesting one, we should think, to
the artist.

"But this painter!" cried Walter Ludlow, with animation. "He not only
excels in his peculiar art, but possesses vast acquirements in all
other learning and science. He talks Hebrew with Dr. Mather, and gives
lectures in anatomy to Dr. Boylston. In a word, he will meet the best
instructed man among us, on his own ground. Moreover, he is a polished
gentleman--a citizen of the world--yes, a true cosmopolite; for he will
speak like a native of each clime and country on the globe, except our
own forests, whither he is now going. Nor is all this what I most
admire in him."

"Indeed!" said Elinor, who had listened with a woman's interest to the
description of such a man. "Yet this is admirable enough."

"Surely it is," replied her lover, "but far less so than his natural
gift of adapting himself to every variety of character, insomuch that
all men--and all women too, Elinor--shall find a mirror of themselves
in this wonderful painter. But the greatest wonder is yet to be told."

"Nay, if he have more wonderful attributes than these," said Elinor,
laughing, "Boston is a perilous abode for the poor gentleman. Are you
telling me of a painter, or a wizard?"

"In truth," answered he, "that question might be asked much more
seriously than you suppose. They say that he paints not merely a man's
features, but his mind and heart. He catches the secret sentiments and
passions, and throws them upon the canvas, like sunshine--or perhaps,
in the portraits of dark-souled men, like a gleam of infernal fire. It
is an awful gift," added Walter, lowering his voice from its tone of
enthusiasm. "I shall be almost afraid to sit to him."

"Walter, are you in earnest?" exclaimed Elinor.

"For Heaven's sake, dearest Elinor, do not let him paint the look which
you now wear," sa