ries, but the one I am about to tell is so well evidenced, that I think even Mr. Vivian Grey will hear it without a sneer."
"A sneer! Oh! Lady love, do I ever sneer?"
"Max Rodenstein was the glory of his house. A being so beautiful in body, and in soul, you cannot imagine, and I will not attempt to describe. This miniature has given you some faint idea of his image, and yet this is only the copy of a copy. The only wish of the Baroness Rodenstein, which never could be accomplished, was the possession of a portrait of her youngest son—for no consideration could induce Max to allow his likeness to be taken. His old nurse had always told him, that the moment that his portrait was taken, he would die. The condition upon which such a beautiful being was allowed to remain in the world was, as she always said, that his beauty should not be imitated. About three months before the bat-
