FAMILY PORTRAITS.
We remember reading a humorous sketch entitled, “The late Mr. Smith,” whose portrait after his death was removed by his widow to the lumber-room, lest it should be displeasing to her second husband: occasionally the children would bring out the portrait, and with a rusty foil run “the ugly old man” through the eyes.
Here we have one of the reasons why family portraits are so often thrust aside; but there are several others. The Rev. Mr. Eagles relates the following, in Blackwood’s Magazine: “I remember, when a boy, walking with an elderly gentleman, and passing a broker’s stall, there was the portrait of a fine florid gentleman in regimentals. He stopped to look at it—he might have bought it for a few shillings. After he had gone away—‘That,’ said he, ‘is the portrait of my wife’s great uncle—member for the county, and colonel of militia: you see how he is degraded to these steps.’ ‘Why do you not rescue him?’ said I. ‘Because he left me nothing,’ was the reply. A relative of mine, an old lady, hit upon a happy device; the example is worth following. Her husband was the last of his race, for she had no children. She took all the family portraits out of their frames, rolled up all the pictures, and put them in the coffin with the deceased.”
Sheridan has turned an incident of this class to admirable account, in his School for Scandal, in the reservation of Uncle Oliver’s portrait from sale.
Sometimes a good picture has unpleasant associations. “That is an excellent portrait of Ireland, the Shakspeare forger,” said a collector to a picture-dealer in Wardour-street; whose ready reply was, “Will you buy it, sir? it is but half a guinea.” “No,” answered the other; “it would seem either that I admired Ireland’s dishonest ingenuity, or that I had been his friend.”