THE CURSE OF TYRRELL.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 1413, 6 September 1872, Page 3

THE CURSE OF TYRRELL.

(From Tinsley's. Magazine.) It was down in Devonshire, the county of counties, where the skies are so blue and the pastures so green, and. where, of a truth, coquettish Dame Nature appears ever to don her loveliest garb to please the eye, thafc in the summer of 1871 I located myself for an indefinite period, the brevity or length of which was solely dependent on my inclination, in ono of the prettiest and cosiest of tbose godsends to pedestrian tourists, wayside inns. The inn was quite a gem in its way, presenting a quaint mixture of the picturesque and the eccentric. It was long and low, with all sorts of juttings here and there, that were not meant to afford any especial convenience, as far as pne could perceive, but which were simply vagaries in some builder, who evidently held to the opinion fchat " irregularity is the line of beauty." The walls were of plaster, and the thatched roof sloped with a good deal of decision iv its incline, while chimneysY- top-heavy and rakish- looking, surmounted it. Heavy trails of some hardy parasite, the name of which was beyond the pale of my botanical knowledge, clung to tbe front of the house,. covering it almost from base to summit, and forming thick emerald frames for the square diamond-paned windows ; and from the mass of green tendrils, clusters of pale yellow honeysuckle and white-faced jismine hung out. There was an old porch- too, roughly pufc together; ani within its recess a rude chair, whose wide i arms embraced you with so soothing and , subtle a charm about them, that ifc must ! have been dedicated to the service of the god Morpheus from the hour of its manufacture. The interior of the inn was decidedly dollish in dimensions, but aa bright and clean as a brand new shilling; and a perfect wilderness of homely flowers obtruded their headß into the rooms, and forced the fact of their sweet existence into your very nose. Beißg of Goldsmith's opinion, that 18 Man wants bufc little here below, Nor wants that little long," I was as happy as a king, with my trim and cherry-cheeked hostess adroitly administering to my simple requirements, and with no intruder on my agreeable solitude but the pert Bparrows tbat, with an astonishing hardihood thafc a London Bparrow never attained, hopped familiarly on to my table, and helped themselves uninvited to the stray crumbs. My only companions were my drawing materials. An artist — not amateur, but " very much " professional, seeing that I gained my livelihood by the labour of my bands — my sketch-book was of necessity my vade mecum t and in the lovely locality which I had found there were no lack of glorious bits of landscape such as Turner has perpetuated so well, from luxuriant forest tress and woody heights, down to exquisite little hollows, the beauty of which was worthy of being transmitted to paper by fingers infi nitely more skilful than my owa. Several country seats were in the neighbourhood, that I kept in reserve for later labours, and the principal one of them, a superb and palatial pile, called Tyrrell Cou t. removed about a league from my door, was the show-place of the county. It was on a sultry and cloudless morning, towards the end of the dog days, tbat I stood, not a Peri, but a suppliant, with a portfolk under my arm, at the gate of the court. / medium Bized lodge of gothic architecture was just within it, bufc so imbedded in foliagi that its existence might easily have escapee' uotice. A broad avenue of century-old chest outs led as straight as an arrow up to tin Sreafc mansion, and on either side of tin carriage-road, upon the undulating paatun land, tali trees were grouped together, be oeath whose cool shadow some herds o* .tately deer browsed quietly ; and in mj ricinifcy, a rare sight to a Londoner's eyes, i orace or so of pheasants with glossy plumag- . listurbed by my footfall, started upon thtfing. Knocking geatly at the door of the lodge [ begged permission of the portly dame whe ins wared ray summons to inspect the court I And its vast grounds. My request was granted

at once with an urbane coarteey, -and taking down a great? bunch o£ taya-,. she trotted along by my side. We walked through a formal c ItaKan garden and up the wide steps, thatrwere guarded on either side by huge stone lions couchant, into innumerable saloons thatwere literally piled up with priceless^ articles- of vertirj and hung with rich arras- that was supposed to have belonged to good Queen Elisabeth?; but bestowing only a cursory glance around at the worm-eaten tapestry and faded spidndour, my companion and T proceeded l to the great picture gallery, where the physiognomies of dead Tyrrells for several, generations looked down upon our intrusion, some with smiling lips, and some with sinister brows.Mad upon art, I lingered long and : admiringly over each' good painting, wittf. fche glib prattle of' my cicerone fallings-unheeded on my ears. Suddenly my gaze was caught and arrested by the portraits of two men, that were suspended side by sid6 in heavy gilt frames. The costume of both was -that which used to be worn by the English gentleman in the seventeenth century— the powdered hair, the inevitable queue, and the point lace shirt frills and, rofflfes. Both men were in the prime of ' life, and the faces--re-sembled each other strongly in every feature, but were strangely dissimilar in expression. " Ahi .sir, I see that, like all other visitors to tbe gallery, your notice is attracted by those two pictures," remarked the dame with an air of mystery that at once aroused in me a very keen feeling of curiosity. "Yes," I remarked, "lam struck by the strange likeness and yet extraordinary difference that exists between the- two faces. Brothers, I presume; is there any story connected with those portraits - ?" I" questioned, prepared to listen to some highly-flavoured sensational legend, such as is usually attached to some one particular picture in every show gallery; a concoction invented for the edification of some mysteryloving tourist, and to elicit an extra douceur for the narrator. I recollect once,. when visiting the church of San Giovanni afc Malta, ,tbe guide relating the history of the buried knights, amounting to three pages of catalogue, in the space of ten minutes, without a single stop*. and- all for the sum of a quarter of 'a dollar*My unworthy scepticism in. the ■ Terrell gallery was, however,, slightly damped, .as, glancing furtively at the lodge-keeper*. I could not help perceivingpthathepappearance was infinitely superior to her station., in life, and not in the very least after the type of the ordinary run of bear-leaders. " Those likenesses are of Rupert and Aif Tyrrell, the only sons of that Tyrrell whose portrait hangs just above;"' and' she pointed to a countenance with handsome • massive features enframed in long white bair that flowed over a courtier's ruby velvet- doublet. '•There was bufc two years' difference in -their ;age,but a vast differences in theifidispositions and tempers. According to the family annals, Rupert was- of a gentle- and yielding spirit, and mild in manner and language; but Aif was a very devil— at . least so say the family annals," she added- apologetically, fancying without doubt tba&. the forcible expression she had used might, surprise me. " And he looks like one," 1 answered; reassuringly, Yw-hile tlio otbsc has the face of an angeL"- --" Well, sir, as you are aware,. iu the olden I days the gentry were more given, to outdoor sports than they are now; and those two f brothers loved hunting and; shooting and 1 fishing, and passed thzee parts of their lives iv such pursuits. One day, when- they were 'returning hot and weary after many hours spent in violent exercise, they met an old gipsy crone, unsightly and withered both in iface and form. " * Cross my palm with a little bit of silver, and Lwill tell 4hee thy fortune^ my fair gentleman,' she cried in whining accents to Rupert; and he, with the genial smile and pleasant way that he always had with him, gave her a shining coin,, and placed his white patrician hand in her tawny and shaking grasp. II The woman surveyed the line 3 that tra- , versed it for a minute or so, and then she looked up into his bright blue eyes and marked the winsome curve oJ his mouth. She let drop his hand, while a dark shade passed over her furrowed brow, but Bhe never uttered a single word. " ' s Tis a vile old impostor !' exclaimed Aif, impatient to go on hia way. « A fool and his money arc soon parted, they say; and* Rupert, you do not deserve the heritage of our rich coffers when you throw away even a paltry piece on suoh a horrible type of humanity as that ! By my father's beard, she should be strangled at once, or burnt for a witch !' , . .. . '• The old gipsy glared round on him as he gave breath to his taunts, while her deepsunken eyes gleamed with fire, like lights in the head of a skeleton. " * No vile impostor or witch, bui a truthful seer of fortunes; and, to prove it, I'll tell you youi fate, young sir. Would that thia pretty gentleman's life was aot entwined with yours,' she added in a plaintive tone as she cast a pitying look towards Rupert. Then in a trice her voice changed, and seizing Aif 's hand before he could move away, ehe hissed out — « * List ye to the Tyrrell curse: If two brothers ever nurse Love for the same maiden, One brother in his prime shall die; The other on his bed shall lie, With pain and misery laden.' and flinging away his palm with vehemence,, she hobbled out'of sight as quickly as h«j tottering limbs could carry her. "Rupert and Aif, with pallid cheeky glanced at each other as the evil prophecy net their ears. Neither spoke, bat in th% heart of each rose up the memory of a name, * name that both loved— that of '• Gwendoline.' " ' ' "'■ ' (To b« continued.)