gentleman. "Never!" replied the Baronet, with a pensive shake of the
head: "I never saw him again." "And pray what has all this to do with
the picture?" inquired the old gentleman with the nose--"True!" said
the questioner--"Is it the portrait of this crack-brained Italian?"
"No!" said the Baronet drily, not half liking the appellation given to
his hero; "but this picture was inclosed in the parcel he left with me.
The sealed packet contained its explanation. There was a request on the
outside that I would not open it until six months had elapsed. I kept
my promise, in spite of my curiosity. I have a translation of it by me,
and had meant to read it, by way of accounting for the mystery of the
chamber, but I fear I have already detained the company too long."

Here there was a general wish expressed to have the manuscript read;
particularly on the part of the inquisitive gentleman. So the worthy
Baronet drew out a fairly written manuscript, and wiping his
spectacles, read aloud the following story:




THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN.


I was born at Naples. My parents, though of noble rank, were limited in
fortune, or rather my father was ostentatious beyond his means, and
expended so much in his palace, his equipage, and his retinue, that he
was continually straitened in his pecuniary circumstances. I was a
younger son, and looked upon with indifference by my father, who, from
a principle of family pride, wished to leave all his property to my
elder brother.