it would appear as black and
undistinguishable as ever. The oldest inhabitant of Boston recollected
that his father--in whose days the portrait had not wholly faded out
of sight--had once looked upon it, but would never suffer himself to
be questioned as to the face which was there represented. In
connection with such stories, it was remarkable that over the top of
the frame there were some ragged remnants of black silk, indicating
that a veil had formerly hung down before the picture until the
duskiness of time had so effectually concealed it. But, after all, it
was the most singular part of the affair that so many of the pompous
governors of Massachusetts had allowed the obliterated picture to
remain in the state-chamber of the province-house.

"Some of these fables are really awful," observed Alice Vane, who had
occasionally shuddered as well as smiled while her cousin spoke. "It
would be almost worth while to wipe away the black surface of the
canvas, since the original picture can hardly be so formidable as
those which fancy paints instead of it."

"But would it be possible," inquired her cousin," to restore this dark
picture to its pristine hues?"

"Such arts are known in Italy," said Alice.

The lieutenant-governor had roused himself from his abstracted mood,
and listened with a smile to the conversation of his young relatives.
Yet his voice had something peculiar in its tones when he undertook
the explanation of the mystery.

"I am sorry, Alice, to destroy your faith in the legends of which you
are so fond," remarked he, "but my antiquarian researches have long
since made me acquainted with the subject of this picture--if picture
it can be called--which is no more visible, nor ever will be, than the
face of the long-buried man whom it once represented. It was the
portrait of Edward Randolph, the founder of this house, a person
famous in the history of New England."

"Of that Edward Randolph," exclaimed Captain Lincoln, "who obtained the
repeal of the first provincial charter, under which our forefathers
had enjoyed almost democratic privileges--he that was styled the
arch-enemy of New England, and whose memory is still held in detestation
as the destroyer of our liberties?"

"It was the same Randolph," answered Hutchinson, moving uneasily in
his chair. "It was his lot to taste the bitterness of popular odium."

"Our annals tell us," continued the captain of Castle William, "that
the curse of the peopl