Percival's Picture Gallery

"NO, Sir, no; the doctor gives no hope that the poor young gentleman will ever walk again; and as for life, the doctor says that it may be a matter of months, or perhaps of years. But Mr. Percival is going down to the grave sure and certain; and he knows that himself."

Such was the sad reply given by his landlady, to my enquiries regarding my old schoolfellow, when I called at his lodging in London. I had been absent on the Continent for six weeks in the long vacation. A painful malady in his knee had prevented Percival's being, as we had both hoped, my travelling companion; and it was no small disappointment to us both when he had to be left behind.

How we had looked forward to a visit to Italy, to luxuriate amongst the treasures of art; which Percival's cultivated taste and knowledge of painting, would enable him so thoroughly to appreciate! I had however felt no serious anxiety regarding my friend; his letters had been cheerful, and contained little allusion to the state of his health. It was therefore with a shock of surprise that I heard that Percival was now a hopeless invalid, unable to rise from the couch on which he had suffered so long.