The mountain Democrat., 1863-01-10
LOVE AMONG THE LILIES.

far.of country, from which the towns
every canal, lock, street, wall and rampant
combined to sunder her. By aid Of men,
ory, scrap sketches made on hurried visits
beyond the gates, and cut flowers sicken-
ing and dying as she drew them, the pale,
earnest looking lady worked on. With
quite lily's whiteness in her face, and
fair waving hair, that seemed sprinkled
xith the gold dust from, eAc 10 - "a :
pushed back carelessly, so as not to him
der her, and in sober dark woOIlen dress,
only relieved by the large plated muslin
ruff collar, Maria bent her little fragile
figure before her easel; poring over one of
those small cabinet paintings whose trans
parent color, refined taste and delicate
mechanism shall make them, years and
years after thou art dust, Maria Won Oos-
terwyck, cherished possessions even in
the choicest collections.
She loved her flowers; she loved her art;
fUt these she was -cOnteEt o'sPend her
life: it was no toll, at least it was q toll
free from irksomeness, and full Of joy, to
be true to such love as this. Over her
canvas, the flowers at her side, studying
the wondrous variety of their hues, ira
cling their every exquisite curve, and
change, and diversity, till she could al
most deem that in their marvellous sepa-
rate loveliness dwelt an individual soul,
Maria could we'll forget the glOOmy sur.
roundings Of her studio. Il was not
pleasant abode for an artist, and least Of
all for flower artist That murky shad-
ow on the wall is the reflection flung there
by the sun, sinking in Dutch fog, Of the
church tower which shelters the remains
Of William Prince Of Orange, murdered
close by on a summers day IN 1854, by
! Balthazar Gerard the Burgundian /; that
mist upon the window rises from the mar
row Stagnant poisonous canal below; that
smoke beating away in circling clouds,
comes from the pottery manufactures
for are We not just midway in the seven
tcenth century-and must not the great
demand for Delft earthenware be met in
thorough commercial spirit? True, there
are trees edging the canals; but no won
der they have lost all charms for Maria
no wonder she can look upon them with
eyes Of pity only; they are trimmed, and
cut, and Clp1ed into fanciEul shapes, in
cxecrabc Dutch taste! HcartlesS mutt
lstion Of natural lovellness; one might as
we'll look for human beauty in a soldiers
| hospital after battle.
! Through the mist, through the smoke
and the shadow, and over the trees. there
were eyes searching out the light form of
Maria Won Oosterwyck in her studio; and
thcse-gay, bright, pleasant looking eyes
-, 81 oc
helm Won Aalst, painter also, and dcni.
zen Of Delft, whose studio is exactly op-
posite to Mariu'S, on the other side Of the
street.
/ lie has set up his easel. and has work
before him-a clever enough artist, paint
ing stilllife subjects dexterously, and in
good rcpute for his dead game, scraps OF
armor, and gold and silver cups. But not
4 very Scdulous worker; unable to devote
himself to his labors, unable to forget
as the genuine student ever d0es-that
there is world going on outside his stu
dio walls. Half dozen touches, and he
looks out Of the window, down the street
towards the market place, or over the way
at Maria; then another few touches, and
look in the glass at his own handsome
face, and a twirling Of his moustache, a
/ pulling at his beard, or tossing about Of
his long thick chesnut locks. lie makes
up his mind at last; and perhaps be hasn't
much to operate upon, for that matter.
He filings away his pallet and brushes, ar
rays himself in handsome velvet doublet,
dOns a hat and feather, buckles on his
| rapier, and struts from bis studio. No
more work for to-day.
lie will pay visits; it is really quite q
long time since he has seen his friends
twelve hours or more. He will call on
Maria Won Oosterwyck, and see how her
lilies arc getting on. and then he will dine
well, perhaps at the Golden Calf round
the corner, and may finish the evening
there.
Absorbed in her lilies, her thin white
hand supported BY her mahl stick, with
the smHtieSt, finest brush ever seen, def.
ming hair-lines OF light upon the outer
rims Of the flowers, Maria heard not the
knock at her door--heard not the step
upon the tioor-knew not that any one
had entered the rOom--waS lost to eli but
her art, until hand was laid gently upon
her beautiful arm, and voice murmured,
accenting tenderly:
Incompatible Mariap
She started up with quite little scream,
palcr than ever, and her soft blue eyes
open wide with alarm, like flowers beaten
by storm. She was lovely specimen
Of the thorough blonde, 6axen even to
eyebrows aud eyelAshes-a very human
lily herself SO pure, and delicate aud Iowa
BILE looking.
You frightened me, Wilhelm,' she said,
her 6rst surprise . little passed Of, and
with just the slightest tone Of reproval
traceable in her voice. She was about to
give her hand with the brush in it, but
glance at Wilhelm's gay doublet, and the
thought of however SO small a streak of
cream white would soil it, caused her to
hesitate.
Enthusiast = Wilhelm went ou-'devo-
tee you have no thought but for this =
and he pointed to the panel on the easel.
is it fault 2 she asked.
mo; but it is q reprOach to the less de-
vout.'
TO yourself, then? Wilhelm, when
will you work! When will you cleave to
your easel, and be 10th and sick at heart
to leave it? So you have quilted work
for to-day, and there remain five more
good hours of daylight =
Wilhelm blushed. He was q little
crest fallen at his reception. Had the blue
velvet and the silver edging SO small ef
feet as this?
4 have nearly finished the picture of
the dead falcon and the jewelcd goblet,
said he.
Maria shook her head sorrowingly.
You have not finished as you should