The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1867-08-22
KENOSHA WISCONSIN, THURSDAY AUGUST 49, 1867.

ElzsSSS,sS
ridiculous past. All my vague romanti
passions encircled her, and loved her like
we'll, like an artist who is young and poo
4 will love-
| And | could not help treasuring that pal
cite for the sake of our happy days, and il
memory of that one sad look which cam
into her eyes and voice at parting. Did sh
really regret her choice? Could she hav
been unduly Influenced? Had she any choic
in the matter?
Many long year afterwards, when haC
made my mark and got beyond Tandy, til,
dealer (perhaps you remember his place be
hind the HaymarketD young lady called
upon me. There was a dark old Indian
woman with her, who courtesied very
low, "
''Mr. Westwood, l believe, said tn,
young lady, fine well-grown woman o
about twenty, and dressed in deep mourn
ing. ,.s..aa.z
yes" said offering a seat. ea, oj q
"My name IS Howard, !" she said. 81 have
recently arrived from Bombay" lg.a
l felt my heart beating strangely, and The
blood rushing into my stupid old face.
could see the likeness to Edith; it was par
ticularly noticeable in the full grey eyes.
"My mother said was to tell you. -
SIS sue still living l ventured to ask fol
the suspense was awful at..,
The girl shook her head, and the tears
came into her eyes as she said, II am an or
phan." AWn 5H
Something brought the little palette to
my mind, and its poor faded patches of col
or, and think there were tears in my own
eyes too. e.
Il was to give you this packet and tell
you that was christened Edith West
wood."t #e3 e..st
''God bless you !" l exclaimed and she
came and nestled in the trembling old arms
which stretched towards her.
She knew the story of my life. - aa,."
Edith Viner had really loved the poor
painter. GLOW all the sunshine Of the
Northern city came back to me in mo-
ment y But she bad been engaged to Cap
taid Howard before she saw me-engaged
almost from childhood, and their hands had
been joined at her fathers bedside when he
lay dying.
She had steeled her heart to her fate; but
whilst she was free, my society had fas-
cination for her which she could not over
come. At last she strove to make me hate
her; and that mornings encounter, when
last | saw her, was to give the final blow to
my liking. She nearly broke her heart in
dealing it, but the die was cast Z
True to her last words, she had never
painted again. Alas! she, too, had known
no happiness. Her husband, CLEANED af-
forwards, in quiet interviews with the daugh-
ter, was a gay, selfish fellow, who met with
a dishonorable death
So our two lives were bIighted; and now
you understand what big sorrow it was
which had been doing battle with by hard
work. And if you like to call me a Tilted
old bachelor. you may; but still cling to
that petit palette, and the memories that
surround it. C TE
In the hands of fate we were all as much
puppets as were those absurd wax figures
in the hands of Miss links, whose idols
fell into the possession of her deadliest
foes.
Edith Westwood Howard was my ward,
bless her heart And she appeared like all
angel at my Preside for few short months.
She is Mrs. Lloyd Craven now, and moth
er, too; and her children call me great
grandpa in fun, and laugh at my wheel
chair, and call it great grandpa's perambuIa-
tor
Have not the ridiculous and the sublime
been strangely mixed up in my life? Last
night dreamt was ono of the Tick street
puppets, very white and very cold, with an
old palette by my side with faded spots of
yellow and red and brown upon it. And
when | awoke | was sitting in my perambu.
lator, as the children callit, with several
people round me and somebody said, 'He
is very old man" and another said, ''Ah,
he'll never paint any more.
And then was in the Northern city again,
where she said she would never paint again.
1t seemed as if memory was kind to me, and
| got up and went to my room, and asked
for her palette; and there sit in the even
ings, and smoke and chat with Lloyd Cra-
ven, who is at the top of the tree, they say.
He is engaged on great picture now, call.
ed Evening There is a bit of shining
river in it, AN old man, gray cathedral tow
er among some trees, and the sun is setting
in the west. 1t is pleasant to talk to Craven
about the twilight and the evening, and
want him to paint an unused palette by the
side of the old man, and an easel with half
finished picture upon it; then Edith, his
wife, peeps in and laughs at u.s. and we
nod at her and go on smoking; and SO the
evening passes, and the long dark night
comes on.