The Louisianian. [volume] (New Orleans, La.) 1870-1871, 1871-02-09

SlitS1eu Slct'cos CAuociItso LICK bToisI IedCiltI
fan with instructive care. while her drow-
sy head droops sideways against the
framework of the window, and she sits
there fast asleep The other, q fair-hair-
ed, ehildish-looking girl, leans forward
with smiling mouth and downward
glancing eyes, gazing intently upon the
movements of some parsonage below.
The expression of pleased recognition
and interest on her pretty feature betrays
to the spectator that it is no chance pas
ser-by that has SO attracted her attention,
and imagination readily depicts the Gid
ing gondola and the gallant cavalier on
which she looks. She is in the act Of
dropping from her slender outstretchel
hand spray ofscarlet rose, apparently just
plucked from the plant at her side, o love
gift or signal to the lover beneath In
her fair frivolous face, with its coquettish
yet childish smile and its expression Of
gratitied vanity, we read no tragic story
of real passion, of true though guilty
love. 1t is the face of a weak, vain, heed
hess woman; one who might have been
the le oine of .One ancient Spanish
comedy of cloak and sword, or the Gen.
trail figure Of merry tale like those told
by Boccaccio and Margaret Of Navarro; a
woman beautiful and fascinating, it is
true, with that girlish, child-ike beauty
and seemingly innocent fascination which
possess such wOndrous power to ensnare
the hearts and bewilder the brains of the
wisest of men. but lacking all depth of
feeling, all true nobility of soul.
In the background the scene deepens
into tragedy. The damask window cur
tain has just been swept aside by man
handsome and noble-looking, but no
longer young; a splendidly-attired, dark
browed Venetian, whose deep, passionate
eyes, and frowning brow, and clenched
hand reveal to us the love and jealousy
and revengeful ire Of the betrayed hus-
band, who has learned in that one glance
the story of his wifc's faithlessness and
his own despair. There is more than
anger Or revenge written ON that dark,
stormy face. Love strong and fervent
and sorrow cruel i'll its intensity blend
with the fercer passions and contend
with them for the mastery He has loved
that woman, and his heart in that one
moment of revelation has been made de-
solate. Poor shallow-souled, careless
child dropping her signal-Aowers with
that thoughtless smile, how little she
dreams or has ever thought of the ter
rible retribution which she has herself
dragged down upon her head-of the
stormy desolation she has brought upon
her husbands life.
I think if at the judgment day voice
arises to plead for such women as these,
the words will be those of that diyinest
utterance of the Great Intercessor,
Father, forgive them, for they knew not
what they did !"
I have frequently been told by con-
noisseurs and artists that this picture is
a remarkably fine work of art. It was,
however, neither for the excellence of its
execution nor the dramatic intensity of
the scene therein portrayed that I became
its pOssessor, but for the striking resem-
blance which the features of the golden
hairedgirl bore to once seenthen only for
the first time, but already indeibly
imprinted on my memory-the face
of Maude Pemberton. Tne iikenes
is altogether nm accidental one the
artist had never even seen Miss Penn
berton, but looking in the depths ofhis
soul for the fact of vain, shallow, un-
principled woman, his genius portrayed
for him that girlish, soulless beauty, and
he traced the portrait of my future wife.
I married late in life. was what is
usually termed self-made man that is
to say, Heaven gave me, not genius, but
something better, namely common sense
and I turned the gift to profitable ac-
count. In my early days I was too much
engrossedin the cares and tolls of life to
waste much thought on the softer pas
sions and when at last the goal of my
endeavors was reached and the golden
prize won, I had shaped for myself IN
existence wherein my business by day
and my library in The evening filed ND