The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1871-01-18
MY ONLY ROMANCE.

square. have endeared themselves to the
other inmates as they have to me. Every
stone in them, from doorstep to pinnacle, is
precious to me. Every breath of air that
stirs the ivy leaves, clinging with an aim ost
human devotion to the ancient gray sides
and twining tenderly round the little Gothic
windows, seems to murmur q fresh, sweet
song to my ears.
/ admired it first as boy, when / used to
90 there for daily lessons, and standing on
the sidewalk, would look up to the roof, try
ing to fancy how long the old pile would
stand there after l was dead, and after others
who should follow me were dead also. When
the other streets about the deserted square
should awake into busy life, eclfoing to the
tread of hurrying feet, and the fine old resi-
dences be turned into gay shops, or be torn
down, to make room for rows of costlier and
more commodious storehouses, would it
stand there still, wrapped in impenetrable
dulness, quietude, and reposeP
You see my liking for the place grew with
my growth and strengthened with my
strength. Therefore, it was quite natural on
reaching mans estate-the estate, in my
case, consisted of much-bedaubed pallet, q
few brushes, and quantity of canvas-and,
deciding to make landscape painting my pro-
fession, that, looking about for a shelter for
my, as yet, fameless head, my thoughts
should fix upon the roof which, in
my curly pate while listening to
the dresry old professor endeavoring, With
praiseworthy diligence, to instil into my un-
appreoiative brain the elements of Latin and
Greek. In two days after the idea entered
my head, / was established with all my
worldly possessions-a small trunk and an
easel-in delightfully."- musty, dark old
room full of the weird charm that hangs
over and penetrates even the very stones of
the outer walls
Another reason why love the sombre and
antiquated place 1 haven't mentioned yet.
There my little romance, the one romance of
my life, began, continued, but will not end.
had lived an uneventful bachelor-life in
the building for more than two years, vaga-
bondizing during the warm months among
the mountains, and along the coast with
q few brother artists; and working hard
in winter filling out, copying, altering, aud
improving the summer sketches with which
my portfolio was always laden to overflow
ing.
One evening at dusk, late in October, had
returned from days trip to the country. L
had had last lock at the magnificent wealth
of scarlet, and orange, and crimson, and green
glory of the woods, where every leaf had
danced and played, infiltrated through and
through with the warm drops of golden light
the sun was showering down. An autumn,
picture was on my easel, and I felt that, for a
day at least, must steep my senses in the
Intoxicating mystery of color before 1 could
venture to add the last touches and pronounce
it done.
bade the janitor's wife good evening, took
my key of the nail in her small sitting room,
and started to go up stairs, when met with a
great surprise. Not at all disagreeable sur
prise, for it wore a soft, gray dress, a thick
shawl, O round hat with a veil thrown back
over the crown, and was toiling up the long
staircase with couple of bundles of wood in
one hand, and tin pail in the other.
Numerous brown-paper bundles protruded
in all directions from under its round arms,
or rather what Immediately fancied were its
round arms. A woman in that place was
such a rare vision that was impelled to fol-
low her, and raising my hat to say:-'T beg
pardon, madam; pray allow me to assist
you." ma
Two large, startled eyes looked Up into
mine as l spoke and then, seeming reas-
sured, a sweet, modulated voice answered:
''Thank you, sir; will accept your kind offer,
for am continually stepping on my dress;
and, at this rate, I shall never reach my
room"
"Your room!" I involuntarily exclaimed,
as took the pail and bundles of wood. 1t
was O very odd idea that a lady should have a
room in that out-of- -the-way place.
Eyes, my room" she said. II live in
number twenty-eight, north corridor, third
floor. My brother was too i'll to 60 out to-
night, SO I am going to get tea for us there"
''Then we are neighbors; my room is num-
bertwenty-seven, same corridor, remarked,
more and more mystifed.
'Oh!" she exclaimed; 'then you are the
gentleman whose picture old Margaret praises
30 highly"
Indeed, said, laughing, 81 had no idea
cur good janitress admired my poor work.
oil
the artists in the building. But here we are
at my door. If you will excuse me while 1
step in and put these bundles down, won't
detain you moment longer"
I heard a weak and tremulous call inside
the -"Gervaise, is that you, dear 1t
seems" in half -querulous tone, "a long
time since you went out.
Poor BERTHE, the sweet voice / already
knew replied, 81 was just as quick as l could
be, darling. Ill try not to be so long another
time"
Then, as she opened the door wider to take
her things from me, the light poured out, and
she cried, "Oh, oh, oh, how beautiful! /" as
she looked at a great bunch of gorgeous
leaves held, and which she had not observed
In the dim halls.
'Please step in one moment, and show
them to my brother. BERTHE, this is Mr..
Churchill, our next door neighbor, who has
very kindly helped me to bring up my pack
ages" Then, turning to me, she said:-'You
see, sir, we know your name very well. This
is my brother, Mr.. Dale.
"And hope you will know me, as you do
my name, very well, some time" answered
bowing to the sick man in the armchair.
81 have been out in the woods all day, filling
my brain and being with the marvellous
beauty of the season; and have, as usual,
brought home twice as many branches as
mad. for ooTIld not laave than, hah;oa 4