Iowa voter. [volume] (Knoxville, Iowa) 1867-1874, 1873-10-09

his shoulders incredulously. The key had
been in his pocket all the time. shook
my head, but there was no time for parley,
and without another glimpse of the fair
incOgnitd resumed my journey.
Once more in Dresden, and amidst the
realism of the old familiar life, the mid
night episode Of my journey began to fade
into q trick of fevered and over-wearied
brain. And as glanced at the entry in
my note. book, l reflected how completely
a disordered Imagination may fool man.
At the same time l resolved some leisure
day to trace out my dream on canvas;
but, absorbed in immediate study, | then
postponed my intention. Weeks rolled
on, and went to Berlin to look up col
lege chum, who was temporarily located
in that city. When got to his quarters,
Inter der Linden, found that some weeks
previously he had been hastily recalled to
England. and another Englishman e:gned
in his stead. AS | turned from the door,
slightly chagrined, encountered the ten
ant of Locksley's rooms, evidently return
ing from a stroll.
A fine old man of the genuine type of
courtly Englishman, now rarely to be
met. He politely accOsted me, and in
few words told him of my disappoint-
ment. "Do confer kindness on me-" he
said, 'and stop and dine. l am quite
alone, and it is pleasant to hear ones
mother tongue in this land of strangers"
We exchanged cards, and l accepted his
invitation as cordially as it was offered.
By degrees we fell into the most amicable
relations with one another; and presently
he told me, with tears in his eyes, that
within the last few weeks he had been be-
reft of wife and daughter-all he had of
best and loveliest, and was quite alone.
Then strove to turn his sad thoughts
into another channel, and by and by we
fell into art talk. could you, Mr.. STAN
ley" said my host, "paint portrait from
a minute verbal descriptions" l feared
not, but would try. On whatnot at the
other end of the room found paper and
colors, and brought my materials to the
table where we sat over our wine. "Now,
Mr.. st. John, describe and will draw"
In hushed voice he infinitely detailed
the items of face. made my sketch.
No; it was rejected as unlike. Another
alike unsuccessful. A verbal d scrip
ton failed to give my pencil the power of
catching the expression of the dear famil-
lar face.
"They tell me-" said the old man, in
low, moody tone, as if he unconsciously
thought aloud-"they tell me that at the
last she bore the mark Of cruel blow on
her cheek. She, my tender, one eve lamb,
that / was fain to shelter in my bosom
from every rough wind that blew" Over
whelmed by bitter tide of recollection,
the old man covered his face with his
hands and sank into silence. These few
anguished words, dropping like blood
from wounded heart, at once re-
called the face of the unknown trav-
cling companion of my midnight
Journey Once more saw before me the
pale, perfect face, with scrrowful eyes and
livid mark on the left cheek. At last |
fulfilled my neglected promise, and, TAX
ing my pencil, rapidly sketched her por-
trait from memory Silently placed my
work before Mr.. St. John. at is she! it is
Emmie-my darling, my darlingW he
cried, and again and again he kissed the
senseless paper on which was traced the
lineaments of one who was very dear.
"You have seen her, then, for no such
powerful likeness could otherwise be pro-
duced. You have caught the very trick
of the halfdrooped eyelids."
EYES," l said, slowly, II have seen her.
And, what is more, on the Goth night of
January last, | promised, at her request,
to paint her portrait from memory"
Good God! 1t is impossible. On the
Goth of January she died" l felt like a
man in dream With slight SILVER
recalled the pallor the chill, the white
ness of the face of my travelling compan
ion. Was this faithful sketch the vivid
remembrance of dead faceg l took out
my note book and showed Mr.. st. John
the entry-"Promised to paint the por-
trait of lady from memory, this Goth
night of January, 1S-." A deep silence
brooded over us. AS soon as possible l
made my adieu. returned to Dresden,
and, once more in my studio, / fastened
to paint full-length portrait of the mys-
terous presence that haunted me day and
night. | should get rid OF it that way.
At the rapid rate / worked, the pic
ture was seon completed. / threw
all the cunning of hand and brain
into the task, and my knowl-
edge of art told me that my labor had not
been in vain. In each detail / painted
the picture as had last seen my mysteri
Gus sitter, save that in this portrait no I'M
lovely scar marred the delicate oval Of the
cheek. Anxious to see it placed in Mr..
st. Johns possession, had it carefully
packed, and myself took 1t to Berlin.
was fortunate to find the old man at home,
and as begged his acceptance of the
work of my pencil, his cordial satisfac.
ton more than repaid me for the toll of
of the last few weeks.
81 think it is due to you, Mr.. Stanley"
he said sthat you should know something
of the history of the lady whose portrait
you have so admirably painted, and under
circumstances so peculiar" 1t cost him
an evident effort to say these words, and
begged him to spare himself recital that
felt must be painful, but he persisted in
giving me the following rapid life-sketch:
Emmie was our only child, and the
fondest love of our hearts twined about
her. During an autumn's wandering on
the Continent we met Baron Wolfstein-
gay, young, handsome, and knowing well
how best to vile away woman's heart,
he won our Emmie's love. And we, who
loved her better than we loved ourselves,
gave her up, although we knew that in
the very act we tore down our life's joy
with our own hands. Well, her lover was
of good birth, rich, of excellent reputa-
ton. and as devoted to Emmie as she was
to him. And for her sake we plucked
our one sweet English rose from the