The Manitowoc tribune. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1866-1878, 1874-01-30


I made haste to get out. My efforts
were I'M vaisl-I was locked in. Present.
" the guard came with his key and let
ne out. s.There is trickery here, 1 said
in some heat. ga lady turned the ham
die of your locked door easily enough,
and has been my travelling companion
since midnight,
Impossible % and the guard shrug-
ged his shoulders incredulously. The
key has been in my pocket all the time.
I shook my head, but there was no time
for parley, and without another glimpse
of the fair incog,tatcg [ resumed my Jour-
ney.
Once more IN Dresden, and amidst the
realism of the old familiar life, the mid
night episode of my journey began to
fade into thick of fevered and over
wearied brain. And as [ glanced at the
entry in my note book, L reflected how
completely disordered imagination may
fool a man. At the same time [ resolved
some leisure day to trace out my dream
on canvas but, absorbed in immediate
study, I then postponed my Intention.
Weeks rolled on, and [ went to Berlin to
look up college chum, who was temper
arly located in that city. When got
to his quarters, "Unter den Linden, L
found that some weeks previously he had
been hastily recalled to England, and
another Englishman reignedin his stead.
AS I turned from the door, slightly
chagrined, / encountered the tenant Of
Locksley's rooms, evidently returning
from stroll.
A fine old man of the genuine type of
courtly englishmen, now rarely to be met.
He politely accosted me, and in few
words, / told him of my disappointment.
''Do confer kindness on me, he said,
and stop and dine. I am quite alone,
and it is pleasant to hear ones mother
tongue in this land of strangers. We
exchanged cards, and [ accepted his In
vitation as cordially as it was offered.
By degrees we fell into the most AMIGA
BILE relatians with one another and pre-
sently he told me. with tears III his eyes,
that within the last few weeks he had
been bereft of wife and daughter-all
he had of best and Ioveliest, 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..
Stanley" said my host, paint a por
trait from minute verbal description p
I ,eared not, but would try. On what
not at the other end of the room found
paper and colors, and brought my ma
terials to the tables where we sat over
our vine ''Now, Mr.. st. John, describe
and I will draw" In a hushed voice he
infinitely detailed the items of a face. l
made my sketch. No it was rejected
as unlike. Another-alilze unsuccessful.
A verbal description failed to give my
pencil the power of catching the express
sion Of tie dear familiar face.
s'TheY tell me- said the old man. in
a low, moody tone. as ii he ANONYMOUSLY
| 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.
| Overwhelmed by a bitter tide Of recol-
! L. Ill h,c foOo +
his hands and sank into silence. These
few anguished words, dropping like
blood from a wounded heart, at once
recalled the face of the unknown travel
ing com paniou of my midnight journey
Once more I saw before the pale perfec
face, with sorrowfu eyes and hvie
mark on the left cheek. At last fnlfill
Ell my neglected promise, and, taking
my pencil, / rapidly sketched her por
trait from memory. Silently place.
NY work before Nh. ST. John. cit il
she it is Emmie-my darling, my dar
ling - he cried, and again and again h
kissed the senseless paper Oh which wa
!
dear. 'sYou saw her, then, for no sucl
powerful likeness could otherwise b
produced. You have caught the yer.
ericz of the half-drooping eyelids.'
Eyes, I said, slowly, 81 have see
ler. and, what is more, on the 20tl
night OF January last, ] promised, at he
request, TO paint her portrait from me
moTy. . Good God! Il is impossible
On the 20th of January she died. p" l fel
like a man in a dream. With & Sigh
shiver I recalled the pallor, the chill, th
whiteness Of the face Of my travelin
companion. Was this faithful sketc
the vivid remembrance Of dead face
I took my notebook and showed Mr.. s.
John the entry Promised to paint tn
portrait of lady from memory, this 205
night OF January, is" A deep silenc