The Douglas independent. [volume] (Roseburg, Or.) 187?-1885, 1879-05-31

playing on the Schlossberg, one, little
girl OF perhaps seven years, impressed me
particularly. Her face was one of the
swsetest had ever seen, with soft, dark
brown eyes shining under q mist of
tangled golden hair, which lay on her
shoulders in lose curls, like yellow silk.
Her little brown feet were almost hidden
in clattering wooden shoes, and an occa-
sional rent in the coarse petticoat she
wore showed glimpses of delicate white
skin.
Her blue apron, full of grass, afforded q
tempting meal to one of the red-saddled
donkeys that bear visitors up to Heidel-
berg Castle.
She glanced at me as passed, and at
thatinstant looked at my ideal of the little
flower girl wished to plant
She was called Lottchen, and her mother
lived where the cactus was blooming
in the window, higher up the hill.
1t was soon arranged Lottchen's over
worked mother was too glad of the few
guldens SO easily earned, and l retraced
my steps to my studio to wait my little
model.
In haitian hour she came but what a
change had come over the little sprite
had seen on the hill.
Her picturesque dress was replaced by a
gaudy-Ggured stuff, apparently belonging
to an older sister string of hideous
beads marred her pretty neck, and, worst
of all, her silken hair, the wild disorder
of which / had so admired, was oiled and
tortured into two stiff plaits.
i could see that Lottchen was grieyed
and astonished that her brilliant costume
did not meet with my approval but
when told her to 60 home and put on
her old dress, she went without a
word.
over my picture, but my thoughts refused
to dwell on the little flower girl.
They wandered back-far back-to a
time when was happy with youths first
flush of hope and love.
What was 1t about that child's face that
had brought back again the romance of
my life.
My eye wandered to the most tasteful
nook in my studio kind of shrine to
picture whose face was turned to the
wall
never could work with that face look
ing at me 1t set my thoughts astray.
was poor and struggling, and could i'll
afford to lose time in idle reyeries but to-
day was reckless.
turned the picture and gazed, till !
forgot everything else, on fair face, with
deep, dark eyes looking at me over one
white shoulder.
Clara, my one darling1' rose TO my
lips for the thousandth time, and died
there.
1t was such folly to cherish still the
memory of one who had been for years
| the wife of another.
Perhaps her father was right in forbid
ding the union of his beautiful daughter
| with an enthusiastic young artist, whose
name and fortuuelwere all in the future.
And they were in the future still, while
Friedrich Hartmann, was drifting on to.
ward middle age.
/ How the wrinkles were beginning tc
show in my forehead could see them
1 even in the mirror across the room ane
was there always such melancholy lool
/ in my eyes? Some one called them brigh
and roguish once. My hair was more un
kempt-looking than that of most men
| Perhaps the boys in the street were righ
| in calling me sTow-haired Fritz"
| wondered if they would be more respect
full when the silver hairs began to show
! And then my ciothes-how shabb,
| they were growing !-but nobody carett
now how looked.
There was look in Clara's face tha
vaguely recalled the little peasan
child.
Short steps sounded on the gravel out
| side, and turned my picture back to it
quiet hiding. place.
/ Lottchen was all the one could wisl
as a model; her expression as she locke,
no beseechingly, with little bunch O
| flowers in one brown hand, was perfect.
| / was called out during one sitting, an,
IL r Al 4
had fallen asleep.. with her head restin
on her folded arms. and her basket q
flowers overturned at her feet.
This attitude suggested pendant
painted long after, to the picture whicl
so strangely turned nv fortunes into
hammer channel.
| All last nv work was finished ther
were two Lottchens now within stone
throw of the castle.
/ dismissed the living one with muel
regret and the one on canvas soon afte
went to try its fortune in larger city.
| For long time had no word Of m
little picture, and began to think it wa
another added to my long list of disar
pointments, when one day ! heard
lady had bought my flower girl, Civ
ing for it sum which seemed to me fabu
lous.
The letter stated further that this lad
was particularly anxious to know th
artist, in order to ask a question abou
the picture.
The name of my benefactress wa
i Mainwaring. This was all | discovere
for many weeks, although sent my nam
and address.
/ Considerably encouraged by the sale Q
my last effort, began new picture
glimpse from my studio-window, tn
main tower of the castle showing boldl.
against the summer sky, with bit OF tn
Neckar, spanned by its quaint old bridge
winding peacefully below.
/ was working vigorously one afternoon
feeling almost like my old cheerful sell
when card was handed to me.
A lady, Mrs. Mainwaring, was waitin
in my modest little eption-room. Th'
name was very familiar, us my purchas
ers were so few.
A tall, graceful figure in deep mourning
rose to greet me as entered the room.
Have you forgotten an old friend, Mr.
Hartmann 2" she asked, raising he
| VEIL
Good heavens! it was Clara. But oh
how pale and sad she looked!
Her mournful expressisn helped me t,
control my feelings more than anythin,
else could have done.
| She said that after hearin0 NV nam