The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1880-03-04

WlIn Jne eyes OF ]eaOuS lover. ina
night and the next day seemed intermi
nable to him and long before the ap
pointed hour he was in the glade.
He worked alone, and when the young
girl arrived, little late ALREADY play
ing the coquette-she was quite sur
prised.
Is it really myself" she said. evil
you give it to me?"
mo, I will make you a little one fol
yourself"
And that one, what will you do with
itY
"It will 60 to Paris; it will be put in
large frame; it will be hung in q
beautiful gallery, and every one will
come and look at it,"
Ahl yes, l know; In the exhibition
Have you heard OF the exhibition9 p
"There are gentlemen painters here
who work for the exhibition, as they
say, but they never took my portrait
Daylight was fading gently; Maurice
found as on the preceding evening, the
exquisite soft tints which had SC
charmed him, and his work advanced 9
hundred cubits toward posterity.
He saw her again several times be.
meath the checkered daylight of his i'm.
provised studio, and he took pleasure in
making this work his best one. Already
celebrated, he mad no need to make him.
elf a lame, and yet he was sure that
thls picture would put the seal to his re-
nown,
By the time he was quite satisfied
with 1t winter had come, and Maurice
loved his little model. He loved her
too much to tell her so, too much to
sully this field flower whom he could
not make his wife, but enough to suffer
at tho thought of leaving her. She had
none of those qualities which secure the
happiness of life; neither the depth
OF leeling nor the devotion which causes
us to forget everything; che was pretty
field flower, little vain, little co,
quettlsh, with no great faults nor vet
great virtues. Maurice knew that She
was not for him, and vet scarcely dc.
veloped, and which her home spun gown
chastely EMBODIED without Disgusting.
lie loved the deep eyes, the laughing
mouth, the fair hair that was always in
disorder, the little handkerchief lied
across her bresst-he loved it all, and it
was with reluctance that he went away.
We always go away with reluctance
when we have nothing to hope for ON our
return. 1t is so hard to leave behind
bit of ones life of which nothing is to
remain.
He carried away his picture, however,
and it was before it that he passed his
happiest hours that winter, always per-
fecting work that was already perfect.
The picture was admired. The critics,
who were unanimous in their enthu-
siasm, declared that such faces could
not exist, excepting in the brain of a
poet or the Imagination of painter
Maurice listened, smiling, and kept for
himself the secret of the sweet face that
had inspired him. He received bril-
liant offers for his picture; never had so
high price been offered for any of his
works but he refused, and he refused
also to allow it to be copied. Since he
was never to possess anything of his
model but her Likeness, he intended
that that should be his alone.
Autumn was drawing near when he
returned to the village. Twice had the
fires of st. John seen the whirls of the
merry dance since he had painted the
portrait, and when he thought of the
young girl, it was with smile that was
something sad, as he asked himself on
which of the village rustics she fixed her
choice.
His first pilgrimage on arriving was
to the forest of chestnut trees; at the
fall of day--night comes quickly at the
beginning of Octnbcr--he wandered
down the long path; but it was no longer
dark :; it was traversed by an amber sun.
beam, which seemed to nave fastened
itself on everyone of the leaves which
qulvered on the brat ches or cracked
beneath his feet,
The odor of the dead leaves brought
to him whole world of regrets. OF re-
membranes of bitterness, stirring up
within him an unspeakable sadness, and
more complete disgust with everything
that he had sought up to that time.
When he had reached the glade he sat
down on the spot where eighteen
months before he had made the sketch
which had since crowned his renown.
The cold stone seemed to laugh at him
ironically for all that he had suffered.
A peasant girl--a coquette--a matter
of great consequence surely.
"She would have loved me had |
chosen. Many others have loved
painters, and have followed them to
Paris, and then have disappeared in
the scum of the great city without load
ing with chains the one who had initi-
ated them into the mysteries of art and
intellectual life. He is fOCl
who sacrifices to chimeras the real goods
of this world; the love of beautiful
girl, the glory which talent gives, the
fortune which success brings"
While he was thus denying the gods
of his youth, he saw coming towards
him, in the well-kDown path, the young
girl of other days, who had grown UP,
who had become woman in one word.
She was not alone; rustic was walking
beside her, holding her by the little
finger; a fine fellow, for that matter.
strong and well made, and richly
dressed for peasant. He bent towards
her, and from time to time wiped away
with his lips a tear from the young
girls cheek.
On seeing Maurice they stopped, con-
fused and surprised.
"And it was for this" thought he,
that I respected this flower"
And he was thinking with contempt.
uous pity of his folly when the young
girl addressed him: ..
"They will not let us marry, sir"
said she, her voice broken with sobs,
" am poor; he has some property, and
his mother will not have me for daugh-
She talks of disinheriting
him