The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1882-04-13
MISS WILDROsE.

Miss Wildrose was very young when
she made her earliest literary venture.
1t was in a long poem, of such scope
and nature that at first no one was dis
posed to believe it could be the work of
a girl not yet t-venty. But she had made
no affectation of Disgusting herself un-
der silence or with a pseudonym, and
the rector of the parish had heard por-
tions of 1.-The Song of the Morning
Stars" before its completiOn; and when
this was known, and the first poem was
followed by another and yet another
kindred to it, the doubters were silenced,
and Miss Wildrose took her place among
the poets-on the bench with Milton
thought her family and friends; on the
humblest footstool of all Miss Wildrose
herself thought She was content to be
the lowest there; only to be in the glori-
Gus company at all was was quite enough
for her.
OF course the work was criticised.
This great critic counted the number of
Saxon derivatives on page, and honor
ed or dishonored her according to his
sum total, and that one weighed her
RHYMES in the hair balance under glass
lIlcil Is ScIlSlllhC W oOuAu VI IllC 1Stli-
ing snowflake. and the other found a
real mares nest of delight in lame
foot of the blank verse. But the people
liked the little books, and the popular
acknowledgment was such that Miss
Wildrose's head might have been turned
if her art had been less a matter of mo-
ment with her, or if just at that time she
had not met Raphael Stuart and loved
him almost on the meeting.
She had always lived in the village.
He came to her like being not only of
the outside world, but of the world of
art in which her dreams and fancieS
lay. For he was a painter of more than
common promise if not yet of absolute
performance, and if poor as the tradi-
tional painter is, yet with too much love
of the colors and harmonies and shapes
of nature that belong to all who can sec
them to sigh for those heavier luxuries
that belong only to the few. In time he
would like them too, but just now he
had youth, art and love. What more
could he wish?
Like most young artists, Europe was
his goal, if ever he could sell enough
sketches to warrant his departure. And
now, since coming to the village, he had
doubled the distance between him and
this goal; for how was he going without
Miss Wildrose? and in order to take q
wife with him he would have to make
twice as many sales rs he had counted
on before. Miss Wildrose's little in
come from her books would not go a
great way in their mutual purse, for the
sale of the best liked verses is not mir
aculous draught,. and she had really
worn out various copies of her books in
the service of borrowers not buyers.
Moreover, as Mrs. Stuart, she could hard
ly make herway with the same expense
less simplicity as when only Miss Wild
rose. Plainly old age was likely to
creep upon them both before they could
venture to let their lives become one
and make their vision of those old streets
and galleries, those summer seas and
glacier tops, thing of real life.
This, however, did not seem so sad n
thing to Miss Wildrosc rs it did to Ra-
phael. She could go on singing her songs
in the little village as long rs her heart
and soul were in sympathy with the
great strain that nature sings, and here
was Raphael all day and every day be-
side her. But it troubled her at length
a little to see his unrest. Perhaps she
caught the unrest herself. Her work
felt the trouble, and for time she fear
ed she had lost the secret word of her
power; she began to be as eager as he
for the impossible.
81 want my outlook opened, he cried,
searching the blue sky with his bluer
eyes. 81 want to see for myself how
Raphael turned this line, how Veronese
blended those tints, how Rembrandt
flung that shadow. want to know
what they mean by saying Turner made
color do the work of drawing. l want
to see the great masters of to-day in
their studios or afield. want to see
Venice before some accursed steamboat
rips up her looking-glasses.''
II want to see the Euganean hills, said
Miss Wildrose, casting her glance dream
lily along the flat country where never a
hill was seen.
''And l want my home, my wife, my
hearth,'' he said, and then for a little
time the lovers happiness seemed only
high value of their art.
IF YOU could only be sent to Europe" "
said she at last. IF you could be con-
sui in some foreign town in France or
Italy, or in the East, or in the north OF
Africa"
eff could go abroad and be paid
for it," he said laughing. 'Ah, yes,
if l could have the moon for my Ian
tern!'
"But it is not impossible" she ans
wered with a Frightening smile. ''Now
l consider it not at all impossible. re-
ally think it may be compassed. Oh,
Raphael, if it only shouldr'
Il am afraid you are building castles
and the scaflolding is in the clouds" 3" he
said.
listen then. Isn't the new Secretary
of State man of letters? Hand-in-glovc
with publishers and authors? A patron
of painters toO?"
"a regular Macenas! My darling,
your wits are as bright as your eyes.
Take me for clod! l see it I'll now you
have illuminated ii. Yes, yes, a good
case ought to be made out between my
credentials and yours"
"Oh, shouldn't want to figure in it, -
she murmul ed shrinkingly.
''Then you shall not My little wife
shall stay on the dark side of the moon
till she wakes up and finds herself in Z
gondola some sunset, with the moon in
| the lagoons."
! And it was not a month before armed
| with oil CTffi niant ,,oparu n bo JoomnJ