Washington standard. [volume] (Olympia, Wash. Territory) 1860-1921, 1883-06-01
CARRADINE'S LOVE.

struggling boy. just entering on that
race which must be run by every as
pirant to art and its honors, there
happened to him something which
neither time nor toll had ever been
able to efface from his memory. As
he was passing along the streets a
wreath of fragrant roses suddenly
fell on his head, and looking up in
wonder he beheld, reaching ont from
the embroidered draperies of an over.
hanging window, a child, with fairy
like proportions, with great dark
eyes and long, curling black locks,
who stood smiling and throwing his
kisses from her curved lips. colored
like pomegranate. While she still
gazed. nurse had come forward and
drawn the child away, the curtains
were closed, aud he saw the little
creature no more Such was the Wis
ion that the artist had carried SC
long in his memory; in his memory
only, for he had no second glimpse
of the child. That very day an acci-
dent occurred which kept him a
prisoner in his room for several
weeks, and when next he went out
the house was empty, and placard
with great faring letters announcing
it for sale stared him in the face,
from the same window in which the
little white-robed elf had stood wav-
ing her hand and smiling to him. In
course of time other faces appeared
there, but they were strange faces
and among them was never the one
for which he looked.
Now, as Carradine sat painting
alone, he thought of all this; of the
struggle that at ended at length in
success; of his hard, unfriended boy
hood, and of the beautiful child with
her fragrant rose crown, which had
seemed almost like prophecy. That
rose wreathed, dry and withered now
was all that was left to him of the fair
vision; but when that morning, in
turning over an old portfolio, he had
come upon it by chance, it spoke to
him of that by-gone day just as elo-
quently as when its blossoms were
fresh and full.
Eight years ago." he said, thought
fully, letting the shriveled circles slip
through his fingers slowly. "She
must be 16 now-if she lives. III
No, I do not doubt her living pres
ence-somewhere. I wonder where
she is now, and what she is like at
16?
With that he placed the wreath be-
side his easel and began to paint
The face, as it grew on his canvas
presented young girl in the dewy
morning blush of first youth. with
shadows in the great dark eyes and @
halfs smile about the bright curled
lips, like an embodied summer sun
shower 1t was thus the artist pic
tured his ideal of the child woman
whose infantile look and smile fol-
eight long years had been his own
dream of love.
Carradine had not an easy life
An orphan from his earliest years
poor and unfriended, he had studied
hard for the means to crafty that in
herent idolatry for art which was al
ways clamoring to find expression in
form and coloring. He had fought
and had Won; but now at 26, he
stood in the place where he had
gained for himself almost as much
alone at the very heart as he had
been eight years before, when the
child's gift came to him as a prcph
ecy.
It was not that he was friendless
There were men who liked and
sought him, women who would
gladly have taught him to forget his
loneliness in their affection. Blu,
though his nature responded rapidly
to any kindness, there was one chord
deeper than all, that remained un
touched, ard from the sweetest
glances his thought went back to the
unknown child that had smiled down
on him SO long ago.
The ideal head became his great
source of enjoyment, and a dreamy
softness shaded his dark-grey eyes
as line by line and tint by tint tool
him back into the past, which, al
lifeless as it was, seemed to him, il
those moments, more real than the
busy present. Yet now, in reviewing
that one bright vision of his memory
it was not SO much the lovely chilC
that he saw in fancy as the beautiful
girl whose face, with fuller depth ant
sweetness, looked out at him from hi:
own canvas.
Instinctively, he hardly knew why
he disliked to work on this picture il
any other presence, and he devoted
to it only his hours of solitude. 81
it happened that it was nearly fin
ished when by some chance frienf
discovered him bending over it, too
absorbed to hear any approach. A:
the door opened Carradine rose hast
lily, turning his easel to the wall. 81
as to conceal the face upon it. Thi:
little stratagem, however, was des
tined to be of no avail Having beer
marked by the intruder, one of those
cordial, we'll meaning people, good
natureu to degree, but very littl,
delicacy Of perception-th the action a
once aroused his curiosity.
AHA. master painter" he sale
with laugh, let us see wha
it is that you work at by yourself til
it steals away your eyes and ears
Only one peep"
With that. he laid his hand on thu
frame. and receiving no forbiddins
word from Carradine. turned i
around. The next moment he wa.
loud in praise.
But who is it, Carradine? If it il
a portrait, tell me where to find thu
original, and l will, if it is a sever
days journey"