The Manchester journal. [volume] (Manchester, Vt.) 1861-current, 1886-04-07
THE ORIGINAL

fell slan,ingly through the high windows
Of the art gallery. snd rested lovingly up.
on one Of iis choices, paintings Could
ola Sol have bad Al election for the beau
,!fal face and fingered 10 bid 1t good mighty
( T, was only the portrait Of woman IN her
early womanhood, and many might have
given Il hns . passing glance: but there
were those who kssw lie value, Artists
aud lovers Of art came 10 see y and ad-
nire il, because II vas the work Of one oil
the most noted painters Of the day. They
praised the execution, the coloring, the
pose, aud all the minute details, which
escape the eye Of the uninitiated, andfinally
asked who had sat for it, as an alter
thought
But this afternoon the gallery was al
most deserted. /, had but one occupant
On The opposite aide Of tho ball from the
portrait, stood young man. hardly more
than boy. his hands ciasped behind him.
his head thrown back, and his dark eyes
gazing steadily at the womans face before
him. An observer would have expected
TO see him pass on TO some other picture,
but casting his eyes around and finding
himself alone, he resumed bis former At
titude. He seemed 10 be watching for
something. His face wore an expectant
and waiting look, ss though he was ask
ing for her TO answer his questioning eyes
with her softly parted lips, and in truth
she looked as though she was about to
speak. The artist had caught that ex :
preston almost impossible to represent,
that one takes just before the words issue
from the lips.
He moved neither eye nor muscle as the
minutes passed on, but held his position
OF loving, waiting, fearing expectancy.
The golden glow passed from the bands
Of shining hair, over the beautiful face
and vanished. A darkness filled the room
something seemed to have left it, the por-
trait, looking down in the eyes Of the man.
changed its expression, shade OF sadness
fell on the brow, aud the gazer shiyered,
and with last lingering look. turned re-
luctantly away, and with lowered head
walked slowly from the building.
This was no artist. He visited the ia
nous gallery from no love Of art or muses.
This was the second time he had entered
its doors he wore no velvet jacket and his
hair did not fall in luxuriant curls on bis
shoulders His clothes, though neat and
clean, were ready to fall to pieces, and
bore testimony to the poverty Of the wear
er; his form was thin and his face meagre,
but his eyes held his soul. They were
deep and dark, and told ofaiheart, strong,
loving and noble. and q will, firm and un.
yielding.
His slow steps at last led him to dis
tant quarter Of the city, and be passed in
at the door of tumble down old building,
and up three flights Of stairs TO corner
under the caves. II was nothing more
than corner, little hole partitioned OIL
from the rest Of the garret, just large
enough to hold an iron beadstead and a
bureau and chair, and this was all the
room contained, no stove, no pictures, no
comfort, barely the rudest necessaries OF
life.
Shutting the door behind him he threw
himself upon the only chair, with sigh
that seemed to come from the very bot
tom Of his heart.
Oil il Was bard to leave her, he moaned
TO himself, and / cant go again until day
after tomorrow, That will be Sunday and
l can have the whole day, and smile lit
up his whole face, that made it sweet and
good to look upon.
II we pick up . book lying upon the bu.
reau We shall find his name written 10 q
firm hand upon the fly leaf Norton Has
brook, New York city. His story is brief
ly this. His mother dying when he was
small child had left him TO the care Of his
| father, who was cashier in one OF the
principal banks. He bad been brought
up in comparative luxury and received Q
college education; but just as be was
about to begin the study Of profession
his father had turned out q deiaulter, and
fed to Canada. Crushed by shame, the
young man, who was the soul Of honor,
himself, could not hold up his head among
his former associates, and leaving oil his
fathers and his own property in the hand,
OF the bank, to make good as far as posi-
ble the formers theft, he went to Boston
penniless, friendles, heart broken. He
was SO overcome he cared for nothing. HI
Was dead to ambition. and was satisfied
when after long search, he found posi-
ton as clerk in large store. His wage'
hardly sufiiced to pay for shelter and lodg
ing. He felt that his fathers shame VA.
his; he bore : "scsrlet letter" on hi
breast. II was a sad inheritance with
which to begin life, especially to one o
his over sensitive nature.
| year had passed thus, and be hat
gone his quiet, unobtrusiyc way. seeking
DO friends, asking for no sympathy. Hi
companions felt there was some myster,
about him. something that kept him apar
and kindly let him alone
One Sunday afterpoou, the warm, sunn,
ir created a longips 70 get away from tb
dismal, gloomy quarter in which be lived
and be wandered forth toward the wild
avenue and parks Of the better part Of th
city. Passing the art museum be notices
that the sign by the door said that on Sun
days the museum Was free TO the public
NO he entered. aud stroIled aimlessl
through the balls filed with vsluabl
paintings. and exquisite statuary. II
lkaJ ..~ar rn ralaxn oianre Al M ANY n ue