Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1886-07-20
GALES aud Sketfhes.
THE ORIGINAL.
BY F. W. r.


tell slantingly through the high window:
of the art gallery, and rested lovingly
upon one of its choicest paintings
Could old Sci have had an affection fol
the beautiful face and fingered to bid Il
good night ? 1t was only the portrait o.
a woman. a woman IN her early woman
hood, and many might have given it but 4
passing glance but there were those who
who knew its value. Artists and lover;
of art came to see it and admire it. be-
cause it was the work of one OF the most
noted painters of the day. They praised
the execution, the coloring. the pose, and
all the minute details, which escape the
eve of the uninitiated and finally asked
who had sat for it. as an afterthought.
But this afternoon the gallery was al
most deserted II had but one occupant
On the opposite side OF the hall from the
portrait, stood young man, hardly more
than a boy, his hands clasDed behind him
his head thrown pack, and his dark eve.
gazing steadily at the woman's face be
fore him. An observer would have ex
pected to see him pass on to some Other
picture, but casting his eyes around anC
finding himself alone, he resumed hi:
former attitude. He seemed to be watch
ing for something His face wore an ex
pectant and waiting look, as though he
was asking for her to answer his question
ing eyes with her softly parted lips, and
in truth she looked as though she was
about to speak. The artist had caught
that expression almost impossible to rep
resent. 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 posi-.
ton of loving. waiting, fearing expectan-
cy. The golden glow passed from the
bands of shining hair, over the beautiful
face aud vanished. A darkness filled the
room; something seemed to have left it
the portrait, looking down into the eyes
of the man. changed its expression, and a
shade of sadness fell upon the brow, and
the gazer shivered, and with last linger-
ing look, turned reluctantly away, and
with lowered head, walked slowly from
the building.
This was no artist. He visited the fam
Gus 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 tall in luxurient curls on his
SuDuiuciS. Ills ClOLHtS. tuOu0u Uttt anu
clean, were ready to fall to pieces, and
bore testimony to the poverty of the wear
err: his form was thin and his face pale
and meagre. but his eyes held his soul
They were deep and dark, and told of
heart, strong, loving and noble, and a
will firm and unyielding.
His slow steps at last led him to dis
tant quarter of the city, and he passed in
at the door of a tumbled down old build
ing, and up three flights of stairs to a
corner under the caves. 1t was nothing
ing more than corner, a little hole par
titioned off from the rest of the garnet,
Just large enough to hold an iron bedstead
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 bottom
of his heart.
"Oh! it was hard to leave her." he
mourned to himself land can't 90 again
until day after to morrow. That will be
Sunday and can have the whole day.
and a smile lit up his face, that made it
sweet and good to look upon.
If we pick up book lying upon the
bureau we shall find his name written in
a firm hand upon the fly leaf. Norton Has
brook, New York City. His story is brief
ly this. His mother diving when he was a
small child had left him to the care of
his father. who was a cashier in one OF the
principa banks. He had been brought
up in comparative luxury and received a
college education; but Just as he was
about to begin the study of profession
his father had turned out defaulter, and
fled 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 leavin O
all his fathers and his own property in the
hands of the bank, to make good as far
rs possible the formers theft, he went to
Boston, penniless, friendless, heart
broken. He was so overcome he cared
for nothing. He was dead to ambition,
and was satisfied when, after long
search, he found position as clerk in a
large store. His wages hardly sufficed to
pay for shelter and lodging He felt that
his fathers shame was his; he bore a
scarlet letter" on his breast. 1t was q
sad Inheritance with which to begin life,
especially to one OF his over-sensitive ma
ture.
A year had pass ed thus, and he had
gone his quiet, unobtrusive way, seeking
no friends, asking for no sympathy. His
companions felt there was some mystery
about him. something that kept him apart
and kindly let him alone.
One Sunday afternoon, the warm. sunny
air created a longing to get away from
the dismal gloomy quarter in which he
lived, and he wandered forth toward the
wide avenues and parks OF the better par
of the city. Passing the art museum he
noticed that the sign by the door said tina
on Sundays the museum was free to the
public, so he entered and strolled aim
lesslv through the halls filled with valua
BILE paintings and exquisite statuary. He
had given a careless glance at many ;
noted work of art, and was about to %
down the broad steps to the entrance
when his eye fell upon the portrait of
woman, and he became rooted to the 500
fascinated He was conscious of some
thing that told him in some way. this fac,
would have connection with his futur,
/ life; he knew vaguely that here was
/ turning point in his life. and that b,
should never be just the same man that h
had been. 1t was glimpse into the fu
/ ture that once in a great while is permit
/ ted to man.
! He did not ask himself whether it wa