The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1889-09-21

words came from his lips but these. oft re-
peated: "Masterpiece-all for her, Fran.
ces-Frances.'
On the seventh day he began to recover,
and slowly his strength returned. At last
he was able to work again, but in a weak
ened condition. Yet the painting showed
no sign of diminished power.
A few weeks more and the day came
when the last touch was given the produc.
ton. 1t was really wonderful work-the
two could not help but feel it. Tears OF
pride and triumph stood in their eyes az
they gave it the last critical lcok, which
changed swiftly to one OF admiration.
1t was all that he had promised-dsring,
masterful, original-aud more. There was
something about the laying on of the colors
that seemed immortal. Tho hucs were SC
natural and so harmonious the eye was
almost deceived into believing the scene not
artificial.
The landscape, which was a partial copy
of his last failure, seemed as realistic as art
could make it, and the sky, bright with Au-
rora'S blush, was in itself a study; but it
was in her, the exquisite central figure of
the picture, that the interest conferred. Diff
ticult though the task, he had done full JUS
tice to his subject. Every line of the mag.
nificent form seemed perfectly reproduced,
and the expression of the facial,
Raphael ah, Angelo! pc have done worse
many the tlmel 1t was so natural, so ten.
der-it was sublime!
The work had the pregnant title, "Life's
Morn of Hope"
Yes, Luders, it is thy masterpiece, and be
thou proud oft!
As on the night when the resolution to
produce it was formed, he took the faithful
woman of his love in his arms and caresscd
her fervently at is you, not /, who have
done it!' he breathed, fondly and earnestly,
and then, turning away, he stood before his
picture with folded arms, and was for long
lost in contemplation Of it.
The exhibition was close at hand, and the
work must be submitted at once He found
chat the purchase of frame-an appropri-
ate design in metal, would require the cx,
penditure of his last sou, and braveiy the
sacrifice was made.
Truly his fate was at desperate issue.
With hopeful heart the picture was
presented at the academy, and then he re-
turned to his home to rest and aU3it the
momentous decision.
Frances he saw often, and she was, oh! so
confident. "You will awake and find your
ocll ldulOuS BIG cACldlU1tu, WIFI ncr
usual optimism, and repeated the sentiment
at every meeting.
Dio heard the decision at last. His picture
was Teiec ed!
Itseemed that he could not bear the blow.
For days he did not leave his room, and no
food passed his lips, and no word did no
speak, even to the maid who brought him q
bouquet of rare flowers from Frances. His
caap,ad o al within hin,
Presently he rallied somewhat, partook Of
meager nourishment and offered his picture
for sale to the dealers. There was but rep.
etition of his disappointment. Each had
many reasons for not buying. The last man
he approached ridiculed and even reviled
him.
Poor Luders! God pitied you as you
stood that night on the bank Of the silent
Seine resting your arms upon your Inflated
masterpiece, yourself a master representa-
ton of despair.
Sick and weak, all hope and courage and
ambition gone, the very blood in your veins
bitter at existence-verily you were pct-
ure of misery that les Paris miScrdbles them
selves might have observed with interest
and pity. The misty moon showed YOUR
face to be wan as wool
The teeth clenched; the body grew sud-
denly rigid; the right arm was raised to
the stars. "By the high heavensp' he
cried aloud, Il know the reason. This e
France, and I am a German!"
Aye, there's the secret, Luders! French.
men, one and all, hate your racei Patron
lie yous Neverl Whatl-deathI
A thrust of the hatless head through the
canvas, allowing the weight of the metallic
frame to rest upon the neck, mad leap into
the eager waters, and the ill-starred painter
and his masterpiece go down forever. God
save you, Luders!
You, Francesl Followed him? Woe il
thine, true hearth
An agonizing Shrek, convulsivc move
ment of the arms, and she tGlls senseless
on the spot where Dio stood the last mo-
ment of his existence.
ARTHUR G. GIBSON.
u n.