Waterbury evening Democrat., 1891-09-09

there" laughing goodnaturedly, '1 sup pose genius does not always get it's just reward"
 Thus, chatting pleasantly, trying, no doubt, to chase the gloom from my spirits II fear am but a sorry companion-we reach the exhibition, pay our admission, and ettering join the crowd which fills al- most to su1Iocation the room. What throng! I half wished had after all de- clined to come; yet, even while my com panion drags me on through the press, my attention Is insensibly on the alert. I scan with eagerness every face within my vision, and more than once when some slight form, or fair childish face with blue eyes and golden hair, passes quite close to me, hold my breath for a moment, and then with 8 sigh go on, on with my search.
 Meanwhile, in 8 perfect ecstacy my friend feasts his eyes on the beauties of art around us, every now and then calling upon me to share his delight, while, heed less of the throng, he drags me onward.
 This at last becomes so great that I suggest our retracing our steps. This however, he will not hear of. 'tWhy we have not yet seen the Martini picture--the very thing came to see If you think I am going home without so much as one glimpse at it, you are mis- taken. No, no, my friend-onward, on-
  you when this wish of mine is gratif1ed we will make good our escape" So saving, he elbows his way through the crowd. not roughly, but gently and firmly, so that he soon clears a path for us, and-a little later we reach the object | of our visit-we stand before the famous Mar;ini's picture
 Truly it has not been overpraised. It is | loN ely work, graceful in execution, per | feet in coIoring--in fact, in its way, | gem of art.
 Even l, for a moment as I gaze, am absorbed in what l see, while my com l panion cannot say enough in its praise. But I soon tire of it. beautiful as 1t is. want to be moving, and my friend is | loath to leave his point of vantage. "Oue moment more," he says laying | netainirg hand on my arm. ''ls it not l sxquisite?"
 'Yes," say, and then wearily turn my | gaze from the gem to other pleasures of less mark which hangt beside it. "That is a charming little bit of wood 1 land. There's daub. However did that get hungP That fruit is painted we'll | What is thisp One of those singular aleGorical pieces-a single figure of girl | reclining on touch, holding up beside l her face skull" With a hardly repressed ShudderI sweep my eyes over it, and then l let them fall; then fmpelled by a sudden | impulse, raise them again, and | The reader no doubt guesses the rest. There before me from the wall see the lace of her whom I had sought so long looking down at me side by side with that | of the hideous grinning skeleton. 1 do | not faint or cry, or even say word. l only seize my friends arm, and bid him And the number of the work and tell me | She artists name
 ":'No 3,619: Study of a Girl--Gerald Linden."
 'Who Is he?" ask. "Do you know himP'
 Slightly" says my friend. "Why?" l "Because if ever I saw Madeline Oak iey's face on canvas, that, say, pointing to the picture of the girl with the skull, ''is she."
 "Madollne OakleyP Nonsense, old fel- low. All this worry has turned your head. There may be a resemblance, but | nothing else. Linden himself told me he | had portrait of his sister in here-this is | she. no doubt"
 'Sister or not" I say, 'T will see that | girl face to face before am day older. | Where does this Linden liveP" | "l do not know but if you like we will ask at the office, though you had far bet ter take my advice and think it is only | GrlCR or fancy.
 No" say, glancing up at the picture, and seeing in it, in spite of an apparent want of skill on the artists part, an exact reflection, as 1t were of the one engraven onsmy heart, do not try to turn me from my rpose-fnd out about this Linden for me and let us go and see him at once. 1 shall never rest until do." Yielding at once to my earnest pleading, though I could see that he placed no faith in the mission, my friend made fog me, q was too agitated to act for myself,) the | necessary iuqutres.
 Gerald Linden's studio was in distant part of the city; but thither as fast as horses could carry me I went-only to find it closed The young artist was at his home in England.
 "What will you do now?" asked my
 friend, on learning this intelligence
 "Do-go straight to England; 1 have just | tC fho