Birmingham age-herald., 1895-03-26
OLD TIME COMEDY.


 that to her was the breath of life.
 "If we marry" said ho, with admirable bravery, tour ambitions will die, for Is not love itself an ambition of its owni''.
 Yes, yes, l know" she aoquiesoed. My pictures mean everything to me. Were I your wife my ono thought would be yonr happiness, not the mixing and blending together of oils and paints"
 "If you were my wife, :" said he "my greatest ambition would be to receive your kisses, to bestow upon you the good things of lifc to live up to your ideal"
 And since we arc so unhappily condi- tioned, :" said she, with 0 tremulous little quiver of the lips and sad little droop of the eyelids, there is only one thing to do''-
 And that Is, of course, to part, !" he in- corrupted. For lovers cannot be more friends, except so far as friendship Is con- taincd within the circle of love. It seems, doesn't it, as if conditions are cruel spec ters-immovable as the stars?'
 ''There is no doubt of that" she &C., knowlcdged.
 "Then let us make no VOWS, no pledges We are happy for the pleasure we have had in finding each others lovo. You will paint your pictures, will write my romances. When our ambitions are no longer ambitions visionary and housed in air castles, but existing vacations, we will again find ono another and tako ono an- others hands and say, Love Is indeed sweet, the waiting has but mado nectar of tho honey And then, dear sweetheart our work will have been accomplished, our debt to the world paid and we will be ready to receive our rewards, which will be love, forever and undying."
 ho ,ot ha hor ipc for kiss which was a farewell. He passed out of tho door into the gloomy shadows of tho stormy night.
 ''Yes yes, " he thought as he walked along, his heart as heavy as 0 winter cloud. There was no other way. l can not give up my ambitions for love some- times grows weaker instead of stronger, and there is no way of harnessing love and ambition. It is better so.''
 And as sho heard the last echo of his steps go away, farther and farther into the hideous gloom of tho night, she said: "Goodby, dear heartl Since 1t must be so I bow my head and bless you and send after you my prayers for your well being, your works success, the bringing to life of tho budding ambitions that you love so woll.'
 
 around as small boy spins his top
 To him, the novelist, and to her, the art ist timo had dawdled with unpardonable lnssitude. Longing for fame eats out the heart as does nothing else, except maybe tho pang of love won and lost, Tho artist had accomplished much; the molder of TO- nance had accomplished more. The art ist's pictures wero hung in the galleries of royalty the authors namo was on the tip of 0 thousand tongues. Fortune as well as famo had come, but old time had not brought all roses and no thorns. for with fame and fortune had come gray hairs and brows creased with the furrows of age. Twenty times had tho twelvemonth swung around when the weaver of roman ces said: II will seek out my little sweetheart. Tho years to her, too, must have been long and weary; the reward is ripened and ready for tho having,'' and with heart as light as down ho went to her and said: "Our hands have done their life work. Let us find rest und peace in the happiness of love" But instead of taking his hands, as he had dreamed she would, she turned aside, and with sigh of unspeakable sad ness said: "There is no love for you, dear. The horror and sorrow of the waiting have crushed and killed my hearts love. We cared moro for the world and it's crop of honor than VIC did for ourselves. You are no longer my ideal. I am no longer your sweetheart. Al that was good in both of us has been r1t into our books and pic lures. Waiting does not make nectar of the honey, as you said; deferred hope i'm bittcrs tho sweet until there is no sweet left. Lovo, dear, is greater than ambition I'm suro, and yot-and yet-wcll, we could not havo both. "
 Truly, you are right, said he "We have erred sadly. Love, unnourishcd with caro and caresses, thrives not and dies of its own neglect. Wo have given ourselves to the people, wo have received absolutely nothing iu return. Indeed 1t is sad ' And tho great writer again turned to go out into the night.
 Again she lifted her lips for 0 farewell kiss. This time it was as cold as death, robbed of the warmth of lovo, frozen with tho SHOWS of dead affection.
 II bless you," said he.
 II bless you" sho echoed
 And as he walked along beneath the dreary, signing, whispering trees he mur- mured to himself:
 'It is not my sweetheart that have just left It is a woman made weary with ceaseless work, a woman whose pathway has been dark and unlighted with affeo- tion and who is therefore being with lit tie thought beyond tho painting of pic lures l have suffered for the want of her inspiring presence. For 20 years havo loved memory Ab, mel What pity that VIC cannot turn time backp'
 And as she listened and heard his foot steps grow fainter and fainter as he tramped sturdily away sho again bowed her hoad, and us tho tears fell down upon her thin white hands she moaned: My pictures have been my life, my love, my husband, my all. To them have given my caresses, my murmurs of affection. And what have I received? Gold, world wido name and harsh criticisms. An but you can't put your nrIps around Q picture