Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1895-06-10
OLD TIME COMEDY.

OLD i LIN IL OONIlID L.
He was in love; she was in love. He
had ambition that he had worked short
lifetime trying to fulfill; she had ambition
that to her was the breath of life.
IF we marry" said he, with admirable
bravery, ''our ambitions will die, for is
not love itself an ambition of It's ownf"
Eyes, yes, l know" she acquiesced.
"My pictures mean everything to me.
We're your wife my one thought would
be your 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 life, to live up to your IDEAL"
"And since we are SO unhappily condi-
toned, said she, with tremulous little
CULVER 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
terrupted. For lovers cannot be mere
friends, except SO far as friendship Is con
tanned within the circle of love. 1t seems,
doesn't it, as If conditions are cruel spec
ters-immovable as the stars9''
"There is no doubt of that" she &C.
knowledged.
Then let us make no vows, no pledges.
We are happy for the pleasure we have
had in finding each others love. You
will paint your pictures, will write my
romances. When our ambitions are no
longer ambitions visionary and housed in
air castles, but existing vooations, we will
again find one another and take one an.
others hands and say, Love is indeed
sweet, the waiting has but made nectar of
the 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"
She did not answer. She raised her lips
for kiss which was farewell. He passed
out of the door into the gloomy shadows
of the stormy night.
Eyes, yes he thought as he walked
along, his heart as heavy as winter
cloud. "There was no other way. can
not give up my ambitions, for love some
times grows weaker instead of stronger,
and there is no way of Harvesting love
and ambition. 1t is better So.
And as she heard the last echo of his
steps 60 away, farther and farther into the
hideous gloom of the night, she said:
"Goodby, dear heart Since 1t must be SO
bow my head and bless you and send
after you my prayers for your we'll being,
your work S success the bringing to life
of the budding ambitions that you love SO
well.''
Old Father Time twirls the world
around as small boy spins his top
To him, the novelist, and to her, the art
list, time had dawdled with objectionable
lassitude. Longing for fame eats out the
heart as does nothing else, except maybe
the pang of love won and lost. The artist
had accomplished much; the molder Of ro-
nance had accomplished more. The art
lists pictures were hung In the galleries Of
royalty; the authors name was on the tip
of thousand tongues. Fortune as we'll
as fame 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 burrows of age.
Twenty times had the twelvemonth swung
around when the weaver Of romances said:
II will seek out my little sweetheart.
The years to her, too, must have been long
and weary; the reward Is ripened and
ready for the having" and with heart as
light as down he went to her and said:
"Our hands have done their life work.
Let us find rest and 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 more for the world and its crop Of
honor than we did for ourselves You are
no longer my ideal. am no longer your
sweetheart. All that was good in both of
us has been put into our books and pic
lures Waiting does not make nectar Of
the honey, as you said; deferred hope i'm
bitters the sweet until there Is no sweet
left. Love, dear, is greater than ambition
I'm sure, and yet-and yet-well, We
could not have both. y
"Truly, you are right" said he. 1--WE
have erred sadly. Love, unnourished with
care and caresses, thrives not and dies of
its own neglect. We have given ourselves
to the people, we have received absolutely
,sothing in return. Indeed it is sad" And
10 great writer again turned to go out
4. 10 tho night.
Y, Again she lifted her lips for farewell
>. This time it was as cold as death,
i, bed Of the warmth Of love, frozen with
ii SHOWS of dead affection.
bless you," said he.
bless you,' she echoed.
d as he walked along beneath the
dree signing, whispering trees he muF-
INJURED to himself:
1T Is not my sweetheart that have just
left.S 1t Is woman made weary with
ceaseless work. a woman whose pathway
has been dark and unlighted with affec-
ton and who is therefore being with lit
tie thought beyond the painting Of pic
tures. have suffered for the want Of her
inspiring presence. For 20 years have
loved memory. All, mel What pity
that we cannot turn time backl''
And as she listened and heard his foot
steps grow fainter and fainter as no
traMped sturdily away she again bowed
her head, and as the 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 oaresses my murmurs Of affection.
And what have received Gold, world
wide name and harsh criticisms. ALL but
you can't put your arms around picture
and say: Dear husba I'd, love you. Your
life la my life; your SUCCESS my success.
For you exist; to make you happy 10 my
ambition, my vocation, my content in be-
ing. That Is SO true, SO CHASTITY true,
that i heart less chilled than mine would
grow 10y with the horror Of it all. Ali II
thing could but roll back just 20 twelve