The Topeka state journal., 1897-11-09
TWO ARTISTS.

He was in love. She was in love. He
had ambition that he had worked short
lifetime trying to fulfill. She had ambi-
ton 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 its cwnPi
Eyes, yes, I know" she acquiesced.
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, f'my
greatest ambition would be to receive your
kisses, to bestow upon you the good things
OF life, to live up to your ideal. -
land since we are so unhappily condi-
toned, said she, with tremulous little
quiver of the lips and a 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 stars?"
'There is no doubt of that, - she ac-
knowledged.
Then let US make vows, no pledges.
We are happy for the pleasure we have had
in finding each others love. You will
paint your pictures, 1 viii write my TO
ger ambitions, visionary and housed in air
castles, but existing vocations, 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 a 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. / cannot give
up my ambitions, for love sometimes
grows weaker instead of stronger, and there
is no way of Harvesting love and ambi-
JiOn. 1t is better So
And as she heard the last echo of his
steps go away farther and farther into the
hideous gloom of the night she said:
"GoOdby, dear heart! Since it must be so
I bow my head and bless you and send
after you my prayers for your well being
your work. success the bringing to life of
the budding ambitions that you love SO
we'll"
Old Father Time twirls the world
around small boy spins his top.
To him, the novelist, and to her. the
artist, time had dawd1ed with unpardon-
able lassitude Longing for fame eats out
the heart as does nothing else except may
be the pang of love won and lost The
artist had accomplished much. The mold
er Of romance had accomplished more The
artists pictures were hung in the galleries
of royalty The authors name was on the
tip of a thousand tongues. Fortune as
well 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 twelve
month swung around when the weaver of
romances said: Il 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 r6st 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 un-
speakable sadness said: ''There is no love
for you, dear. The horror and sorrow of
the waiting have crushed and killed my
heart s love. We cared more for the world
and its crop of honor than we did for our
selves. You are no longer my ideal. am
no longer your sweetheart All that was
good in both of US has been put into our
make nectar of the honey, as you said.
Deferred hope imbitters the sweet until
there is no sweet left. Love, dear, is great
er than ambition IN sure, and yet-and
yet-well we could not have both.''
tTruly, you are right, " said he. "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
nothing in return. Indeed it is sad. -
And the great writer again turned to go
out into the night.
Again she lifted her lips for farewell
kiss This time it was as cold as death,
robbed of the warmth of love, frozen with
the SHOWS of dead affection.
Il bless you, " said he.
81 bless you, " she echoed.
And as he walked along beneath the
dreary, signing, whispering trees he muir
INJURED to himself:
- 1t is not my sweetheart that have
Just left. 1t is a woman made weary with
ceaseless work, a woman whose pathway
has been dark and unlighted with affec-
tion and who is therefore a being with lit
tie thought beyond the painting of pic
lures. have suffered for the want of her
inspiring presence. For 20 years have
loved memory. All, mel What a pity
that we cannot turn time backl''
And as she listened and heard his foot
steps grow fainter and fainter as he
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 caresses, my murmurs of affection.
And what have received? Gold, a world
wide name and harsh criticisms. All, but
you can't put your arms around a picture
and say: Dear husband, I love you. Your
life is my life, your success my success.
For you I exist. To make you happy is
my ambition, my vocation, my content in
being. That is so true so ghastly true,
IL nina 1.-c.11ld