Burlington free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1827-1865, 1850-09-27
THREE PICTURES.
SUNRISE-NOONDAY-NIGHT

Young man. an artist, was passing slowly
through the rri, cipal thoroughfare of a great
city. and the few wears of his life if they had
proved heavy and sorrowful in experience had
al least left no dark impress on bis forehead,
His figure was strklrg'y elegant, and his face
manly; it might well have been taken to re-.
present the Genius Of Thought, so calm, eIc-
vated, ard enrobled by spiritual excellence
was H.
That he was poor, You might guess by the
,yorn garments in which he was attred for
from the figure, bearing. and whole appearance
of tie vouh. it was evident he was not Of that
class of gcruiscs WHO accept shabhiness in
personal appearance in the name of occentrci-
'y.
And lie wss an ambitious young man, too.
A glance into his studio, where constantly and
diligently lie toilci in his vocation, lad told
you that. 1t would seem, by the constant
cmcrdatcns he would make, and by the finish
ed style he laborcd TO mrart 10 all lie did, that
nothing short Of superior excellence or per-
feet .on in his art would safety him.
lie has come into the open air this morning,
moi because he is wcaricd with lis work, for il
is source Of continual ight to him; neither
| in search Of amuscmcn's. but 10 ponder on p
thought which las long harhorcd in his mind
three pictures should he lis fame. From his
quiet studio lie would send into the world a
moral lesson that should delight and instruct,
and leave in The world an abiding moral in.
nueuce Not only did Martn Gray long to
win for himself proud name on the earth, but
with the poets and preachers he would fain lift
mp his voice and teach he also would be a
priest and a reformer, and by his works he
would testify to the infinite beauty of holiness
an' virtue
The artists heart beat joyfully as he revolv-
ed this idea in his mind His home was high
his hand was skilful.
II my name only rank with the masters
some Gay-if can do some real an subslan-
tial good in my generation can not labo
too ha rd TO secure these ends he said TO him
self as he passed, unconscious to the noise ant
confusion about him, along the street.
mechanically turning at The first corner
: Martin moved on to quarters Of the city where
the strife and confusion OF life were more sub
dued.
Al once he stood silent, as though ohange'
suddenly to marble then heart.cheerrg CT
of JOY and surprise burst from him, and iIav
found it II have found it : he cried. Her
is sunrise at last!
There were children playing in the street
poor little children, boys and girls, whose onl,
playground was that hot and dusty place. b.
in The person OF one, the quick eve Of the artis
detected extraordinary beauty, though decke
in rags almost as extraordinary.
The unconscious child was a girl, six c
seven years Of age, faullless in form and fca
ure, the very embodiment Of one of Marti
Grays ideals.
1t was not solely the exquisite lovelness
the child's face, though the shape and coorin
p were pc, e,ftct--but beside the dark rich hal
which fell in such unheeded pTofusion on til
:, Shoulders of its little mistress, and beside ii
L deep, sapphire blue of the large, languid eye
and The classic regularity OF every feature, the
, was an expression, soul-look, which inens
fed er natural beauty, AID stamped her AS tt
10 owner OF intellect, whose range was far high
than that reached by any of her playmatcs.
Tell me your name, little angel said Il
artist in the excite ment OF his delighted su
prise
- = My name is Alice Flynn was the prom
answer.
Have you mother? Where does she live
r Go with me 10 your hone--I must speak vii
j. her
The thld answered these queries by al on
leaving ler play mates. The artist follow
her quickly, and in a few moments they entt
ed narrow byway. Passing short disian
! through it, little Alice paused before a shah
n old b nuse, which seemed every day on the poi
- Of bi dding an eternal farewell 10 all things tt
restrial.
This is the place where we live, sir si
she, with the sweetest voice in the world w
\ you come in ?
= This little girl is yours, ma'am, believe
said Martin, as he stood in the presence
what seemed TO him an ogress, when cOmpar
70 to The 'chlld-angel who called her mother.
'Yes-she wasn't lost, was she? Or "
no tn Of n
nd me that
ry Where's she to be kept, Id like to knt
res that A poor woman like me, as arms
IL bread by the sweat of her face, has little ii
10 be looking sbou, after the young once r.