Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1861-06-19
Gaurtester 4ailp Spy.
From Blackwood.
MRS. BEAUCHAMP's VENGEANCE.

Delia hacklt, VINO was quarrelllng with Briggs
about Mario, whom that ornament of the Corn
Exchange thought a namby PANTY kind OF
fellow. He was delighted at the entrance of
his Emily; nor was Arabela less So for she
felt certain OF having an ally on this question.
But the widow did not enter very warmly into
the dispute and, indeed, seemed to be some.
what preoccupied. II she had imagined that
Ricket wonld have rushed after her, and gent
ly forced her back into the ateler, she was
mistaken. If she now imagined that he would
speedily present himself, she was mistaken.
Mario and Grisi, Tamberik and Verdi, Adam
Bede and the IdyHs Of the King, EPSON and
the shape of bpnnets, these and twenty other
subjects were discussed with more or less fer
your, but no Rackit appeared.
AT last the widow rose to take leave. Briggs
expressed his intention Of having a look at the
likeness She loudly protested there was no
time to-day; but he as firmly declared there
was time, and plenty and that he must take
squint at it," A Sudden thought seemed to
strike her. and she consented graciousy to go
down again to the atelier In fact, she rather
wished to see how the artist looked.
They tapped at the door, but receiving no
answer opened and went in. Rackit was
standing contemplating the portrait, with both
hands thrust amid his long disheveed locks.
His face bushed and his eyes sparked as he
saw her and she also looked little confused.
"You don't seem to have made much pro.
gress," said Briggs.
"You don't understand portrait painting,
my dear fellow"
Probably not. l prefer photography"
"Goth !'
"Goth if you like, but do. It's done in an
instant, and so cheap"
every cheap" said Rackit, grimly.
"But there is no talent required fer that"
suggested the widow, anxious to propitiate the
artist.
$50 much the better" retorted Briggs.
"Whats the use of talent 2"
"You cannot be expected to know that, "
said Rackit, with sarcastic smile.
"Oh, yes, | can though. I'll tell you what
it is. Talent is the ape OF nature. 1t does
imperfectly what nature does perfectly"
"It's something more than that"
eyes, know-it's preteXt for charging
high"
AT which Sally the ornament of the Corn
Exchange laughed unctuously. But the Others
were unresponsive. He was little netted
and, turning to the easel said
Now look at this portrait. Devilish clev.
er, l dare say"
"You are very good, said Rackit, bowling
sarcastically.
Very like Titan, and all that-but shall ! be
quite frank with you 2"
"By all means"
"Then must say it isn't bit like Emily
It's idealised, as you call it"
you are complimentary" said Mrs. Beau
champ, with some acidity.
at isn't a question OF compliment, but OF
fact. Now, when portrait isn't like, what
does it matter how well it may be painted -
"You understand nothing OF art"
mo, but do of licensees and this isn't a
likeness"
GLOW can you say so 2"
Because l have eyes and can see"
"Will you be kind enough to point out any
defects, said Racket, interposing.
"Well. the mouth is too delicate.
TOO delicate ~
eyes, and the nose is much to SMALL
"YOu know nothing of pictures" said the
widow, impatiently.
81 know nose when | see it. Then, too,
he has given you a complexion of roses, and
lilies, when everybody knows you are as
brown as berry"
Perhaps" said the piqued widow, ''other
eyes may see differently"
"Then they don't see you as you are"
"You are a great judge, perceive"
81 know brown skin, when see one"
"Of course. On the Corn Exchange you
learn everyhing."
"Now you're unreasonable and out of tenn
per; and all because was frank and open,
I'm sure Rackit has far too much sense TO
take what l have said in i'll part"
"That," retorted Mrs. Beauchamp, dis very
plainly saying that have no sense
"The subject is getting hot-let's drop it.
Our appointment with Broadwood is for two
o'clock-it only wants ten minutes now"
"When shall have another sitting z" asked
Rackt, in a soft tone, to Mrs. Beauchamp
Tomorrow" she replied. "And then we
can contnue-from the point at which you left
off,"
"Byby, Rackit,' said the unconscious
Briggs, as he walked out leaving the artist to
escort the widow to the door
In escorting her he pressed her hand ten
derby Was 1t fancy, or was it fact that the
gentlest OF pressures was returned by her ?
Fancy or fact, Rackit was thrilled by it; and
when few minutes afterwards l happened to
look in, found him in state of great excite.
ment. 1t required very little to make him
open his heart to me saw he was longing
to take me into confidence, and, to confess the
truth, was not at all unwilling to be his con-
fessor.
"It's clear she loves me, he concluded
at certainly looks like it."
"My dear fellow" whether she pressed my
hand or not, the mere fact that she heard my
declaration without anger, and is to give me
more sittings, is equivalent to a declaration.
Was ever man so happy? Look at her
the portrait doesn't do her justice. Such
eyes sparkling with wit and melting with
tenderness. Such lips; pOutng with caprice
and smiling with gaiety. And this creature
is mine"
al
him.
"Run on, you stone, you log, you unimpas.
stoned what-you-may.c it! Wouldn't you
run on ifsuch glimpse ofparadise were offer
ed TO you"
"But you seem TO forget that the gates are
guarded Touching Briggs, now-?"
briggs be -. Yes, you're right There's
Briggs. She can't be mine, she's pledged to
him. Hideous nightmare"
at seems to me that you are in not the
pleasanlest of situations To be the lover of
woman engaged 10 another fool-no, l don't
mean that-but its The SorToUS of Werther
over again, and very absurd story that
was"
81 shan't end it as Werther did, by blowing
my brains out. That process is too ridiculous,
and the result so dirty"
"But how will you end it, then z"
81 shant end it at all.
och ?"
81 shall enjoy the romance of love, without
mitigating it by the prose OF marriage. have
longed for some romance in life. Here it is.
Cant see it,
Il can. Look here; to love the afianced
bride OF another, is 10 feel your heart stirred
without danger. She never can be yours
there's the poignant misery, which becomes a
charm Lille is irradiated with passionate ro
mance-you have your passon-your sorrow
and no increase to the weekly bills Will
such passion (and with such security
shall become great artist uH paint III,
sadness Of the scortd!" He dashed back his Ions
hair as he said this, and seemed to call upoi
the universe Tor its applause
"The great dread | have always felt" h,