Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1871-11-17
BY CLARENCE KING.

One October day, as Kaweah and |
travelled by ourselves over lonely foot
hill trail, ! fell to wondering if ever an
artist should arise to paint our Sierras
as they are, with all their color glory,
innumerable pine and countless pima
Gle, gloom of tempest, or splendor,
where rushing like skaters itself upon
granite crag, or burns in dying rose
upon far fields of snow.
Had | rubbed Aladdins lamp? A
turn in the trail brought suddenly in
view man who sat under shadow of
oaks, painting upon large canvass.
AS [ approached the artist turned
half round upon his stool, rested pal
cite and brushes upon one knee and in
familiar tone said "Dern'd if you
amt just naturally ketched me at it..
Get off and set down. You amt going
for no doctor, know"
My artist was of short, good-natured,
butcher-boy makeup, dressed in what
had formerly been black broadcloth,
with an enlivening show of red flannel
shirt about the throat and wrists, and a
considerable display of the same where
his waistcoat might once have overlap
ped strained but IS yet coherent
waistband. The cut of THESE garments,
by length of coat-tail and voluminous
leg, proudly asserted "Bay' origin.
His small feet were squeezed into tight,
short boots, with high, raking heels.
A round face. with small, full mouth,
non-committal nose and black protrud-
ing eyes, showed no more sign of the
i1aa1 +l,oy, I,I i
daub on his square yard of canvas.
"Going to Copples'?" inquired my
friend.
That was my destination and I an
swered, eyes"
"That's me-" he calculated. "Right
over there, down below those two oaks
Ever there?"
"No,"
"My studios there now" giving i'm
pressive accent to the word.
All the while these few words were
passing he scrutinized me with uncon-
cealed curiosity, puzzled, as we'll he
might be, by my dress and equipment.
Finally, after I had tied Kaweah to a
tree and seated myself by the easel,
and after he had absently rubbed some
=,
he softly ventured:
"Was you looking out ditch 2"
"No, replied"
He neatly rubbed up the white and
sienna with his blender," unconscious
ly adding dash of Veronese green !;
gazed at my leggings, then at the barome-
ter. and meeting my eye with look
as if he feared l might be a disguised
duke, said in slow tone, with hyphens
of silence between each two syllables,
giving to his language all the dignity of
an unabridged Webster, " I would take
pleasure in stating that my name is
Hank G. Smith, artist" and seeing me
smile he relaxed little, and giving the
blender another vigorous twist, added,
81 would request yours"
Mr.. Smith having learned my name,
occupation and that my home was on
the Hudson, near New York, quickly
assumed familiar me-and-you-old-f fell
tone, and ratified on merrily about his
winter in New York spent in "going
through the academy"-a period of
deep moment to one who before that
only painted wagons for livelihood.
Storing away canvas, stool and easel
in deserted cabin close by, he rejoined
me, and, leading Kaweah by his lariat, /
walked beside Smith down the trail to-
ward Copples'.
He talked freely, and as if composing
his own biography, beginning: " Cali
fornia-born and mountain raised, his
nature soon drove him into a painters
career" Then he reverted fondly to
New York and his experience there:
30 nop' he unused in pleasant irony,
- he never spread his napkin over his
legs and partook French victuals up to
old Delmonico's."
Mr.. Smith found relief in meeting
one so near himself, as he conceived me
to be in habit and experience. The
long, pent up emotions and ambitions
Of his life found ready utterance and a.
willing listener.
l learned that his aim was to become
characteristically California painter.
with special designs for making himself
| famous as the delineator of mule trains
and ox-wagors to be, as he expressed
| it, /" the Pacific slope Bonheur."
"There, he said, "is old Eastman
johnson he's made the rifle on barns,
and that everlasting girl with the ears
of corn but it amt life-it amt got
the real get up. If you want to see the
thing just look at Gerome-his Arab
folks and Egyptian dancing girls; they
amt assuming pleasant expression
and looking at spots while their like
nesses is took. Ell. G. will discount
| Eastman yet"
He avowed his great admiration of
Church, who, though he had little
leaning toward Mr. Clifford, alone met