The Jeffersonian. [volume] (Stroudsburg, Pa.) 1853-1911, 1872-07-11
Tom.

|
! ct. A, Obiit 1867 The artist died by
his own hand, for cause of suicide more
common than love, or religious mania, or
despair and as poor Tom was well known
aud near akin to many of our readers, the
history of his picture and himself seems
to us worth telling. AS for the picture,
1t is In execution nothing but crude.
strong dash or two of color; only bit of
sandy beach, a dead woman washed
ashore, man keeping watch over her,
and bird, the solitary living thing in
the world, disappearing in the stormy
sky, leaving him alone with his dead
But there is the subtle something in it
which touches US, as do all great utter
ances of truth or human feeling it is one
OF the inspired words, painted, or spoken,
or written, that are strong as love, or
grief, or death, and share their nature.
There was something about the painter,
too, from the time he was a boy, that set
him apart from other men as one who had
a message given him to utter. After all,
God does give nowadays to certain men
special errands to their fellows: and
whether it be to make them cry or laugh,
show the stupendous joke of misery or
comfort under life, or to explain fishes,
or like Bezaleel, to be 'filled with the
spirit of God in working with iron and
| brass, !" they carry about them the signs
of their commission as plain as the shin
| ing on Moses's face when he came down
! from the mountains with the tables of
stone. Even as boy, Tom knew that
he had an errand 1t might be but a
petty thing, a picture to paint, or a
crayon sketch or two to finish. Bnt it
was his work, which no man could do but
himself. He caught hints of it every
where in the glass of water Pickering in
his hand or the stone under his feet as
much as the song nobly sung or the life
of some other man greatly loved. 1t was
clear enough to him.; but Pickering light
or songs and loves of others would not
make it clear to the world There were
times when the desire for it's utterance
was so strong upon him that if he could
have accomplished his work he would
have been ready, shy, hearty, young fel
low as he was. to cry, "Lord, now let Thy
servant depart in peace" He did not
fall into the usual mistake of genius as
to the ease of delivering his message. He
had slip-shod dependence on winged
Pegasus to carry him, or draughts from
Helicon to give him divine strength Slow
and incessant work, and unfinchiug integ-
rity to his errand, he knew only would
carry hm safely to his jourey's end, and
he set out on his career most galantly.
But Tom was poor, aad-Tom married;
married a woman who thoroughly recog-
nized him and his errand. They lived in
a shabby little house in the suburbs of
New York, where their first baby was
born house where the roof leaked, and
where the floors were carpetless. But
going there, you found their talk furnish.
ed with such high and noble thoughts,
their daily lives so rich in love, so gay in
jests and fancies, so sweet and admirable
in temper, that the background of want
seemed only meant to throw into relief
these sunshiny figures. Books, too, mu
sic, nature, and art meant so much more
to them then to other men and women
they drew such strength and wealth out
of even the blades of grass at their gate
or the sunlight on their bare floor, that
one could not but envy the rich heritage
that they would bequeath to their boy.
1t was about this tune this picture was
painted. Men found in it something of
message from the gods struggling to be
head they looked curiously at Tom and
said, presently we shall have great
man among US" But they did not buy
the picture. They did not buy any of
Toms pictures.
As years went by this fact forced itself
closer and closer upon the painter. The
more he fixed his eyes upon the stars the
more his empty pocket took life and gnaw-
ed like fox at his vitals. He and his
wife could have always found food and
royal clothing for themselves in their con-
sciousness of their great work for man
kind, but for their boys they wanted
broadcloth, beef, and potatoes to equal
those Of their neighbor's children across
the way. One day a picture auctioneer
offered Tom place as "hack." "Give
mp this Flemish accuracy and this peculiar
fancy which struggles through all your
work. You can dash me off two or three
bold studies day; something to catch
the public eye. Coarse as you please.
You need never put your name to them "
The wages offered were a competency
1t was an everyday transaction the man
had simply to make a choice between
poverty with his own work and wealth |
without it. To Tom, however, it seemed
choice between God and Mammon. 1t |
threatened to rench soul and body asun-
der But the children had their hands !
upon him. Should they not have their
share of the worlds comfort, gentiity,
style }? Tom went into the road where all
hacks tramp together their treadmill
round which leads now here in life or death
He had meant to be deaf and blind if any
Voice summoned him out of it. But he
never heard again the heavenly Call. His