Eaton weekly Democrat. [volume] (Eaton, Ohio) 1866-1875, 1872-12-05

A very handsome oak table, with mas
siVe legs, is covered with Venetian
glasses and Flemish bottles, with +" pots''
of various sorts, comprising Girls de
Flandres, Satsuma jars, and the blue
Lizen, or six mark Japanese ware, while
an exquisite little Japanese cabinet is
created by handful of peacock g
feathers. Sketches in charcoal and in
oils, copies of world.renowned pictures,
studies, unfinished paintings, are strewn
about in picturesque and grotesque con-
fusion; and, at one end of the room,
with the best light falling full upon it,
stands the guillotine-like easel, on
which rests the picture of the hour, the
canvas which absorbs all Frank Or
mond's thoughts and is freighted with
all his ambition, the picture upon
which he is now working.
And SO the happy painter works from
year to year-labor, completion, weari
ness, fruition, recommencement. His
whole work and hope are concentrated,
for the time, upon the picture, with
which he remains face to face for many
lonely months. 1t is finished at last !;
finished just when it must be compiler
ed, in order to be sent to the Academy
and then the reaction of lassitude, afte;
a long tension, begins. His work has
weary of the picture over which he has
felt SO many fluctuations of depression
and delight. It has absorbed so much
of himself that he cannot judge it truly;
he alternates between confidence and
dependency; he sighs half with regret;
half in relief, as his distracting darling
is carried forth from his doors. Then
he relsxes the long strain of anxious
labor; he amuses himself, and half for
gets his art; he works but little, if at
all. The picture gets well hung; then
comes the private view, with the crit
les; then the public crowding about the
shining rows in the splendid gallery
then follow the favorable notice, the
praise of friends, the sneer of" brother"
rivals; then all this passes away, until,
after due relaxation, the painter recon-
mences with renewed ardor his work so
beautiful and loved. A painter, by the
way, has one great advantage over an
authorize is sure of his spectators, of
his public. If his work be hung in
good exhibition, it is sure to be seen by
all those whom the painter wishes to
see it. An author has to go to his read
ers; but his spectators always come to
Meanwhile Frank, twisting his mus
tache as he gazes on his picture, and
now and then throwing in deft and
rapid touch of the brush, is waiting un-
til his model shall have rested in order
to go on.
"Bother the skirt " cries that young
person, who, with a view to warming
herself, has been dancing about the
studio trying burlesqde pas which
she had seen on the previous evening
at the the theater. "There, Mr.. Or
mond, I'm rested now. On we go
again I''
The little model interested me, both
in her individualism and as member
of class which furnishes to the artist
the materialism of the romantic. tried
to learn something of her history, but
succeeded only sketchily, and in
piecemeal manner. Her name was
Polly Brown. She was distinctly pretty
and piquant. She possessed, among
her various merits as a model, very long
and beautiful brown hair, which she
knew how to dishevel and tumble down
far below her waist, in flow of roman.
tic distress. Her eyes, brown also, were
large, and full of soft fire +; and the little
monkey had trick of rendering them
plaintive and pathetic in expression, SO
that she was particularly valuable as
virgin martyrs, betrayed beauties, and
the like. Her complexion was that of
a light brunette had she lived more in
the country, her cheeks would, it is
probable, have shown a little flush of
tender red through the psle, soft olive
of her teint. She had q nice little nose;
the mouth was good, though perhaps a
little large, but she knew how to purse
it up and to draw the corners down SO
as partially to conceal this little defect.
The shape of the little half arch, half
tender face was a fine oval, and the
head was remarkably well set on. She
was good in profile, but better as a
three. quarter face with upturned eyes
Her hands and feet were small, and the
figure, though trihe petite, was round
and well shaped. Her manner was al
ways merry, but never boisterous, and
the girl had innate tact and taste.
Yes" observed Frank, c. itic lily,
f" she is frst-rate model, in her line. 1t
is only when you see good deal of her
that you detect the least little trife of
which comes, no doubt, from
her mother. Do you know Irather like
that little suspicion of plebeianism it
shows that her base touches the people.
She is good, you know, for historical
heroines. She is, in fact, fit for what
actors call the juvenile tragedy line of
business. Do you remember my Olivia
in the Vicar of Wakefeld2 Well, she
sat, and did splendidly, for that. She's
always punctual, and pleasant, to deal
with; she's lively and frisky, but never
rude, and she's really good little girl.
Out of all the models L know, she's
about the best. I like little Polly; if
you want to please her, you've only got
to send her to the play"
The little model had considerable imi-
tative and dramatic talent, and readily
picked up the trick of her trade. She
quickly caught painters idea, and
produced the expression, or caught the
attitude, which his purpose required.
She had little feminine voice, almost
as exquisitely dainty as Marie Wilton's,
and had conquered that difficulty, so
great to one of her class, of good pro-
nunciation.
Polly's mother was housekeeper in a
set of chambers. She had been on the
stage in her youth, and retained a strong
passion for the theater. OF her father
I could learn nothing. Polly herself,
in her early girlhood, had been theatri-
cal. She danced as q fairy IN panto.
mines, and formed one of child-g group
of peasants. or what not, as required by
the ballet-master; but, to her great dis
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