The Portland daily press., 1873-12-11
(From the st. Nicholas Magazine.]
An Adventure With q Critic.
BY JOHN RIVERSIDE.

If Ned McGlip was not a good painter. it
was not his fault no artist ever worked hard
er. Early ard late he was in the fields or
woods studying the forms and colors of trees,
rocks, mountains, plants and clouds, or he
was in his studio working out on canvass the
charming things which he found in nature.
Yet somehow or other, his pictures did not
sell. He could not even get an opinion from
the critics. His little sister said that every
thing he painted was 'juss lovely" And an
other young lady, for whom Ned had a very
high admiration, thought and decl led that
his pictures were Heavenly" But these fair
critics could not buy his pictures, of coulse !;
and their praises, while they fed his vanity,
did not help him tn fame and reputation.
Ned used to say that he had never met with
one hon,st critic. He was determined that
he would find one such and he cid.
Last summer, despairing of finding anything
new to paint among the Atlantic States, Mr..
Ned McGlip packed up his painting traps"
and betook himselfto California. People are
tired (so he said) of snre Connecticut towns,
with white steeples, nesting among naples
and elms; they have been fed so long on
White Mountain scenery, and Lake Georges,
and bosky dels, and sylvan glades, that they
want something new. I'll go and find it. So
he went and found it.
Among the Santa Cruz mountains, brok-
Gil anu PtCtutCo4uC AiuSC tudI ohutS tuC
cific Ocean, just south of San Francisco, Nc.
Clip fixed his painting camp. Near the saw
mill of Mr.. j. Bowers, better known as "Mis-
souri, Joe" the young artist found she ter and
lodging. Most of the daylight hours he pass
ed in the open air. The grand old peaks and
gorges, shining with water falls, or covered
with noble mahogany and Madrona trees,
gave him new delight. He painted as if he
were mad. 1t would be useless to tell You
hon, m m rdc 0f nvace and Sruoro foot of
sketching paper he covered. Mr.. ]. Bowers
used to remark, thoughtfully, that ''that thar
painter chap war powerful dabster at his
biz" But Mr.. Bowers was not the critic Ned
McGlip was looking for. He set up his easel,
day after day, on the mountain side and man
fully worked away, forgetting all about his
critic. Quite likely he was not expecting him
in the least.
One day leaving the San Gabriel road on
the left, climbing up the Felipe Felipena
ridge, which, of course, all Californian tour
lists remember, Ned planted his easel firmly
on broad bench of rock, overlooking deep
ravne, beyond which the mountain rose in
rocky sleeps, dotted with scrubby oaks and
mansanitas, against the horizon. To the
right the ravine wound around noble peak
Of bald, gray rock, down which came tremb-
ling laughing stream, making soft roar of
mirth in the air. This was the scene which
he had looked at, and decided days before,
should be the subject of his grand picture.
Swiftly he went to work, softly repeating the
lines of some favorite poet of nature, as he
spread his colors and made his canvass begin
to glow with tender hues Of sky and noun
taiE.
SO intent was he upon his work, that he
did not know that large black hear, one of
the enormous family that live in the Santa
Cruz mountains, had quietly come up be-
hind him, and now, gravely squatted down,
was watching him at his work with great in
terest. Ned's brushes flew swiftly; the col
ors beamed on the canvass, and the lines of
the picture grew firm and clear Bruin look
ed on attentivey aud Ned said softly to him
self, e"This might please the critic-if he ev.
er sees it. This is the picture that will make
nv fortune, if ever make it." He paused
moment to think of the little girl with
brown eyes who thought his pictures 'heaven-
w." when he heard behind him contemptu-
our sniff, as if some one said, Il have a very
poor opinion of that" He looked about an
grily, and saw Brun regarding him and his
work with great disdain.
Mr.. McGlip might have stopped to argue
the case; he was in great hurry, however,
and fed at once, leaving behind him his pic
ture brushes, colors, hat, and even his loaded
gun, which happened to be nearer the bear
than the artist. He did not step uptil he
reached the opposite side of the rayine.
when, expecting to feel the bears sharp claws
on his shoulders, he ventured to look around.
To his great relief, Bruin had not followed
one step OF the way; but, on the other side,
the ungainly creature stood on his hind legs,
regarding the unfinished picture with an ar
OF great dissatisfaction. He growled at IL
roughly in the manner of most critics, per-
haps he had found something wrong IN the
distance, or the drawing was faulty.