Los Angeles daily herald., 1874-03-08

"Glory!-my friend, never! have
had my dreams of glory, and to you /
owe nay first inspirations. But let
him crow who has won the fight" an
swered the young artist.
would not be long before would hear
the worlds applause"
"'Tis in vain. / should consume
all my power before could struggle
through the darkness into the light I
would walk in. All my patience
would be gone, of which so much is
required to excel in my profession
For moment both were silent. The
old man shrugged his shoulders as if
he thought it useless to continue his
argument; but our young artist, in a
sort of half-sad voice, seemed not al
together disposed to drop the subject,
and further remarked:
"And after all what is it? What
does it amount to? You have fought
the long battle of life, and in your in
spired moments created verses, ro-
mances, comedies and the greatest
satire ever penned by human genius;
but did or does the world give back
commensurate comforts and rewards
for our devotion and the hours of our
toll and trouble? Are old camlet
clOaks the just or only reward for a
life of industry and genius like
yours?"
The sarcasm and truth of this re-
mark disturbed not in the least the
old man with all his experience, nor
would he let the hardships and depri-
vatiOns of his life be an argument to
persuade others from the development
of their talent. Hence his answer to
the allusion of the camlet cloak was as
full of philosophy as his heart of truth
and interest for his young friend.
eyes, Diego, tits true my old cloak
is the best covering l have. / have,
tits true, been neglected. prosecuted,
and now in my old days want many
of the comforts of life. But let me
tell you, my young friend, that all of
life is not in the covering of our bodies,
the quality of our diet, or the style of
the castle we are sheltered under.
Mop Here our old soldier threw back
his camlet cloak, revealed his under
dress, and resting one hand upon his
sword, continued with more meas
ured emphasis:
81 am poor; but, thank God, / am
honest. Not only this, have written
not so much for others as for myself
There is an indiscribable reward when
we indulge the exercise of whatever
genius God in his mercy may have
graced us withal. 1t is an exquisite
pleasure to see and know our own
creations, whether in writing, paint
| I'M lo Lr>u 81 r
have world of my own, peopled with
children born of my imagination. I
talk with them, walk with them, eat
with them, and whether good or bad
in character, they serve moral, and
all alike give more joy to my old heart
than could all other treasures ofSpain.
Still more, who can deprive me of
them? They are part of my own be-
ing. They stay with me while live,
and will long survive my poor bodyW
AS he concluded this outburst of
triumph, the old man looked like the
perfect embodiment of human gran
deur. The eagle look of the soldier,
and the eloquence of the poet quite
subdued the young man, who now
seemed at loss for reply. But our
old companion, feeling he had broken
the shackles of depression that had
bound our young friend, took further
advantage, and turning him around
by the arm, said:
"Come, come, let us go to your stu
dio, and there see what you are about"
The youth submitted and followed,
with his mind more Gained and peace
full with new resolves.
A few moments walking brought
them to the old house. OF course the
apartment was found in the same dis
orderly condition as he last left it.
The old man, after Juggling up the
stairway, was quite exhausted, and
sank back into the old armchair.
Very few persons at his time of life
could have been induced to undertake
the task of climbing up such stair
way, unless urged by something of the
most exciting Importance. After a
puff or two over his fatigue, he ex-
claimed:
"In heavens name why don't you
find an apartment where you can have
stairs to go up instead of such an in
| fernal arrangement as you have here?
1t may all be we'll enough for young
limbs like yours, that have the nim-
bleness of the antelope, but as for q
man of sixty-eight, you might as well
invite him to ascend the guillotine.
However, where is the picture that
has given you so much trouble and
disappointment? Come, let me see it,
and perhaps can give you encourage
| ment."
"There it is upon the floor" So say
| ing, the artist took it up and placed it
against the lower part of the easel.
The old mans attention was imme-
diately arrested, and after looking at
| the picture for few moments, he
| turned to the artist, and with look of
intense inquiry, said:
"Can it be possible that man of
your intelligence would treat so fine a
production in so shameful manner?
Would you destroy or even abuse that
which, perhaps, y III cannot reproduce?
1t is the finest effort l have ever seen
from your brush, and is worthy of an
older artist than yourself. That bit Of
reflected light, running up the side of
the neck and blending its cold, blue
shadows with the warm blood tints,
cannot be bettered; the real and the
human pervadas the whole picture"
"Rehected light! why, there is the