Los Angeles daily herald., 1874-03-08

Resting his head against the back of
the chair, he remained as motiOnless
as if dead.
This extraordinary conduct of the
artist seemed to have little or no effect
upon the boy who was sitting for the
study. He looked pleased, rather
than otherwise, and after while, OBJ
serving no signs of motion on the part
of his master, he quietly took from his
bosom bit of brown bread, and fell
to his repast with as much gustO as an
epicurean of the most refreshing dain-
tiness.
Still the artist did not move. The
boy becoming wearied, and observing
the long shadows of evening throwing
their gray gloom over the quiet room,
stealthily made his way across the
apartment, when, just as he was about
to disappear through the scuttle-hole,
he discovered that he had left his cap
behind. Like q cat on all-fours, he
noiselessly crept to the easel, where,
grasping his cap, he then as silently
returned, and made his exit in tri-
umph, for he dreaded another half
hour sitting which he must endure
had his master discovered him.
The artist passed restless night,
but as the first purple rays of the morn
fell through some of the broken places
in the roof of his apartment, spotting
the wall here and there with splashes
of rich, warm color from the newly
set palette of old Sol, he hastily rose
from his couch, and adjusting his
brown SLOUGH hat, with it's broken
plume of drab and blue color, and a
dark cloak thrown about his shoulders
in the picturesque style SO peculiar to
all artists, he Immediately left his
room to seek the refreshing air of fair
Aurora's new-made morn. After
sauntering along for a while, turning
into one street and another, at last
reaching the public square, he paused
and stood in meditation, looking at
the quaint old sidewalk, and would,
perhaps, have stood so engaged a much
longer time, had not the deep tones of
cathedral organ attracted his atten-
ton. AS he slowly raised his head and
looked behind him, he seemed awak-
ened to new thoughts, and thus for
several moments he stood listening to
the sweet, deep sound of church music.
The cathedral doors stood open, and
looking down the long, broad aisle he
beheld at the far end the grand al
tar, with it's burning candles illumin-
ating Machael Angeles picture of the
"Transfiguration," which glorifies the
great panel above the tabernacle.
Upon the steps beneath were seen the
priests in rich vestments and the boys
in their crimson cassocks, one swing
ing back and forth richly wrought
incensariO in salutation to the Sacred
Host, surrounded with sparkling dia-
monds set in shining gold, raised on
high by the priest, all looking like q
beautiful dream revealing itself
through wreaths of smoke, tinted by
the many-colored lights that fell
through the stained-glass windows.
In another moment he was within
the church, and as he was a good
Christian his knees soon sought the
hard texture of the tessellated pave
ment in devotion to that Great Spirit
who sends the storm unto the heart
and soothes its troubles into calm.
In u few moments more the early
mass was over, and as our young friend
was leaving the church he felt touch
on his shoulder and heard the saluta-
ton, "Vaya con DiOs Sefior Diego!"
The person who so spoke was far adj
vanced in years, perhaps seventy. His
figure was tall, his face full of mean
ing, and he had that peculiar some
thing about him bespeaking man of
genius. His dress consisted of half
WORKOUT camlet cloak, doublet of
black velvet, dark brown tights or
stockings, russell boots, and a long
sword dangling at his side, with his
hat so placed upon his head as to have
the dash and style of the soldiers of
his time; and although his dress was
the worse for wear still there was a
neatness that showed an effort to make
things appear to the best advantage.
No matter what such man might
wear he would look like gentleman.
The contrast of the two men was
striking. The youth, with his sad
face, apparently dissatisfied with him
self and the world, seemed to look in
doubt over the long foreground of life
into an indistinct future-a future he
could not fashion to his desire. The
old man looked like an old book, writ
ten long since and of well-established
merit, whose leaves friend could
turn over and obtain the refreshing
memories of a glorious past that had
done work to the comfort of his soul,
and hope of life beyond the grave.
He was soldier and a poet, but who,
in his own day, was not fully appreci-
ated, unless by few artists and men
of genius, like our young friend, who
was an old acquaintance. and had
committed to memory several of his
choice sonnets and romances, and dis
covering who had saluted him, re-
peated some lines aprOpOs of their
meeting.
"But how is this ?' inquired the
old soldier; "why your pale face and
bloodshot eyes? All, my dear boy, do
not thus waste your life that in the
end might be so glorious to yourself
and the world. You are too young to
give your heart to woman, and"
"Stop," interrupted the artist. "No,
tits not woman. My careworn face
came from night of torment and
rage and sleeplessness."
"Why, one would think that it was
your first love that so disturbed you.
But if your case it is not love, pray
you tell me the cause that I may ad-
wise you what to do. What has hap
pened ?" Intercepted the old soldier.
The artist hesitated for a moment to
answer; but soon, looking his COM
panion full in the face, he said, "My
ambition has been plucked of its
wings, pulled out by the very roots
and instead of soaring with hopes of
success and glory, grope in darkness
with despair.
~ fear, my young friend, you have
undertaken more than your years will
warrant; or perhaps you have taken
an uninsured moment to accomplish