Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1875-12-24
[Gontinued from first pase. |

farm take me away from nome Anu
the poor Girl. though unused to the melt
ing mood. gave way 10 most unreasonable
tears.
Here was plight Tor II sensitive young
artist. who couI, not seriously think OF re-
linauishing his calling, and yet was 10th 70
see n woman cry--how much more
Luxom cousin with hundred claims TO ms
regard What arguments and biandish-
mepts. what humorings and compromises
were here resorted TO, cannot tell, but IT IS
certain the betrothed pair did not quarrel
How could they? There existed not gem
tler- more considerate being than modest
Robin. or one less qualified to take the ty-
rants vein while Ruth, with all her stur-
dy purpose and executive turn, held quaint
theories of female obedience and whole
some notions of the rights OF man. ct
ali Inc fostering and comforting IN the
world cannot sweeten the cup OF exile TO
the foolish Switzer lass, nor will the model
meekness of your Griselda rob bereave-
ment of its sting think Bob read this
in his companions patient looks, and, no
doubt, he noticed that she seldom thence
forward went singing about the house.
There is no situation more trying to the
temper than to find yourself the reluctant
eyacter of an irksome ruelul sacrifice, and
no wonder Bobs spirits at this epoch un-
derwent considerable depression. sup
pose he was conscious of his uncompan-
ionable mood, for he began to roam about
the farm alone, and eyinced less relish
for Miss Nell's light chat during hours OF
labor. Over Miss Tyrrelrs portrait he
was most assiduous, but somehow the pic
ture made no progress. Had Bob adj
dressed himself specially to portraiture,
he might naturally seek to make the most
of rather fantastic subject, and surprise
by one piquant masterpiece the snffrages
OF the academy. But l have often heard
him disparage that particular province OF
his art, and am, therefore. at loss to eX'
plain his present feverish and unsatisfled
behavior. Two or three weeks slipped
away, and still he was dawdling and nd
ding with the canvas. Was it poor Ruth
pensive shadow which thwarted and OBJ
scured his work. or was there something
in the face he pored over which drew the
cunning from his hand?
Why should Squire Allen, who regard
ed art much as Bob regarded top-dressing,
select this moment to visit the studio and
ventilate his unvarnished heterodox opin-
ions? To be sure he was always loiter-
ing about the house and consulting with
Ruth Lyon, but matters of moment en-
crossed those discussions. and it was
rather tardy politeness that prompted him
to ask what Bob was doing.
The 'squre's attitude rs he surveyed the
atelier. whittier Ruth conducted him, was
very aifable and friendly. and the dis
course he pronounced on the occasion
abounded in fresh. fruitful suggestions,
which Bob in normal frame Of mind
would have deyoured with infinite gusto.
Them pictures O scenery" he re-
marked in the course Of his review, lair
good and val'ble They amt no kind O
use to me, but city folks that live cooped
up in them brick dwellin's. and hain't got
room to keep a gardin, they kin hire
chap to paint suthin' green and country
like which is hulsome to the mind. Amt
that the idee ?'
Robin thought perhaps it was.
''As for them palaces pursued the
squire, pointing to a street scene in Fer
rara, ''and marble meetin houses, l set
my foot gin 'em as savorin o the pomps
and superstitions O. the old world They
air the high places of idolatry and the
sink o corruption. Let em crumblc to
the airth =
"Crumble - said Bob, Indignantly.
Cant you see the beauty of them as mere
models?'
''As models. p'raps." allowed the critic
they kin be used. But that ere thing
he continued. swapping finger at Miss
Tyrrell's picture, lyon kin say nuihin'
l,,.a a., in
What do you mean ?" cried Robin red
dening
why, they was fust rate the squire
explained, 'in the old times, and woth
money, too. I've got one o them like
ncsses to home that cost sight he re-
ferred to his sire's presentment, executed
by Luke Slingbrush, q local artist of some
fame-'sbut who's goin pay. nowadays,
for all them paints and varnishes when
you can buy photograph for dollar
You air smart. Robert. kin see that; but
you can't beat the sun, nohow.'
1.-The suns an ass.' shouted Robin,
provoked beyond endurance. The sun
would make Shakespeare look II blockhead,
staring and gasping at that big bulls eye.
Good Lord man. do your features say
anything? And the expression of your
face, too, ut a given moment, what is il
but the reflex OF one mood-a single let
ter in Ike alphabet OF character? They're
well fitted to tools-your photographs .
Bat the pregnant face, the soulful face,
demands a painter to probe and ponder it
until he has spelled out lis last secret, and
printed j! there on the canvas for the
world TO read Talk of photographs for
a face like that - And the excited artist
flung cloth over the insulted portrait.
| am not going TO rev!e Robin for that
rinting. Incorporate speech, for he was
presently heartily ashamed of it. Ruth on
her part could not have looked more con-
founded il one Of her sheep had bitten her,
and speedily invented an excuse to draw
the squire away.
That's no business for me, The squire
observed, when the two had rctreated to a
less feryid atmosphere. IL guess it pays,
though. when you get the kuack Of it. I'll
tell ye,'' he added, "what Robert ought to
do; jest harry up, paint off dozen o them
i,leiurs, stock the old farm complete, and
settle down"
II don't knew, Ruth said. in her heart
much impressed with the idea lyon might
talk to him-but J m AFRAID he don't like
farming