Litchfield enquirer., 1877-03-22
CELESTIAL PEAS.

4sSA not the square root the root of all true art, 1a:.d doesh'e that explain perfectly how the professor and the little portrait painter came to be such friends? vs f.
 If that explanation will not do, there must be some other equally clear, for they certainly were too opposite for any simpler cement to hold them together The professor had hardly ever thought of anything since he was born, except as 8 question of calculus, to be figured or pre- figured in some mathematical fashion or other; while, as for the little portrait pain ter, everything. pretty much, stood across his sky like fragment, at least, of a rain bow,-form and color, and that was all.
 And at the same time they had taken long leases of their rooms to be sure of keeping side by side; and whenever the light failed the little painter, or his gen. jus wouldn't work, he got over 1t by throw ing his brushes into corner and leaving them to do as they liked till he came back, fresh as lark. from visit next door. Not that he ever expected his vis- its returned. however, for there was Q perfect understanding that the professor couldn't be comfortable in room where everything was thrown down just as it happened. Something was sure to be pointing at him, if it was only brush handle, and the professor couldn't bear to be pointed at by anything that held no relation to him; he liked to see every thing squared to its position in life and staying there. -... -...
 "1Il be back in seven or nine minutes, he called over his shoulder one drizzly Saturday, as the familiar rattle at his door-knob overlook him just half way down the stairs. sg.r, -..5 .....sar a4r
 The professor never would say he was going round corner, because corner was nroperlY the angle of a square; but rouni the corner he went and into the little thread-and needle store close by.
 ''1 want-ah, what do you call it? I really forget" he said hesitatingly, ''but something to mend glove."
 "And what color is the glove?" asked the pretty grisette, with sympathy shin ing in her eyes, The question was an un- expected stroke, and the professor reused himself to an extraordinary effort of mem- ory.
 "I should say-purple," he decided at last exultingly; and just as his seventh minute was fairly up, he re-appeared at the top of the stairs and opened the door.
 "Punctual,' said the little painter. looking up from the easy-chair before the grate. .-
 "Of course," said the professor. "Let c represent the distance have to go,and Q denote the number of miles to the hour, and you csn bring the result to a simple fraction without the least difficulty, Pink"
 "Pinxit" was always the professors s name. for him. put It slipped down into Pink" now and then, when the professor happened to be in extraordinary spirits, and he was particularly pleased with him self just now for his triumph about the color of the glove.
 'Ihe day IS SO monstrous gray, a man can't do anything with it, !" said Pink, set ting down into his easy-chair again.
 "Gray! State the proposition. fairly, Pink! It's holiday, that's what's tue Eefttf6le EEeefffttf6le 5 co5hntry for holidays on the face ~e siIo UaIth. ...e.....
 ''There are more of them coming, though;a solid eight days right ahead of us" replied Pink, with glee. "A regular Aurora Borealis; 8 streak of rose-color thrown smack across the backbone of winter"
 : 'Humph!' growled the professor; but he seated himself and began hummlng tune as he unrolled his parcel.
 ''What are you trying to do now?" ask ed Pinxit, stretching himself upon the elbows of the chair for better look, for the professor had suddenly converted the thumb and fingers of'his left hand into set of spindles, and was evoluting a CO., coon of purp.6 sewing silk from them in most scientific style
 "Why, you see, Pink" said the profes. sor, as the last coil came of his thumb and became triumphantly complete CO., coon, live worn these gloves about three or five times, and the edges of this seam, which should represent two parallel lines, have been drawn from thelr points until they form an ellipse. Now let the upper tip of the finger and the lower end of the rip represent two fixed points, and let me take piece of this thread shorter than the distance, and I'll reduce them to a given line again in twinkling."
 "But my gracious man ahve! exclaim- ed Pink, springing from his chair to the professors, with one leap, ''it can't be donet' -sa
 ''Can't be donel" repeated the profes- sor triumphantly. Just let this needle full of silk become tangent line, and
 ''But tell you, Interrupted Pink, 'the silk is the very difficulty! Don't you see it isn't the color? You might as we'll put a green stripe on the sky, and be done with it!''
 The professors face fell.
 ''It isn't the color?" he echoed unwill- ingly; and laying the cocoon and the glove side by side, he gave a sudden stoop for nearer look at the question.
 II don't see so very much difference" he said, rising again to give the artist rather discomfted look. s-a
 'Don't see it? said Pink, fairly beside himself with excitement, ''dont see that that one is a purple, and the other . brown! Why. they'd explode if you put them togetherl Let them alone, man, till another day, and let me find the right thing for youi"
 Cant do it, Pinxit,; ;" said the professor, ''I shall want these gloves to wear in just seventeen hours nom now"
 "Well, give me the silk, and I'll paint it for you then!" cried Pink, in despera- tion, ''Wait minute. and I'll fetch the color"
 The professor sat with the threaded needle in his hand and sense of down fall in his heart, meekly waiting for Pink to come back; but he waited and waited, and no Pink appeared. A sitter had come in. the professor was sure, from the sounds of voices through the wall, and he was equally sure, by the way things seem ed to be knocked about in there, had come Tn time that didn't suit the artists mood at all ssl ,az4!g Sa b59f na l
 The professor hesitated. aWhat is the use of multiplying troubles?" he asked himself, in confidential whisper; ''the colors are both really very dark" and with 8 furtive glance towards Pinxit's room, he fixed the extremity" of his thread and went to work m
 The next morning. the professor put on the gloves and went softly out to church before the little portrait-painter had shown himself. He felt slight twinge, to be sure, as the gleam from his row of stitches reminded him dimly of line of heathern graves he had once seen lying along a brown Scotch moor; but he had forgotten all about them before he reach ed the corner, and went on as comfortably as on the Sunday when the gloves were H~.f~ T