The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1877-09-29

for sale at auction. They went off at fabu-
lous prices, considering their inferiority.
One little man with his face almost entirely
concealed by growth of grizzly whiskers,
bought them all.
purchased my canvas and paints, and
shutting myself up in an attic room in the
studio, began to paint the "Arctic Snows.'
l spoke to the master and requested that
no one be allowed to ascend the attic steps,
to inspect my work or disturb me in any
way, and after few days think they for
got that was there. lodged in my attic
room with my unfinished creation. | died
literally to the present and lived only in
the future. | sat upon my one broken
chair in the dim twilight, and looked at the
bare floor and white, staring walls with
loose plasteriDg hanging from them in
places and dreamed of the time when the
last strokes should be given to the "Arctic
Shows" when the world should come to
look, to wonder; at last to worship at it's
shrine. Gold would pour into my empty
Golfers. l would hasten to Elaine and
clasp her to my breast, at last my own, my
bride. Then would come delicious thoughts
of coming home at the twilight hour and
finding Elaine there to welcome me, of
drawing her to my side and feeling her
soft cheek rest against my own.
This was in the early days of my conse-
Grated task, when was sketching the bold
outlines of the dreary icebergs. When 1
began to paint the sky, and had labored six
long months in vain endeavor to repro
duce those cold, clear, mysterously bril-
liant lights, seen only in the northern heav-
ems, at the dawn of the Polar day. sud-
denly realized that my whole being must be
concentrated upon my work. l suddenly
resolved to Danish the memory of the past,
the hope of the future, from my breast. l
determined to absolve myself from human
joy or suffering. After dark | would steal
out like criminal fearing detection, to
purchase scanty meal in little bake shop
near the studio. l would often purchase
enough at once to last me for whole week,
and for that period of time would remain
secluded in my attic, seeing no human
creature, hearing no human voice.
At this period of my history, began to
be conscious of a mysterious presence, to
feel that l was not alone. at first this
knowledge filled me with nameless terror,
but as day by day this shadowy presence
grew more real, l recognized in it the
genius of my art, by whose divine aid
"Arctic Shows"
1t was when the soft twilight Of late
Spring evening mellowed the dreary blank
ness of my attic studio, that sat gazing
upon my canvas in blank despair. One
long year had | spent in ceaseless work
upon it, without producing the desired
effect. All at once the shadowy presence
in my room grew strangely real, form of
matchess grace foated before my dazzled
eyes. | threw myself headlong at her feet,
and vowed to her eternal alteration. She
seemed to pause beside me, to bend over
me, until her icy lips touched mine, and
thrilled me with a ravishing horror. In
that brief moment of dreadful ecstasy, I
saw, SO close to mine that her chill breath
famed my cheek, a face of beatific lowell
ness. AS she vanished from my sight, I
sank into a heavy swoon, from which l
was awakened by the rays of the morning
sun shining on my face. l sprang to my
feet, and Selling my brush went to work
with an enthusiasm l had not felt for
months before. Ali day worked and did not
grow weary. An invisible hand seemed to
guide my own, and ere nightfall my canvas,
all my little room, seemed to glow with
that pale, mysterious light, which creeps
silently over the Arctic sky to herald the
coming of the long, long day.
Midsummer grew apace, and the scorch-
ing sunlight glistened off the broad and
fiery street below with binding, sickening
effect, when l looked from my window on
the world beneath, but chilled by the in
visible presence, the air of my room
grew cooler day by day. rejoiced at this,
for only in such an atmosphere could l
have painted those icy peaks, reaching up
and loosing themselves in the luminous
haze of that wondrous light, such as never
before had glowed upon the canvas of
painter. Such sky no mortal hand could
ever have produced unaided.
l no longer feared the presence of the
spirit of my visions. l longed with
feverish unrest for the gloom of each COM
ing twilight hour, for only then could my
eyes discern that ravishirg form. One
morning about this time, / was startled at
hearing light step just outside my room,
and the next moment gentle tap upon my
door. Scarcely knowing what l did, 1
drew back the bolt and lifted the latch.
Elaine stood ON the threshold, smiling
and blushing through the happy tears that
suffused her beautiful eyes. 1t was full
fifteen minutes before l could recall her
name, so long had it been since had ban
shed her from my mind. Slowly the
of the past returned, but not the
emotions. My love for Elaine was dead
had slain it with my own hand.
81 have come for you; you will go with
me-" she said softly, taking my unresisting
hand in her own. al am alone in the
world now, with ample wealth at my COM
mand. You are starving, dying here, in
this dreary attic. You will not refuse to
let me aid you?"
But | shrank from her presence with
strange aversion. How coarse and sensual
her plump figure and rosy face appeared
now, when compared with the features of
my visionary visitant. Yet one short year
ago they had seemed the personation of
grace and beauty.
"Come!' she entreated, seeing that I
silent, with my gaze fixed upon
my canvas. You can return and finish
your picture after a season; but now you
must away and rest, Or indeed, you can not
live to complete it. Let me advance you
the money, and seek rest and strength in
foreign travel. You can repay the loan at
your leisure.'
But in vain she entreated. l asked for