American citizen., 1879-04-26
Ben looked at them through his spec

is 1t the best ye can doP"
Certainly not. Do you think I'd
put my best work on wall paperP Did 1
go to Rome for thatP"
"Dinna ye mind the guide Book says,
whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do
it with thy mightP' Nav, there's my
journey man, Jock Sawtree," laying the
papers carefully in pile on the table,
''Jock says to me this mornin', 'Ben,'
says he, why dye plane off the top
planks of the porch as smooth as the
bottomP It's wasting of time says
he. 'Nobody'd know If you slighted
'em.' jock says 1, 'I'a KNOX,"
David looked at the old man min
ute, and then he gathered up the designs
and threw them in the fire. "You're
better artist than l." he said.
"I know naething about art, but 1
know what's honest" said Ben.
David spent the rest of the day on a
design. It was the best he could do. In
the evening he showed it to his mother
and Jeanie.
"My idea is the paper of a chamber,
in which the occupant, waking from
sleep, shall have glimpse of the field
outside.'
The ground of the design was the
pale bue of the air, against which waved
long fine grasses and white wild daisies,
with here and there a joyous song-spar-
row, in flight, or poised to sing.
s'It is the field W here you used to play
when you were boy, David!" cried his
mother.
"I know, mother"
David had put so much feeling and
his tenderest recollection into the sketch
that he felt it must succeed. But the
next day he received q curt note from
the manufacturer, stating that he ''could
not feel justified in employing him.
This design, being the first, was, of
course, his property"
$50 my best work is wasted" said
David.
Several weeks later, he saw in the
windows of the manufacturer in High
Street, paper printed in his design. 1t
sold rapidly. But the truth was, the
manufacturer chose to employ cheaper
and inferior workmen.
The times began to revive soon after
that. Young Bruce had q commission
to paint the portrait of the Mayor, and
so became well known. Presently, his
landscapes were sold. Slowly and sure
ly he went on his way to fortune, car
rying his dear old mother and Jeanie
with him; and after little, wife and
baby were added to the happy house
hold.
There were one or two little incidents
in his after life which wish to recall.
Many years after he had gained fame
and prosperity, he visited brother art
lit of yet higher standing than his own,
who lived in bleak district of New
England. His host had but one child,
a boy of about II, who was carried into
the parlor by two men, seated in an
easy chair. He was worn to a shadow,
but his face was full of sensitive feeling.
"My boy has been an invalid from
his CRADLE" his father said. For
months in the year, he is not able to
leave his bed.''
Bruce, during his stay, became much
attached to the little fellow. One day
his father said to him
"This month of August is Charley's
one glimpse of freedom. During the
fall and winter, he never leaves his room,
and is not able to read, to amuse him
aa1f uitb fovz mr. ovop 70 l;stoy, f, nm
sic. By the way, found rare pleas
ure for him last winter, most unexpect-
edly, in an old-fashioned wall-paper, of
singular design of leaves, wild flow
ers, and birds flying here and there in
the summer light. 1t just takes me
right out of doors, papa he said; and
he would fancy stories about the birds
and tell them to his mother by the hour
There is really remarkable artistic merit
in the paper. should like you to look
at it,
az should be glad to see it," said Mr.
Bruce, who was troubled just then by
some far-off memories.
When he carried little Charley into
the chamber after awhile, and heard
him explain his "winter garden" his
pale face reddening with pleasure, the
tears came to Bruce's eyes.
Five years later, in looking over a
Western newspaper, Bruce found this
paragraph:
BY the confession of Jim Budd, last week,
just before meeting his fate on the gal,ows,
1t was proved, as our readers will remem-
Der, that Oscar Arnold was innocent of the
crime Of forgery, for which he was sentenced
five years ago. Arnold was an old man,
farmer, whose life had always been inof-
fensibe before his trial. His pardon was
sent at once to the prison, but arrived Just
too late. The old man had died the day be-
fore. He had been confined to his cell for
months, and some kindly soul had covered
the walls with cool, summery paper, with
birds flying here and there through the
grass. The prisoner, as his mind failed,
took as great delight in these pictured walls
as child, fancying himself, poor fellow,
free and in his own fields again.
Not long afterwards Bruce passed
through the city where Arnold had been
and visited the prison. The
wife of the jailer told him the whole
pathetic story, and showed him the
white daisies and song-sparrows on the
wall.
'He fancied himself out of doors
among them, poor soul" she said, "and |
so died calm and happy. The Lord put
it into the heart of somebody to paint