Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1882-06-16

recreant to the reverend procepts of Fox and
Barclay. All this was meant by pursuit Of
his strong bias for art
Why was he born with it? Whence came
il These questions he often asked himself
For six generations his ancestors had never
touched a brush or palette; not n painting
nor statue, nor a musical instrument, nor
any drama or work of fiction had been allow
ed in their houses. How had he been Great
ed with passion for color and form, with
love of poesy and music, which neither the
dreary farm work nor the colorless life, nor
all the frigid, deadening discipline of the So
ciety could quench2
Going back to his earliest memory, he
could recall that when four years old, he was
left for few hours at the house of Mike
Wallis, an Irish tenant on a neighboring farm,
and that Mikes wife had kept him in the ut
| most bliss by showing him a colored print of
1.-THE Virgin and the Infant, and telling him
the pathetic history, as it had pictured itself
in her warm, Irish heart. But what was the
horror of his parents next day, when he tod
died into the room where they were at din
ner and called:
"Mudder, mudder, come see God"
His parents ran to the door TO see what this
strange appeal meant and 10 there, on the
| floor of the front porch, chalked in rude, but
faithful outlines, were the Child, with rays Of
Btoty htOunu MS neaui anu tne MOtuet py MS
side holding cross He could still recall the
scowl that came over his fathers face, aud
his mothers impetuous rush for a bucket Of
water and scrubbing brush. Nor had he for
| gotten the violent shake and immediate spank
ing he himself received for his artistic en-
| deavor.
His memory loapt till he was a boy of 10,
and TO his intense delight at effectng trade
Of a Barlow knife for box Of paints. Many
an hour of Joy had they given him, hiding
himself in the garret Of the old house, in the
back part of the hay NOV near the dusty ga
BILE window, or in little hut he had built in
the woods. But his prying little sister be-
| trayed him one day, and not only was his
treasure confscated, but he himself was tied
to the bed post by his mother and given such
a whipping as would have discouraged most
| youthful artists.
| Later in life, when he was too old for such
! vigorous measures, many lectures had he re-
ceived on the frivolity of such tastes and the
wickedness of ministering to them.
These scenes passing through his memory
convinced him that il was vain to battle with
such inhexible rules and that to be free he
must leave the farm and all its associations.
| There was but one which had really held
him. That was Sibbilla Vernon. The daugh.
ter of rigid parents, her mother even pub
lie friend" whose voice at monthly and quar-
| terly meetings was familiar to all members of
| the society, Sibbilla was not an unusual type
Of the advanced thought of her sect. Calm,
self-possessed, clear headed, she had announc-
ed when but fifteen to her family that her own
conscience was her guide, and that in all es-
sential matters she should follow it.
From childhood she and Richard Harris
had delighted to play and talk together and
though no word of love, no kiss and no caress
had ever passed between them, both their
families and themselves considered their union
only matter Of time and money. Nor did
this absence Of the usual passage of love seem
| to any one concerned a strange circumstance.
They were accustomed to the repression of
all outward show of feeling. In neither house
hold had the children ever seen a kiss ex-
changed among its members young or old
Though devoid of any passion for art her.
self, Sibbilla understood and respected the
forbidden tastes of her lover. She looked up
on his peculiar abilities as gifts of God for
use in life, and she quietly but firmly put
aside the traditions of her sect, which con-
denim them Unfortunately.
"Wilt thou presume to deny the many tes-
timonies of Friends, both in England and
America, against the sinful arts ?" her moth
er would ask beinga public friend" of con-
siderable local fame, she never employed the
incorrect nominatiye "thee" even in family
life.
Mother" replied the daughter, "they
spoke for their day must act in mine by
the light have, not by theirs"
Her mother wisely avoided argument, trust
ing that the spirit would enlighten her daugh-
ter in time.
Leaving the fodder stack, Richard walked
across the bare fields toward the plain brick
house which was Sibbilla's home His mind
was made up. He would go to New York
and devote himself to the study of art He
had saved since his majority about three hun
dred dollars. He had youth, strength, talent,
love-was not that enough? Would Sibbilla
approve of it? Would she make the serious
sacrifice it involved?
As he approached the house it was about
10 o'clock, and all the males we're out at work.
He knocked at the front door, insteed of the
side door, as usual, and Sibbilla herself open.
ed ii and gazed at him with considerable sur
prise in her hazel eyes, quickly changing to
an expression of pleasure, which Richard did
not fail to note, and which filed him with
both Joy and anxiety.
"Why, Richard, what brings thee here al
this hour 2" was her exclamation.
"Sibbilla," he said, 81 wish to SEQ thee, u
and, stopping in, he closed the door, and they
both stood in the wide hall, obsourely lighted
by the transoms at each end. He paused o
J moment to recover his control, and then
spoke in low vibrating tone: II am going
to leave the farm in order to study art.
shall have to give up my membership in the
society, as thee knows. Father says he will
leave me nothing If do, and 1 know thy
mother agrees with him. But am not afraid.
All ask is that thee approve of my decision
and will become my wife as soon as am able
to offer thee home"
At that supreme moment of resolve NIL the
utrarpth xuhiob foF tinpa haA haaO
tured by the noble theories of self-relianoe,
all the passion which for generations had been
muffied and smothered under the narro "
Quaker system of formality and repression,
burst forth and were expressed in the face oi
Sibbilla Vernon. She seemed TO rise in stat
ure and laying one hand on his arm and pass
ing the other around his neck, she said
"Richard, will come to thee then, or
will go with thee now"
The tone was low and the words were with
out haste, but he who heard it felt in his in
most soul that no oath could be stronger
'Thank God and thee" he uttered, and fol
the first time in their lives each felt the magic
meaning of kiss aud love.
Seated on the wooden 'settee," which is the
common furniture of the country hall, be tolC
her his fathers words and action and his Owl
unalterable determination to seek his future
in art 1t was agreed that they should b'
married by magistrate as soon as Richard
should have an income of 800 year.
Full of quiet joy he went home, announced
his intended marriage and immediate depar
ture, packed his trunk, and told Nose to have
the dearborn ready at o'clock in the eve
ming to take him to the railway station. AT
ter the o'clock supper the members of thu
family maintained almost entire silence, hi
mother quietly crying, and his father reading
the "Book OF Discipline" bis favorite litera
ture.
The dearborn drove up with Nose, whit
had been to the station with the milk, AM
stopping at the country store, which was ais
the post office, had brought letter for Rich
ard. It was rather unusual for any membe
of the household to receive a letter, ant