New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1884-06-29

making game of US with your ghosts and your
gashes There's other things haunts places, Sir, be-
sides what wears white shrouds: and deal more
dangerous, too. If you was to meet 'em. What wine
will you be drinking. sir. if you please
= For one 50 young and handsome. you're the
sternest woman l know. Molly. I'll drink claret'
please and I'll drink your health in it, if you allow
me-"
aIndeed. then, darcsay my health will be none
the worse for it, 50 as don't drink any myself re-
Piled the maiden, retiring. But at the door she
partly turned. and sent bask twinkle from her
eve that more than compensated FOR her sternness.
The excellence of the dinner could not prevent
Ambrose from continuing 10 mediate upon the epi-
sode of the afternoon. He had been FORMULATING
Europe for several years with no more dehnlte Cd
ject than to develop hIs artistic tendencies; ana
had got so far few artists get further rs to put an
individual tone and quality into his pictures; had
explored various branches of painting, and had at
length come to the conclusion that the line that
suited him best the portrayal of character snch
character as Hocarthsatirized and Rembrandt loved
Human nature is good enough for meP came 70
he one of his savings. when confronted with the
masterpieces of Perugino, Raphael Burne Jones or
Frederic Leighton. He avoided conventionalism
with n conscious avoidance thinking about his
sincerity sometimes made him .insncere. Human
nature is brute nature in so far as 1t II DIVINE
nature and Ambrose was Theoretically reader To
dwell upon the brute than upon the Divine SIDE OF
Z. In reality. however he was more fastldious ana
aristocratc than many of those whom he rallied Tor
such nfrmities and his pictures, though rustic ana
homely externally always illustrated some refined
idea which lifted them in sentiment above the
pebeianism of their appearance The spectator
might not penetrate this spiritual significance; but
Ambrose could not have painted the picture save
from that conception.
Such as he was. Ambrose had wandered from
place to place telling himself that he would settle
down somewhere and begin serious work. hut he
had never found the right spot. He was tired Of
Paris and cared not for the astounding cleyerness
of french art il was better than nature. and ma
ture was good enough for him. he was weary OF
London the climate was moral, physical and arts
tic death there was nothing there except the Ma
tiona Gallery and that was too respectable in some
moods Should he return TO American " | shall be
going back before long," was his reply when he OF
Others asked this question; aud he had been max
ing this reply for the last four or i've years lie
wished to paint some important work, whence he
could look forward, and to which he could look
back. Then he might return To America with
good grace. and hold position there. But ne had
not as yet discovered where the great picture was
to be painted or what was to be its subject Partly
by accident partly stimulated by the unfavOrable
report of an acquaintance who had been there, he
came at last to Ireland, and strayed down to the
remote village where he now WAS, and OF which he
had never heard. As he saw 1t, he felt sure
that this was the spot where If anywhere, the great
picture was destined to be produced. He rambled
about all day, gazing at everything ana every DodJ
and seeing nothing that he aid not like; and last Of
all he had found the tower, and the face at the
window. The tower should be his studio; the face
If it were substantial enough TO endure being
painted should be the soul OF MS picture!
He finished his claret. rose from table and went
tn the window The moon and stars were having
il all their own way IN the clear sky. Ambrose took
his hat and cane, lit cigar and sailed t9rth;
The narrow. rambling street was unighted, save
for the ooubeams, and an occasional tall0w
candle, knowing It's rays from the interior OF
shop. He passed AZ Intervals woman III "a NCu-
minous cloak barefooted; n group OF Ghatterng
children hatess and shOeless; couple OF bury fish
ermsn. sauntering along shoulder to shoulder l ne
high houses leaned toward one another across Ine
street as if asking one another who WAS this
strange that Invaded their privacy. Gray. hoary
and soft in the moonlight looked their venerable
faces; deep and dark were the shadows lurking
mysteriously beEeath their gable, and archways
here and there That Molly O'Hea should trace her
lineage back three thousand years seemed no eN-
CcssiS ~ assumption on her part surely Noah, be-
fore ever he dreamed of building the Ark a.
prophet. might have inhabited one of these houses
a. an frislman. No two of the ediiiccs were alike
either IN size or proportions. dhd scarcely ia Guar,
acter. Some had Oyerhdngng balconies ana alched
dnorCaVS IN the Spanish or Italian style; some
were gabed old cripples with projecting second
stories aud iattccd windows; these hdd hODOitd
hither from the spacious times OF great Elizabeth.
Other, werC merely low novels or cottages, the
simplest form of human habltatlOn. with turf Tor
roof. and earth for moor, and one room Tor every
thing. And here was a squaIe-to"efed cnuIch, WIN
gIayc,tOue' clustering round IL; "u H l.ooIs
both and booking old IN themselves beyond the irst
syllable of recorded time. 1t seemed rs IT, were !.
breeze from the nineteenth century 10 blow through
the Wondering ways of tLls primcval town, every
thing wou.d dwmdle into nothingness, even a, the
breath of air reduces to dust the corpse that
9 la Il ff LTFl IL Torn
for ages Ambrose almost held his breath as he
passed along lest there should be enough 81 the
modern solvent in his lungs to bring on tue catas-
The street turned TO the left. and ascending left
the town beneath. As he breasted the ascent An,
hrose felt the air grow perceptlbiY cooler ana
frrsner Arrived in the upper regions. he saw ann
haze resting on the roofs of the houses and creeping
aIong III. narrow WAYS. IL was mist too tim 10
be perceived save at a distance II You approachtN
it, il u.shed like a spectre. Inc HioohIlkui
moulded il into vague gAOsty forms here anu
there the light Of lamp gluwed IedlL through ~.
Beyond aud above meanwhile rose th1 hisI HALA
outline of the bill on the other SIDE Oh the harDor
and over al vast mOOny SKY. Ambrose "a'Aeu
on with his head II the ar, breathing ia GeN9 Ad
france and purity As the road still bore leftwdrd,
with turf walls on either side. partly oVeIgToNH
with gorse. he saw that he was making the circuit
of the hilltop against whose seward side the town
was built Now. looking eastward, MS gaze tray
ersed n heavng mass Of mountainous ground; TO
the broad horizon Of the ocean itself, and standing
u,otiou less me lelrt-Or anclcd he heard-tht roar
OF the endless conflict between the Whlte SURF ana
the coal-bllck ROCKS OF the shore; kesuhIng MS
walk he descended by grute gradatIons, and pres
entity found himself again in view OF the h1rbor
Finally h. emerged on a broad terrace, with an
avenue of great trees and stone parapct along ITS
brink which overhung the town.
This is the ideal place thought Ambrose " Tor
enactlng the ghost-scene IN Iiamlet ohaNtSpe"Ie
must nav, had this IN his mind Let me see here
stood Horato. bernardo and the Prince; and
vonder-ves, yOnder, down the gloom ana GUNNER
If th. broad walk now invisible for moment, now
reappearing. gliding noi,alessly and unhastIngy;
VET ever drawing notwithstanding now wreath OF
mist now human figure now nothing. now Hg-
ure once ulore-vonder comes the ghost! 49,.
Really thouph what is that gliding whtcnessE
As Ambrosr's eyes sharpened themselves 10 answer
this ouesion bee felt that pecu,iar sensation at the
roots of the hair which sometm mes ACCOMPANIES eA-
pertaut horror lie was standing br>ide the stone
h,ur, was coming down the walk az the other end