The Osceola times., 1885-02-21

will not mind waiting She spoke
with somewhat heightened color. and
the strangers dark eyes rested on her
face with look OF undisguised sdmira-
ton.
THANK you very much" he said.
''lf you will allow me. will awail
their return. am staying tonight at
an inn in the village, and it was my n-
tention to walk over to Waylands-a |
think Mr.. Frobisher's house is called
in the course of tomorrow. Hearing.
however, that my friends were so near
me to-day, could not resist the oppor-
tunity of coming in search of them
81 have no doubt that they will be
pleased to see YOU answered ESna,
not knowing what else TO say.
'By-the-by, | ought TO apologize for
not introducing myself before. My
name is Bcnce Leyland."
MIR Leyland! calculated Elma.
with start of surprise. ii have heard
both Mr.. Frobsher and Mr. Drummond
speak of you many times
"Ah! Then they have not forgotten
me. am glad of that
did you think. Mr.. Leyland, that
either OF them was likely to forget
you?"
well. no-they are hardly the sort
of men TO do that" he answered, with
IL little laugh. But may | ask to
whom have the pleasure of speakingg"
My name is Elma Deene. Mr.. Frob-
isher and | are cousins"
Mr.. Icyland bowed.
At this moment light cart with two
servants from Waylands drove up.
They had come to fetch away the ham
pers and other et-ceteras pertaining to
the picnic.
'Would you not like some refresh
ments, Mr.. Leyland?' asked Elma
Thank you. should like a bottle
of lemonade, if j: is not too much
trouble" answered the painter.
He sat down on fallen tree, and
famed himself with his hat while one
of the servants opened the lemonade.
"With what lovely bits of genuine
English scenery this ncighborhood
abounds,' sa Il Leyland. few moments
later. They ore at on .e a joy and n
despair TO man like myself. We
painters go on daubing canvas after
canvas from youth till age; and the
older we grow, the more we feel how
futile are our efforts, and how few of
her secrets nature has deigned to reveal
to us.
There was one landscape in the
Academy this year. answered Elma.
fixing her eyes gravcly on him, ''that
TO my mind seemed instinct with some
of natures sweetest secrets. The breeze
that stirred the tops of the larcheS on
the hill seemed TO fan my cheek as
looked. Those cloud-shadows that
chased each other across the corn fields
in the valley were the very shadows
that have watched hundred times as
a child. Those scarlet poppies in the
foreground were the same that gath
cred long years ago. And yet, Mr..
Leyland, you know none OF natures
secrcts"'
Bence Leyland rose abruptly. 'Let
us walk little way, Miss Deene," he
said, ''and lind something else to talk
about."
Elma picked up her sun-shade, and
the two strolled slowly away side by
side down one o. the pleasant woodland
ways.
''Can YOU guess, Miss Dcene, asked
Leyland, presently, ''why | am more
glad to-day than have been for long
time"
Elma shook her head. ut is i'm
possible for me to guess. Mr.. Leyland."
ii am glad because | am the bearer
of good news for my dear friend, Dick
Drummond."
"Oh."
Not word could she say. Her heart
nuttered her color rose; the painter
regarded her with curious eyes.
''Dear old Dick!' he went on present
ly. almost as it speaking to himself.
"How pleased ! shall be TO see him
again, Aud Frobisher, too. Noble
hearted fellows. both. What smokes
we have had together; what talks we
have had together; how we have ar
gded and disputed, and in the end
agreed to diflerl oh golden hours
that never can return No. ,jdplaiS,
jamais" H spoke the last words in a
whisper. The two walked on in ST.
lence.
Like n certain noble poet, Bence Ley
land awoke one morning and found
himself famous. He had been strug-
Cling man for twenty years, trying his
hardest to win fame and fortune, but
not succeeding in his pursuit OF either.
Now and then he sold a picture; but in
order to make ends meet, he was com
PEELED tn pawn more than he could sell.
Now aud then a note of praise would
be sounded by some critic more dis
cernng than the rest of his tribe; but
such notes were too few and far be-
tween to materially affect the fortunes
OF the artist. One day. however, a
trumpet note rang through England.
A certain landscape painted by Leyland,
into which he had thrown his whole
heart and soul, came, by happy con-
catepation OF circumstances, under the
eve of Mr.. Ruskin, the world-renowned
critic. Then rang forth the clarion
note Those towering heights of gray
lightnng-riven rock, bones Of a world
Of DID, wrote the great critic; THAT
curving sweep of black, melancholy,
wind smittcn heath. the home Of Soli-
tude for ten thousand years; that far
away fringe of low-lying horizon, where
the moorland sweeps down to the sea,
lurid with strange lights, pregnant with
the menace of coming storm; those
battlemented. rain washed masses of
cloud, hurrying up the sky as if bound
for some great meeting-place of the
winds; all these, say. could only have
been depicted for us with so much rev.
erence and fidelity, with such power
and vividness of conception, by the
hand of undoubted genius. The man
who wrought out this picture will one
day stand in the foremost rank of En-