The San Antonio light. (San Antonio, Tex.) 1883-1886, 1885-06-17
LORD OF ALL"
BY MRS. nEHuERr MARTIN.

BY MRS. HERBERT MARTIN.
"My dear fellow. I've found para.
discl \ perfect Eden, without ser
pent In ii in the shape Of tourist or cad.
An artists paradise. that, believe,
hardly any one knows of. 1t is called
Pcuiuth, its2 little fishing village in
Cornwall, as ! need not say Such mod
els. splendid set of people-such rocks
such sea, don't care twopence
about food and drink. | can't say they
are Elysian, but IT doesn't matter. l
get some fish now and then and heastly
bread; but live on the beauty of ma
turc. Come and do likewise.
In this rdpturuus strain Vincent Ram
dial wrote To his artist friends scattered
about the world this glorious summer
please To date II rs the last fine summer
which can be- remembered IN search of
the picturesque. Vincent had found II
b. his heart S content, and was revealing
In his untouched paradise Of sea, sky
and rock. And II even had the last
thing uccdiul- il had its Eve. But be-
fore the heroine of his idyl appears, let
me Introduce Won to Vincent Randall,
artist. as lac chose To describe himself
though as yet his income derived from
art was nothing. plus considerable
balance the wrong way in studio and
other expenses; nevertheless, you could
not cnrage him more than by calling
him amateur
IF | have the misfortune to he well
of. II isn't my fault, he would say,
with pathos. Don't degrade me by
calling me AN amateur unless you want
me to cut to pieces every canvas have
covered
lie worked hard and painted well, but
he had not the divine touch. At times
despair seized him of ever getting be-
You'd the pretty and he would burn
his best effort in the madness of the mo-
ment of sclf-disgust lie hated the
praises Of the Philistincs; but now and
then his sensitive and womanishly ten
der nature shrank from the criticism or
the friends who loved him, but saw
through the mere talent of his painting,
which never could rise above talent. 1t
was a relief sometimes to be sitting
quite alone at the foot of Mother Ma
ture as she brooded grand and calm over
the Cornish sOlitudes of wildly colored
glorious masses of majestic rock. II
calmed and sOOthed the nervous, i'm.
prCssiOnable man, whose life was spent
| in fruitless chase after impossible ideals
ideal beauty such as his mental eyes
| had never seen, COlorcd with the light
| that never was ON sea or sky: ideal love
such he has never had, might never at
tain to; ideal honesty of purpose, purity
| of motive, herOism of sacrifice. And
with all he had moods of lightness, hui
NOR, reckless bonhomie, which covered
! all the contradictions and the unsatis-
| fled longing of the mans soul, AS the
sparkles lay on the surface of the dark
and restless waters.
! Vincent sat among the rocks paint
! ing, or trying to paint, but mood of
| disgust at his work had seized him. and
| he was more inclined to shake his fist al
| his canvas than to paint upon ii.
what q fool one is to attempt any
| thing,' he said To himself; "why not
give II all up and simply take it Unlike
that bird up there--l'm sure he enjoys
it all more than | do" lie got up and
stretched himself. lie was neither tall
! nor handsome; there was nothing heroic
| in his appearance; he was thin and mea.
| gre, his hair was beginning to be more
| gray than brown; but he looked every
inch Il gentleman and good fellow. As
he stretched his arms and stamped the
pins and needles ont of his feet, he sud
denly saw u girl sitting opposite him on
rock, looking ilXedly out to sea. Vim
cent perceived that she was unaware OF
his presence. lie kept perfectly still
and watched her; it seemed to him hC
had never seen beautiful woman in
his life before; all his old fancies faded
she was alone in her beauty before his
eyes; as for the rest they were merely
pretty. And Vincent despised pretti
ness. She was only peasant girl; hei
white cotton bonnet lay on the rock be
side her, she had a common stuff dress
on, but she was simply perfectly beauti
ttIl thn pt "a nlgfIIpp gtteh Z IL rtNaY
to few to take into their souls. AROUND
her was the setting of the cliffs ant
rocks; the pools of clear water at hel
feet rejecting Il clcarel heaven of cloud
less blue; beyond ami away the sea
SiiyrIpd with afternoon light, tn,
glamour of high summer the silence
which had It's own muse. She was tall
taller than Vincent himself; her hail
was burned into Il kind OF brown gold
her eyes were deep and large-probabll
that brown that is called black; he
features had that perfection which
makes one almost forget 10 notice il
what il consists. With her beauty ther'
was that strange and indescribabl'
pathos which enters into ones hear
one knows not how or why.
My last ideal Vincent thought t,
himself, with touch of self-scOrn. ~
CIV AalilN Nv aAA'A " NV 4 NllNhlh llll'A Nv
like the rest of them-another ILLUSION
gone.n Yet he drank it in. and tn
sweet idea sank into his foolish heart
AS he watched her. her face contracte,
with an expression of acute pain; sh
uttered a short, sharp sound, neithe
word nor cry, and stretched out he
clasped hands toward the sea. Then sh
stood on her feet, hastily gathered N
what she had propped, turned and hui
ried away with the step Of one VIII
neither thinks nor cares of where sh
goes. In another moment Vincent
eyes had lost their vision.
lie attempted no more painting; h
collected his paraphernalia and wen
hOme-for the time being-in the yer
primitive little inn, the Fisherman
Rest, in the small hamlet of Penruth.
IF she lives hers I'll find her out,
he thought, as he disposed of his be
longings in his small quarters; land
| find her out I'll know her. 1t will b
my only chance of salvation. | hop
she is coarse, ignorant peasant girl.
lie knew all the villagers by sigl
and most of them to speak to. The
were a rugged but kindly set, and the
7 oil lfEaI tho gslittla ,a,pttn,, ,,an,l