The Arkansaw traveler., 1885-08-22

moss beds that cover their roots, or tc | listen to the murmurs of the mountain streamlet that gives the tree. root greater | life trees clothed in the delicate gray. green of spring apparel, the heavy yer. dure of summer, or the smothered flame. tints of the autumn's glory. Long road ways there are, coming from and leading to we know not whither, but O. to follow their windiHgs where shadows slant athwart, where every breath is sweet with the odor Uf begonia and jessamine, where the blue haze of the distance is nevel compassed, where one must feel the presence of Divinity"
 Third. With dauntless spirits and never-Aagging powers, Miss Beckett and Miss von Hillen have overcome the hardships and inconveniences of outdoor life and work they have accepted the inevitable annoyance and difficulties of living in a rough, primitive country town, and made themselves beloved by the people not only of the town, but of all the country for miles around, who are willing to aid the artists in any way the limited conveniences of the country ad- init of This years work shows a con- siderable advance over their previous work. In one picture, of old birches, it would seem impossible to give a finer rendering of the trees and their sur roundings. The deserted roadways by both artists are charming interiors, full of the spirit of eternal silence and grand eur, which many artists fail to infuse into their forest interiors"
 These, and others even more eulogistic, are sent broadcast to the press-a good assortment, some one of which is war ranted to please-and soon the winter harvest commences. People flock to the art-hall where their sketches and bits from nature are exhibited, falling over each other in their eagerness to have the first pick; the girls, in bran new bibs and fuckers, frills and furbelows, shed their sweetest smiles on the critics and con- noisseurs, and their bank account grows with remarkable rapidity. Then in the baimy springtime the spirit of unrest again seizes them, they lay away their society garb in camphor, return to their sylvan fastnesses, don the briefer costume adapted to the crags and peaks. dust of their easels and palettes, sharpen up their pencils, put their brushes to soak. fix up some new mosquito bars at the windows, and again breath the ozone of the noun tain atmosphere. Such has been the demand in the east for the true-to-nature productions of Becket & Won Hillern that few, if any, have strayed west ofthe Alleghanies yet but if in the near future you see par ticularly woodsy, hemlocky, whey bit of painting on exhibition anywhere-one that has tendency to make you want to rush on to Devils lake, Shawno, Lake Gobebic, or some other place as yet un- marred by the hand of mana scene that carries you back to boyhood when you went bare-footed, stubbed your toes, had stone-bruises, and got walloped for going in swimming so constantly-just look in the lower corner and see if you don't find the initials "M. ]. C. B." or B v. H." Meanwhile, don't buy any of the "Old Masters" paying fabulous sums for them, but save up your wealth to secure one or more of these Virginia gems, warranted as accurate as a photo- graph, and thus encourage two deserving artists.