The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1891-11-22

Ing Village III SpiuNdili 10 bSSu hot o"J :
Such models, splendid set Of penpie-Sueh
rocks. such a seal | don't care 2 pence
about food or drink. / can't say they are
Eiysian, but it doesn't matter. get some
fish now aud then and beastly bread; but
live on The beauty of nature. Come and do
likewise"
In this rapturouS strain Vincent Randall
wrote to his artist friends scattered about
the world this glorious Summer-pleaSe to
date it as the last fine summer which can
be remembered-in search of the pictnr-
esuue. Vincent had found it to his hearts
content. and was reveing in his IN
touched paradise of sen, sky and rock. And
i. even had the last thing needful-it had its
Eve. But before the heroine of his idyl ap-
pears, let me introduce you to Vincent
Randall, artist, as he chose to describe him
self. though as yet his income derived from
art was nothing, plus considerable balance
the wrong way in studio and other eX-
rlenses; nevertheless You could not enrage
him more than BY calling him amateur"
ii | have the misfortune to be well off it
isn't my fault. lie would say with pathOs.
Don't degrade me by calling me an anna
teur unless you want me to cut to pieces
every canvas l have covered.
He worked lard and painted well, but he
DaG MOI lue Nlhlu6 tOucH. Al tunes despair
seized him Of ever getting beyond the
pretty" and he would burn his best efforts
in the madness OF the moment of self-dis-
gust He hated the praises of the PILLS
tines, but now and then his sensitive and
woman-like tender nature Shrank from the
criticism of friends who loved him. but saw
through the mere talent of his painting,
which never could rise above taleut. 1t was
a relief sometimes 10 be sitting quite alone
at the foot Of human nature as she
brOoded calm and grand over the Cornish
sOlitudes of wildly cOlored glorious masseSof
majestic rock 1t Gained and SoOthed the
nervous. impressiOnaOle man, whose life
was spent IL fruitlesS chase after impossible
Ideals-ldeal beauty such as his men
tai eyes had never seen, colUred
with the light that never was
on sea or sky: ideal love such as he never
has had; ideal honesty of purpose. purity
Of motive, herGIsm of sacrifice. and
withal he had moods of lightest humOr,
Teek eSS bonAomle, which covered all the
contradictions and the unsati>fed long ng
of the mans soul. rs the sparkicS lay on
tie surface Of the dark and restless waters.
Vincent sat among the rocks painting, or
trying e. paint. bat mood of disgust at his
work had SEE. d him, and he WIS more in
clined 10 shake his list at his canvas than to
paint upon it.
What a fool one is to attempt any
thing" he said 10 himself; why not give
a. All Nil N4lu SllhDlN Ldht IL lu-liht lldL
bird up therein sure he enjoys it all
more than do" he got ND and stretched
himself. he was neither tall nor hand
some; lie was thin and meager, his hair
was lightning to be more gray than brown;
but he looked every inch gentleman and
good fe low. As he stretched his arms and
stamped the pins and needles ont Of his
feet, he suddenly saw girl sitting opposite
him on a rock, looking hXedly out to sea.
Vincent perceived that she was unaware
Of his presence He kept perfectly still
and watched her; it seemed to him he had
never seen a beautiful woman in his
lie 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 prettinesS.
Size was only peasant girl. Her white
cotton bonnet lay on the rock beside her.
She had common stiff dress on, but she
was simply perfectly beautiful-the eyes of
a picture. such as is given few TO take into
their souls. Around her was the setting of
the cliffs and rocks: the pools OF clear wa
Ter at her feet rejecting clearer heaven Of
ClOudlesS blue beyond and away the sea,
silGered with afternoon light, the glamour of
high summer, the silence which had its own
music. She was tall-taller than Vincent
himself; her hair was burned into kind of
brown gold; her eyes were deep and large
probably that brown that is called black !;
her features had that perfection which
1t consists. With her beauty there was
that strange and indescribable pathos which
enters into ones heart one knows not how
or why.
:" Ny last IDEAL" Vincent thought to HIM
self. with r touch of self-scorn. 'If she
came nearer to me l should find her like the
rest Of them-anOther Illusion gone" ! ct
he drank il in, and the sweet Idea sank into
his foolish heart. As he watched her her
face contracted with an expression of acute
pain; size uttered short, sharp sound,
neither word nor cry. and stretched out her
claSped hands toward the sea. Then she
stood on her feet, hastily gathered up what
she had dropped, turned and hurried away
with the step of one who neither thinks nor
cares of where she goes. In another mo-
ment Vincent's eyes had lost their vision.
He attempted no more painting: lie col
lected his paraphernalia aud went home
for the time being-in very primitive lit
tie inn, the Fisherman's Rest. in the small
hamlet of Penruth.
- II she lives here I'll find her out" he
thought, as he disposed Of his belongings in
his small quarters; land if l find her out
IN know her. 1t will be my only chance of
salvation l hope she is coarse, ignorant
peasant girl"
BE knew all the villagers by sight and
most of them to speak to. They were a
rugged but kindly set, and they all liked
tie little painting gentleman" especially
W.
bestowing endless half-pence on those who
had the loVeliest eyes. His goddess was
not among them, but there were 4 good
many outlying cottages. Vincent made up
his mind that he should find her in one of
these. And at last be lit upon the one that
enshrined her He saw an old woman max
ing nets at the door; and though she was
wrinkled and grown ugly with the sun and
wind and the hard work of years, he fancied
ne traced a likeness. and he stopped TO talk
to her. He asked her questions at first
about the fishing and the storms, aud then
he entered on more personal grounds.
Your husband goes out fishing, sup
pose. like the rest?"
i have none, SIR the woman answered.
quite TRANQUILITY; "he went down in our boat
twelve years coming next October, with my
only son. l and my daughter live here
alone"
VincenPs heart beat. "You have a
daughter?"
"Yes. sir It's pity she amt lad. It's
hard work for women to make living.
often wish I'd had the sense to bide rs L
was. / was better off, deal. when / was
in service at Sir George TressiIian's. But
my man was very steady and good to me /;
you may have heard of him if you're at
Penruth-John Treyarroch. He owned d
boat and we were well-to-do. till he went
down and all my luck with him." she
added, with the first touch Of pathos In her
rather hard tone.
but you have daughterP'
"Ay-Mary. She's decent girl, but
she's got no better luck than the rest. Her
young man - Will Penruddock - was
drowned little better than year ago."
Her young MANI" Vincent said and as
he spoke the picture rose before his MIND of
the sad, beautiful figure. the eyes fixed on
the sea, the hands stretched out to it, the
inarticulate cry.
" Yes-her sweetheart; they were to have
been married. He was pretty well-to-do-
owned some property here-a steady fellow
and handsome. But it was her luck, like
the rest Of US, poor maid"
am very sorry. And how do you live
now p"
As well as We can," the woman an
swered. with sort of dreary dryness; I'VE
work"
here" '0"'
She glanced around indifferently. "Ay.
well enough II blows awful stormy in win
ter, | can tell you. You should hear it
whistle through there," and she pointed to a
deep chasln in the cliff. cut, as 1t were. right
through from the elevation where thew
were standing down to the beach some
hundreds of feet below-a giddy place to
look at.
Z" am an artist-a Daintar 7 ebou,d Iita