The Telegraph-courier. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1888-1946, 1891-05-14

Twill burst your heart in twain"
He has slipped his foot from the stirrup bar,
The bride from his hand,
And he is bound by hand and foot
Sir Hoggie and the Fairies.
Some weeks later, on a very foggy Sun
day, Dick was returning across the Park to
his studio ''Th1s," he said, lis evidently
the thrashing that Torp meant. It hurts
more than I expected; but the queen can do
no wrsng, and she certainly has some notion
of drawing"
He had Just finished a Sunday visit to
Maisfe-always under the same green eyes
of the red-haired impressionist girl whom
he learned to hate at sight-and was ting
ling with a keen sense of shame. Sunday
after Sunday, putting on his best clothes, he
had walked over to the untidy house north
of the Park, first to see Maisie's pictures,
and thea to criticise and ADVISE upon them
as he realized that they were productions on
which advice would not be wasted. Sunday
after Sunday, and his love grew with each
visit he had been compelled to cram his
heart back from between his lips when it
prompted him to kiss Maisie several times
and very much indeed. Sunday after Sun
day, the head above the heart had warned
him that Maisie was not vet attainable.
and that it would be better to talk as con-
nectedIy as possible upon the mysteries of
the craft that was all and all to her There
fore it was his fate to endure weekly torture
in the studio built out over the clammy
back garden of a frail, stufy little villa
where nothing was ever in its right place.
and nobody ever called-to endure and to
watch Maisie moving to and fro with the
teacups. He abhOrred tea, but since II
gave him little longer time in her presence
he drank it devoutly, and the red-haired
girl sat in an untidy heap and eyed hin
without speaking. She was always watch
ing him. Once, and only once when she
had left the studio, Maisie showed him an
album that held few poor cuttings from
provincial papers-the briefest of hurried
notes on some Of her pictures sent to out
lying exhibitions Dick stopped and kissed
the paint-smudged thumb on the open page.
ooh, my love, my love-" he muttered, do
you value these things? Chuck 'em into the
waste-paper basket"
'1Not till I get something BETTER" said
Maisie, shutting the book.
Then Dick, moved by no respect for his
public and very deep regard for the maid
en-, did deliberately propose in order to
secure more Of these coveted cuttings, that
he should paint picture which Maisie
should sign
That's childish" said Maisie, 'and I
didn't think it Of you. It must be my work.
Mine-mine-Iuine!"
Go and design decorative medallions for
rich brewers houses. You are thoroughly
good at that" Dick was sick and savage.
Better things than medallions, Dick,
was the answer, in tones that recalled
gray-eyed atoms fearless speech to Mrs.
Jennett Dick would have abased himself
utterly, but that the other girl trailed in.
Next Sunday he laid at Maisies feet
small gifts of pencils that could almost draw
of themselves and cOlors in whose perman-
ence he believed, and he was Ostentatiously
attentive to the work in hand. 1t de-
manded, among other things, an exposition
Of the faith that was in him. TorpenhoW's
hair would have stood on end had he heard
the fuency with which Dick preached his
own gospel Of art.
A month before, Dick would have been
equally astOnished, but it was Maisies will
and pleasure, and he dragged his words to-
gether to make plain to her comprehension
all that had been hidden to himself of the
ways and wherefores of work There is
not the least difficulty in doing thing if
you only know SOW to do it; the trouble is
to explain your method,
4 could put this right Il / had brush in
my hand, said Dick, despairing over the
modelling of a chin that Maisie complained
would not ''loolz feshn-it was the same
chin that she had scraped out with palette
knife ''but 1 find it almost impossible to
teach you. There's queer grim Dutch
touch about your painting that like; but
I've a notion that you're weak in drawing.
You foreshOrten as though you never used
the model, and you've caught Kamis pasty
way of dealing with flesh in the shadow.
Then again, though you don't know it your
self you shir1 hard work. Suppose you
spend some of your time on line alone Line
doesn't allow of Sinking. Oils do, and
three square inches of flashy tricky stuff in
the corner of a pic sometimes carry a bad
thing off-as [ know. That's immortal. Do
line work for a little while, and then I can
tell more about your powers, as old Kami
used to say"
Maisie protested; she did not care for the
pure line.
I know" said Dick you want to do
your own fancy heads with a bunch of
modelling" The red-haired girl laughed
little. You want 10 do landscapes with
cattle knee deep in grass to hide bad draw
ing. You want to do great deal more
than you can do You have sense of color,
but you want form. Color's a gift-put it
aside and think no more about it-but form
you can be drilled into. Now, all your
fancy heads-and some of them are very
GOODWILL keen Won avactly yvhn1,n Won orc
With line YOU must go forward or back
ward, and it will show up all your weak
nesses."
But other people" began NIaisie
'YOu mustn't mind what other people do
If their souls were your soul it would be
different. You stand and fall by your own
work, remember, and it's waste of time to
think of any one else in this battle"
Dick paused and tAat longing that had
been so resolutely put away had came back
into his eyes. He looked at Maisie, and the
look asked as plainly as words was it not