The times., 1899-07-23

a cast of the Venus of Milos, in some
museum, she asked her mother why the
lady's arms were broken off? Her mother
hesitated in the hope of formulating some
statement of the facts that would be
within the comprehension of her child,
when the daughter broke in: "Oh, l know,
mamma; it is to keep her from taking
of any more clothes," There is little to
be said on the subject. One more often
nowadays meets with some playful refer
ence to nude in art than any serious criti-
cism. 1t is well-and the subject is dis
missed with these very bright verses by
Carl Currie. in the Criterion" relating
the mishaps of painting of the nude:
IN BOSTON.
Painter, here is the picture,
You painted once for me.
The glowing, glorious Aphrodite,
Emerging from the sea-
hung it 'mongst my treasures;
1t thrilled the very air,
And all admired the vision bright
Clothed in her golden hair.
Ny mother-in-law cspied It,
Declared it made her blush.
She got her pot OF inkey paint
And a great long-handled brush.
And, painter, she "draped' the figure,
Destroyed its attitude;
Here is the picture, painter,
/ want the thing renude.
That an artist whose enjoyment of the
woods is worshipful, who has a tender
feeling for all trees, and regard for the
beech in particular that is nothing less
than affectionate, should come within an
inch OF his life through a blow from a
beech tree is one of the mysterious things
about inanimate things which goes far to
discourage faith in any unseen guiding
hand in the individual walks of men. The
laws OF nature are immutable and imper-
sonal. That an all-wise Providence may
create imperceptible causes which result
in obvious good to mankind, however, may
still be true. Twenty years of Chamber
ing over perilous places in search of the
picturesque, with never a scratch, and yet
last week the writer-but let me tell my
story:
The foregoing note on "the nude in art"
had been written for The Times and how
it came near to being the last of my writ
ing or painting will appear in the follow
ing tale-not of woe-I do not believe in
tales of woe; they are nine times out of
ten purely a matter of point OF view, Just
as the boy who persisted in laughing while
the master was fogging him. When the
breathless master asked why he laughed,
the lad replied, You're whipping the
wrong boy"
A PeriIOus Adventure
Friday last was a beautiful day. Mr.
and Mrs. George Bowers and | determined
TO take sketching trip to that pictur-
esque rocky glen, short distance cast of
Chain Bridge. | had been at work on a
water color of a charming cascade The
music OF the tumbling water over the rocks
made the scene as pleasant TO the ear as
it was to the eye. Ny water color sketch
npOprpssipor finally ,rbn
curiosity which belongs 10 every painter,
| thought to be better satisfied if | knew
how the brook looked above and beyond
the field of my picture. Clambering up the
ravine, / sought the vantage ground of a
big. slanting rock, which promised a fine
view. Near this rock a fine beech, having
lost its hold on the bank. fell across the
stream. The branches had been cut off.
leaving the blunt arms sticking out toward
the rock. In trying TO reach the point of
this rock, / lost my balance and, turning,
as one who runs down bank. hoping to
recover himself on reaching level ground.
so l turned and came with such force
against the projecting beech that / fell,
stunned among the rocks. The blow was
squarely on the left eye
1t is curious that l have no recollection
of those moments of inse lsibility only the
word of my friends who saw me fall and
opAIC otftAC VI OH my UGth must De
believed My first recollection after the
blow was Of standing up and raising my
hand to my bleeding face, covering my
right eye. and mentally exclaiming 81 can
see" My friends brought ice which,
placed in a handkerchief, and applied to
the eye, gave me immediate relief In an
hour l was considering the situation. Dr.
Burnett, after an anxious examination, as
sured me it will not affect my sight, but
those cut and torn eye lids Will carry scars
to my dying day. and the eye may never
be as strong as it was.
In reply to the eXasperating sympathy,
which comes to me from well-meaning
friends, would like to say-admitting even
that l might have been killed-have l not
been one of the most fortunate of mortals?
Think of uninterrupted health for forty
five years and glorious boyhood-twenty
blissful years of studying nature and paint
ing pictures-and friends unnumbered,
stanch' and true. With Thorreau | feel in
clned to declare: God could not be In
kind to me if he tried"
l am sure the spirit of that poor, dead
beech tree grieyed that l should come TO
harm from her bleaching, deserted bones.
Beeches with their grey. Hd-like bark and
eccentric branches, are quite the most
artistic and beautiful in line that is known
10 trees. and such foliage. What can COM
pare with those sprays reaching down in
graceful curves. swaying to the faintest
breeze? Beeches will know that l adore
them still. JAMES HENRY MOSER.