St. Landry clarion. (Opelousas, La.) 1890-1921, 1901-04-06
OUT OF THE CLAY.
BY HARRIET MONROE.

BY HARRIET MONROE.
Eliot Morse was glad to be alive.
Not dull content, but JOY possessed
him as he plowed and sowed and
reaped through the long, rich years,
dreaming over the changing colors Of
his meadows. As far back as he could
remember, his summers had passed
in the old place, and here his IA
ther had lived and wrought. His
father! the thought Of that high
lineage gilded the joy Of his
life with pride. For Jonathan
Morse had been great man in
his day, day too short--ala At
80 this gay young sculptor, with or
ders thick upon him, had left colos-
sal Washington half finished in the
clay when Abraham Lincoln called
the north to arms. And after he had
helped to win the four-years' fight,
after he had followed Sherman to the
sea and led his battery down PennsYl-
vania avenue in that stupendous last
review, he had gone back to his studio
and modelled another and a finer
Washington.
Onlyseveny years ago-Eliot quaile6
a little as he counted them-had been
given to his father after this in which
to achieve his fame-a fame which
time, SO destructive to other mid
century regulations in arts, was mag
nifying day by day. He cannot be
forgotten thought Eliot, as he
walked homeward over the dusky
fields; 'he was a man and a poet
which of these modern modelers has
lived and thought like that:?"
And Eliot looked back over the ten
years which had passed since that sud-
den death. He was boy of 10 when.
the change came. He took the farm
and titled it for his mother and sis
ter, since time and money were lack
ing for the further study of art. And
when his mother died and his sister
welded, he married his early love. 1t
made him smile to remember how
many city suitors yes, and wealthy
ones-felt the gnawing Of old pangs
when he bore her away. But she was
happy in this modest home-this sim
pie life--he was sure of that. Happy
yes-if only
But he smothered a rising con-
sciousness Of one flaw in her fate:
tried to bury it beyond the reach Of
thought, which was always, neverthe-
less, vaguely aware Of the discomfort
of it. He could not bear to feel that
any defect in him made her life I'M
perfect. She had no wish for lux
airy, he knew that well enough;
though q soft life was one Of his
dreams for her, and the sight of her
cooking or sweeping gave him keen
twinges Of self-reproaeh. Shewas dis
appointed in him-had not. he felt
the gradual change since the day
when she had staked all on her love
and faith2 He was not living up to
her desire.
The dull rose and violet of twilight
deepened unperceiyed about him. For
an hour life dragged its leaden senses
instead Of marching TO the thrill Of
music, # she would only speak out
her grievance he sighed-how much |
more keen is silence!
He saw her busy in the kitchen as
he drew near the open door, and the
line of her brow and hair brought
back of a sudden the sharp suspense
Of his days Of Wooing He lifted her
high up in. his great arms as though
to make sure Of her, and tried to
throw off his guilty mood. Little
Jonathan pattered back and forth, /
making a great show Of helping his
mother, until Eliot took him on his
knee and chartered softly with him
in duet Of musical voices. A big,
gentle creature was this father, who
lad not yet outgrown his childhood, /
and who explored like a native the
boys wonderlandof play. Andwhile
he wandered in il tonight, his eyes
stole with delight to Laura, and
watched sensitively her quiet ease and
grace. He felt the rapture Of her
Owe was he wasting It? and