Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1907-12-22

yourself shut off from the most glorious
landscape you can imagine!
Shut off?" inquired her husband.
ooh, you're content with the day OF
small things. Eugene. / was till. 1 saw
what lies on the other side OF that great
wet wood down there
What is it? Morning and Greek tenn
pies: Sunshine and Rolling Sea? The
Purple of the HillS?"
Titles for pictures? No, pictures them
selves. Just the vale of Avoca. the vale
of Cashmire, the valley of Avilioh, q
fragment of Eden. Something idyllic and
perfect. L was on the edge of the wood
and got init was SO alluring-deeper
and deeper, till there / was. scared to
death of the morass-'
Poor child
But it wasn't so wet after all, it's
been so dry. though there were spots
just steaming, where the sun broke
through. But I skirtad them, and made
for the light, and the trees grew thinner
and suddenly l was at the end, and
there, below and beyond, lay the very out
skirts of Paradise. Yes, indeed, a viaw
that would make our everlasting fortunes
and give us satisfaction in our souls, II
We could put even bits OF it on canvas
Why. I should feel I'd been chosen fol-
sanctification If l were only allowed to
do 1t. You must come down with me
and see for yourself, Eugene. 1 never
shall be content to go on painting Ole
Purple behind us there, now I've seer
this. And fancy If that swampy WOOD
were out of the way we could sit here
all winter and sketch. and feel an uplift
in every brushful of paint, and every
one of the pictures would be hung or
the line next spring. Isn't 1t hard t.
be shut out of Paradise by bit OF
woods? It's as bad as a flaming sword
I'm not shut out of Paradise" SAID
her husband, looking at her with the rec
on her cheek, the spark in her eyes, hel
whole face full of the spirit of life.
''Oh. know it's all delightful, our being
together here by ourselves. 1t is Para
disc. of course. But that view out there
would justify it, and it's vexatious TO have
to- go far afield for what we might have
from our own door. And it's too far, II
the winter weather,-every day. There's {
long intervale of champaign country from
tender green TO dark, with warm rus
sets, and. blush of red sapphire; threaded
with creeks that are neither blue MOI
green, but the green of the grass and tn,
blue of the sky and the gold of the sun
| and in the middle distance river skim.
along, the blue STOPPING into It, and be
youd are hills clothed with level layers O
| pine forest. and you look straight int
| their depths as IL you penetrated mysteries
! and over all is a bountiful, enormous sky
| blue as blue and carrying here and Their,
| q mares tail of a snowy cloud. And gulls-
| you ought to see the ten thousand gull.
| swoop,ng round the river! Oh it's no ust
| staying here with that to tantahZe us. thu
| breadth. the largeness. the freedom-an,
only old purple hills to console us. On,
picture of Old Purple and there's an end
But this-why, you could paint all white
and not exhaust it. Think of it, with tn,
blue shadows of the snow, with sunset
like fires on a great hearth, in a darl
blue midnight. while the stars shake il
the wind. If. we could wake some morn
! ing and find 1t gone!
| 1.-The days of miracles are gone"
"Oh. my, it makes me crosS!"
| Il wouldn't be cross, sweet purveyo
| of motifs I'd come in and make my hus
band a cup of tea, and then dress for din
ner in my gown, with the sea-gray chif
| fons and make,believe pearls and I'd pla.
/ was Venetian lady supping with oil,
1 THAN
i Nothing, If not modest I believe you,
be satisfied to paint Old Purple forever!
il with my wife looking over m
shoulder. yes