The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1908-12-19

| the closed easel and color box, "it's
great, this coming into the country to
paint and photograph winter scenes
and finding yourself shut on from the
most glorious landscape you can
imagined"
Shut off?" inquired her husband.
"Oh, you're. content with the day Of
small things, Eugene! was till
saw what lies on the other side of that
great wet wood down there"
What is It? Morning and Greek
temples? Sunshine and rolling sea?
The purple of the hills?"
Titles for pictures? No; pictures
themselves. Just the vale of Avoca,
the vale of Cashmire, the valley Of
Avilion, fragment OF Eden. Some
thing idyllic and perfect. 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 30 wet, after all-it's
been 30 dry--though there we're spots
Just steaming where the sun broke
through. But skirted them and made
for the light, and the trees grew thin
ner.' and suddenly was at the end.
and there. below and beyond, lay the
very outskirts of Paradise. Yes, in
deed, a view that would make our
everlasting fortunes and give us sat
isfaction in our souls II we could put
~
should feel I'd been chosen for sancti-
fication IL were only allowed to do
1t. You must come down with me and
see for yourself, Eugene. never
shall be content to go on painting old
Purple behind US there, now I've seen
this. And fancy, II 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 on the line next spring. Isn't
It hard to be shut out of Paradise by
bit Of woods? It's as bad as q
flaming sword" y
I'm not shut out of Paradise" said
her husband. looking at her with the
red on her cheeks, the spark In her
eyes. her whole face full OF the spirit
of life.
"Oh. L know, It's all delightful, our
being together here by ourselves. It
/ is Paradise. OF course. But that view
out there would justify 1t. and it's
vexatious to have to go afield for what
we might have from our own door.
And it's too far. in the winter weather.
every day. There's a long interval OF
champagne country from tender green
to dark. with warm russets, and
blush of red sapphire. threaded with
creeks that are neither blue nor green,
but the green of the grass and the
blue OF the sky and the gold Of the
sun; and in the middle distance a
river skins along. the blue STOPPING
into It. and beyond are hills clothed
with level layers of pine forest. and
you look straight into their depths as
II you penetrated mysteries, and over
all is q bountiful. enormous sky, blue
a. blue, and carrying here and there
q mares tail Of snowy cloud. And
gulls--you ought to see the 10000
gulls swooping round the river! oh,
It's no use staying here with that to
tantalize US, the breadth, the large
meas, the freedom-and only old pur-
pie hills to console us. One picture
Of old Purple and there's an end. But
this--why. you could paint all winter
and not exhaust 1t. Think of It. with
the blue shadows OF the snow, with
sunsets like fires on q great hearth,
In q dark blue midnight, while the
stars shake in the windi II we could
wake up some morning and ind It
gone!"
"The days OF miracles are gone"
"Oh, my, It makes me cross!"
II wouldn't be cross, sweet purvey-
or OF motifs. I'd come in and make
my husband . cup Of tea. and then
dress for dinner In my gown with the
sea gray chiffons and make believe
pearls, and I'd play was Venetian
/ hay suppine with old Tisian--"
e1sothins. II not modest. ! believe
tpo'd ~ satisned 70 paint old Purple
''WlsI ~ Vie looking ovsr ny