Year: 1874




IS Set you free at last!"


THE TWO ARTISTS.


In dirty and gloomy lane OF Seville


there stood an old building that hat
undergone so many alterations by sub


fractions and additions, that could any


of the workmen engaged in its origina


construction be aroused from that sleeI
that knows no waking" they would


find it difficult to recognize it in any
| particular.


This building was erected over 4 cen.


tury before the date of our story, 1916


and may be described as two-story-
fand-attic brick house, containing eel


lar, a ground floor, a second story, and
garret. The design of its elevation


was peculiarly its own, and, indeed,


this old mansion was considered by the


people the most remarkable building in


all Seville, as many incidents of a


strange character had been connected


with its history, and now served as a


sort Of story-book of the most wild and


marvellous description. The door of


the mansion was comparatively narrow,


with heavy stone Intel, which in its


broken state showed the remnant cary


ing that originally might have been


meant for the coat-of-arms of its first


owner. After ascending the first flight


of stairs, you came to landing at the


back part Of the building, where stood


ladder that passed up through scut-


tie which conducted you to the garret


floor, lighted by two dormer-windows


overlooking the street. -....
Any one, OIL first entering this sort of
cockloft, would be as much struck with


its singular arrangement as with the


outside Of the edilice; but your inter-
est was still more excited when you
discovered this wretched place to be the
studio of an artist.


Everything was in state of disorder;
cobwebs, thickened with dust, hung in
heavy festoons in the corners and from
the rafters, while here and there could
be seen standing around panels in prep
paration for paintings, some with fin
ished and others with unfinished studies
of figures and landscapes; over in one
corner stood large ole oaken arm
chair from which hung a Grecian cos
tune, with one sleeve dangling in an
earthen basin containing dirty water
and serving as vessel for the artist to
wash his brushes. in; on the opposite |
side of the room, slung with bits of
rope from the wall, were three or four
boards, intended for sort of book
case, OH the shelves OF which rested |
some volumes of poetry, the works of
Alberto Durero, Basalio, and Daniel
Barbara, with others of like character.


Near the centre of the room, and al
most opposite the window, with the
lower part covered with bits of paper
and old cloth, for the purpose of prop
er arrangement Of light, stood the paint
er's easel, holding a canvas, on which
was commenced the portrait of beg
g tr-boy, while at a proper distance
up IN the floor sat the subject himself,
with a face full of the most brilliant
color, eyes sparkling with vivacity, and
m expression Of mirth so strongly de-
veloped us to make it almost impossible
for the beholder to keep from laughing.
Alta little distance frem the easel stood
the artist, youth of not more than
years. His dress gave ample
evidence Of personal neglect, which
arose more from an over
devotion to his profession than from a
natural want of personal refinement.
His face possessed stronger marks of in
than Of beauty. His dark
hair clustered around his brunette fore
head, finely relieving his rich brown
eyes that nervously moved alternately
from the boy to the canvass. After one
DR. two strides backward and forward,
Is if in deep study of his picture, he
Tipped his brush into the color on his
palette, and then placed touch upon
that portion of the face where he de-
sired to represent reflected light pro-
iuced upon the boys cheek by Il piece
Of bright yellow drapery that had been
flung across his shoulder for effect.


Evidently the last effort had failed,
equally with previous attempts in this
'ne particular, to produce the effect of
reflected light. lie tried, until at last,
GeXed. uncomfortable, with a nervous :
witch of his strong arm, he flung his
brush at the picture, which, in sweep
ng across the face still wet with color,
made an outline in the form of a rain ,
DOW. Staggering, he sank back into
he old armchair, with tile exclama- +,
ion, "By st. Iage, I cannot paint, 1t
s not in the power Of human genius to
produce those Incompatible tintsr' |
Resting his head against the back OF {
he chair, he remained as motionless as /
f dead. 's., 90 ,,s z7-gra a-h 4


This extraordinary conduct of the ar !
ist seemed to have little or no effect {
lpon the boy who was sitting for the
tudy. He looked pleased, rather, than I
and after while, observing /
10 signs of motion on the part of his ,
Master, he quietly took from his bosom |
| bit of brown bread, and fell to Lis
'epast with rs much gusto as an epicu-
'ean of the most refreshing daintiness. q


Still, the artist did not move. The I
10Y becoming wearied, and observing |
he long shadows of evening throwing |
heir gray gloom over the quiet room, 4
made his way across the apart l
nent, when, just rs he was about to
lisappear through the scuttle-holc, he 4
discovered that he had left his cap be-
lind. Like cat OH all-fours, lie noise 5
essly crept to the easel, where, grasp l
ng his cap, he then rs silently returned i
md made his exit in triumph, for he {
lreaded another hallheur sitting |
which he must endure had his master q
discovered him. q


The artist passed a restless night, but t
IS the first purple rays of the morn fell i
through some of tho broken places in
he roof of his apartment, spotting the 1
vail, here and there, with splasles of I