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Transcribers notes:
1. Italics rendered with underline e.g. _italics_.
2. Small Caps rendered with all caps e.g. SMALL CAPS.
3. Ligatures rendered with [ ] e.g. [OE]dipus.
[Illustration: "THE CONNOISSEURS."
ENGRAVED BY PERMISSION OF HENRY GRAVES & CO., LONDON. AFTER THE
PAINTING BY SIR EDWIN LANDSEER. (SEE PAGE 814.)]
ST. NICHOLAS.
VOL. XIII. SEPTEMBER, 1886. NO. 11.
[Copyright, 1886, by THE CENTURY CO.]
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS: ENGLISH PAINTERS.
BY CLARA ERSKINE CLEMENT.
When Henry VIII. came to the throne of England, he was a magnificent
prince. He loved pleasure and pomp and invited many foreign artists to
his court. After a time, however, he became indifferent to art, and it
is difficult to say whether he lessened or added to the art-treasures of
England.
The long reign of Queen Elizabeth--forty-seven years--afforded great
opportunity for the encouragement of art. But most of the painters whom
she employed were foreigners.
King Charles I. was a true lover of art. Rubens and Vandyck were his
principal painters, and Inigo Jones his architect; the choice of such
artists proves the excellence of his artistic taste and judgment. He
employed many other foreign artists, of whom it need only be said that
the English artists profited much by their intercourse with them, as
well as by the study of foreign pictures which the King purchased.
In fact, before the time of William Hogarth, portraits had been the only
pictures of any importance which were painted by English artists, and no
one painter had become very eminent. No native master had originated a
manner of painting which he could claim as his own.
Hogarth was born near Ludgate Hill, London, in 1697.
In 1734, he produced some works which immediately made him famous. He
had originated a manner of his own; he had neither attempted to
illustrate the stories of Greek Mythology, nor to invent allegories, as
so many painters had done before him; he simply gave form to the nature
that was all about him, and painted just what he could see in London
every day. His pictures of this sort came to be almost numberless, and
no rank in society, no phase of life, escaped the truthful
representation of his brush.
He was a teacher as well as an artist, for his pictures dealt with
familiar scenes and subjects and presented the lessons of the follies of
his day with more effect upon the mass of the people than any writer
could produce with his pen, or any preacher by his sermons.
Hogarth died at his house in Leicester Fields, on October 26, 1764.
His success aroused a strong faith and a new interest in the native art
of England, which showed their results in the establishment of the Royal
Academy of Arts. A little more than four years after Hogarth's death,
this Academy was founded by King George III. The original members of the
Academy numbered thirty-four, and among them was
JOSHUA REYNOLDS,
who afterward became its first president.
His father, Samuel Reynolds, was the rector of a grammar school at
Plympton, in Devonshire, and in that little hamlet, on July 16, 1723,
was born Joshua, the seventh of eleven children.
When Joshua was but a mere child, his father was displeased to find him
devoted to drawing; on a sketch which the boy had made, his father
wrote: "This is drawn by Joshua in school, out of pure idleness." The
child found the "Jesuit's Treatise on Perspective," and studied it with
such intelligence that before he was eight years old he made a sketch of
the school and its cloister which was so accurate that his astonished
father exclaimed, "Now this justifies the author of the 'Perspective'
when he says that, by observing the laws laid down in his book, a man
may do wonders; for this is wonderful!"
When about twelve years old, Joshua, while in church, made a sketch upon
his thumb-nail of the Rev. Thomas Smart. From this sketch, he painted
his first picture in oils; his canvas was a piece of an old sail, his
colors were common ship-paint, and he did his work in a boathouse on
Cremyll Beach.
In 1740, when Joshua was seventeen years old, his father tried to carry
out his plan to apprentice him to a druggist, but the boy was greatly
opposed to this. He said, "I would prefer to be an apothecary rather
than an _ordinary_ painter; but if I could be bound to an eminent
master, I should choose that." Fortunately Lord Edgecumbe and other
friends advised the boy's father in his favor, and so Joshua was finally
sent to London and bound to Thomas Hudson, then the best portrait
painter in England. After two years, Hudson suddenly dismissed the youth
from his studio, though his agreement was for four years; the master
said that Joshua neglected his orders, but others believed Hudson to be
jealous of his pupil's success.
Joshua returned to Devonshire and settled at Plymouth, five miles from
his home. There he painted about thirty portraits of the principal
persons of the neighborhood, at the price of three guineas each. One of
these portraits, painted in 1746, was shown to him thirty years later,
when he lamented that his progress in all that time had been so little.
At the home of his friend, Lord Edgecumbe, he had formed a friendship
with the young Commodore Keppel, who in 1749 was ordered to the
Mediterranean. He invited Reynolds to sail with him as his guest, and,
the invitation being accepted, the painter did not return to England
until the end of 1752. He visited Portugal, Spain, Algiers, Minorca,
Italy, and France.
He kept diaries during this journey, which are very interesting and
valuable; they contain many sketches of scenes and pictures which he
admired, as well as his written opinions of all that he saw. Several of
these diaries are in the Lenox Library, in New York; others are in the
Soane Museum, London, and in the Museum of Berlin.
Not long after his return to England, Reynolds settled himself in
London. He lived in handsome rooms in St. Martin's Lane, and his sister
Frances was his housekeeper.
Very soon Reynolds's studio came to be the popular resort of artists,
and, through the influence of Lord Edgecumbe, many nobles became his
patrons. He painted a full-length portrait of Commodore Keppel, which at
once established his reputation. The Commodore was represented as
standing on a rocky shore with a stormy sea in the background. This
picture was received with enthusiasm, and in his second London year
Reynolds had one hundred and twenty sitters, among whom were many
notable people. The artist removed to Great Newport street, and charged
twelve guineas for a bust, twenty-four guineas for half-length and
double that sum for a full-length portrait.
Dr. Johnson and Reynolds met for the first time in 1753, and from that
time they were faithful friends. Dr. Johnson delighted not only in
Reynolds's success as a painter, but, perceiving his other talents, he
insisted on his writing for _The Idler_, by which means the artist
published a series of brilliant articles and made himself a name in
literary circles. This kindness was more than repaid, for, after Dr.
Johnson became too poor to keep house for himself, he was always welcome
to the home and purse of Reynolds.
In 1760, the master again raised his prices for his work, and at about
the same time established himself in the house in Leicester Square, in
which he passed the remainder of his life. This house was very fine,
and, though it exhausted all his savings to fit it up, he spent still
more in setting up a gorgeous carriage for his sister, and in other
expenses which served to advertise his success to all who observed them.
Reynolds seemed to have reached the height of popularity, when, in 1768,
he was elected first President of the Royal Academy, and was knighted by
the King. He was of great advantage to the Academy, and heartily devoted
to its interests. He was active in establishing its schools and
equipping them with models, libraries, and conveniences for study; he
gave much attention to its exhibitions, and founded the famous Academy
dinners, at which men of rank and genius were brought together in such a
way as to render these occasions the most remarkable gatherings in the
United Kingdom. From time to time he also delivered his well-known
"Discourses on Art," which are notable alike for the good judgment in
the selection of the subjects treated, and for the literary skill with
which they are written.
About 1770, Sir Joshua built a villa at Richmond Hill. In the same year,
he spent a month in Plympton, and at that time also, he brought to his
home his niece, Theophila Palmer, who remained with him until her
marriage, eleven years later. She was very beautiful, and is known to
all the world as the "Offy" of the famous "Strawberry Girl." Other
pictures of her which Sir Joshua painted also became famous.
With the exception of the trip with Commodore Keppel Sir Joshua spent
little time out of England. In 1768 he visited Paris, and in 1780 he
passed two months in Holland and Germany. When absent from London, he
was usually at the house of some friend in the country, or at his old
home, of which he was always fond.
[Illustration: COPY OF A PORTRAIT BY SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.]
Few men have been so much admired by such a diversity of people as was
Sir Joshua Reynolds. The testimony of his friends presents him to us as
a man of admirable character. Perhaps no one knew him more intimately
than James Northcote, who was received into his family as a poor
Devonshire lad; he remained with Sir Joshua five years, and left him a
prosperous painter. Northcote found him kindly, modest, and lovable in
every way. He thus describes him personally: "In his stature, Sir Joshua
Reynolds was rather under the middle size, of a florid complexion,
roundish, blunt features, and a lively aspect; not corpulent, though
somewhat inclined to it, but extremely active; with manners uncommonly
polished and agreeable. In conversation, his manner was perfectly
natural, simple, and unassuming. He most heartily enjoyed his
profession, in which he was both famous and illustrious; and I agree
with Mr. Malone, who says he appeared to him to be the happiest man he
had ever known."
In 1789, Sir Joshua lost the sight of his left eye, and though this
changed his whole life, he retained his calm cheerfulness, and occupied
his mind with the exciting topics of the time; for it happened that the
storming of the Bastille occurred in the very week in which he gave up
his pencil. He still used his brush a very little to finish or retouch
works which were still on his hands, but he sadly said: "There is now an
end of pursuit; the race is over, whether it is lost or won."
In 1790, troubles arose in the Academy, and Sir Joshua felt himself so
badly used that he resigned his presidency and his membership of the
institution. The King requested him to return, but he refused until the
Academy publicly apologized to him. He then resumed his office, and in
December delivered his final discourse.
The remainder of his life was a gradual decline; his sight grew weaker,
and his strength less, until February 23, 1792, when he died easily,
never having suffered much pain. The King directed that his body should
lie in state in the Academy rooms in Somerset House. The funeral was
grand and solemn; the pall-bearers were dukes, marquises, earls, and
lords; ninety-one carriages followed the hearse, in which were the first
nobles, scholars, and prelates of the realm, with all the members and
students of the Academy. He was buried near Sir Christopher Wren, in St.
Paul's Cathedral, where Vandyck had already been laid, and where, in
later years, a goodly number of painters have been buried around him. In
1813, a statue, by Flaxman, was erected to his memory near the choir of
the cathedral, and a Latin inscription recounts the talents and virtues
of the great man whom it commemorates.
[Illustration: THE LADIES WALDEGRAVE. (FROM A PAINTING BY SIR JOSHUA
REYNOLDS.)]
Having thus traced the story of Sir Joshua's life, it now remains to
speak of him more especially as an artist.
His highest fame is as a portrait painter, and as such he was a great
genius. He had the power to reproduce the personal peculiarities of his
subjects with great exactness; he was also able to perceive their
qualities of temper, mind, and character, and he made his portraits so
vivid with these attributes that they were likenesses of the minds as
well as of the persons of his subjects. In his portrait of Goldsmith,
self-esteem is as prominent as the nose; passion and energy are in every
line of Burke's face and figure; and whenever his subject possessed any
individual characteristics, they were plainly shown in Reynolds's
portraits. So many of these pictures are famous that we can not speak of
them in detail. Perhaps no one portrait is better known than that of
the famous actress, Mrs. Sarah Siddons, as the Tragic Muse. It is a
noble example of an idealized portrait, and it is said that the "Isaiah"
of Michael Angelo suggested the manner in which it is painted. Sir
Thomas Lawrence declared this to be the finest portrait of a women in
the world, and it is certain that this one picture would have made any
painter famous. Sir Joshua inscribed his name on the border of the robe,
and courteously explained to the lady, "I could not lose the honor this
opportunity afforded me of going down to posterity on the hem of your
garment."
The original of this work is said to be that in the gallery of the Duke
of Westminster; a second is in the Dulwich Gallery. In speaking of Sir
Joshua as a portrait painter, Mr. Ruskin says: "Considered as a painter
of individuality in the human form and mind, I think him the prince of
portrait painters. Titian paints nobler pictures, and Vandyck had nobler
subjects, but neither of them entered so subtly as Sir Joshua did into
the minor varieties of heart and temper."
His portraits of simply beautiful women can scarcely be equaled in the
world. He perfectly reproduced the delicate grace and beauty of some of
his sitters and the brilliant, dazzling charms of others. He loved to
paint richly hued velvets in contrast with rare laces, ermine, feathers,
and jewels. It is a regret that so many of his works are faded, but
after all we must agree with Sir George Beaumont, when he said: "Even a
faded picture from him will be the finest thing you can have."
The most attractive of his works are his pictures of children. It is
true that they too are portraits, but they are often represented in some
fancy part, such as the "Strawberry Girl,"[1] a portrait of his niece
Offy; Muscipula, who holds a mouse-trap; the Little Marchioness; the
Girl with a Mob-cap, and many others. He loved to paint pictures of boys
in all sorts of characters, street-peddlers, gipsies, cherubs, and so
on. He often picked up boy models in the street and painted from them in
his spare hours, between his appointments with sitters. Sometimes he
scarcely hustled a beggar boy out of his chair in time for some grand
lady to seat herself in it. It is said that one day one of these
children fell asleep in so graceful an attitude that the master seized a
fresh canvas and made a sketch of it; this was scarcely done, when the
child threw himself into a different pose without awakening. Sir Joshua
added a second sketch to the first and from these made his beautiful
picture of "The Babes in the Wood." More than two hundred of his
pictures of children have been engraved, and these plates form one of
the loveliest collections that can be made from the works of any one
artist.
[1] An engraving of this picture was given as the frontispiece of
ST. NICHOLAS for April, 1876; and our readers will remember
also the account of Sir Joshua Reynolds's portrait of "Little
Penelope Boothby" in ST. NICHOLAS for November, 1875,
illustrated with a full-page reproduction of the painting.--ED.
When Sir Joshua was at the height of his power, he was accustomed to
receive six sitters a day, and he often completed a portrait in four
hours.
Good prints from his works are now becoming rare and are valuable.
As we close this account of Sir Joshua Reynolds, it is pleasant to
remember that so great a man was so good a man, and to believe that
Burke did not flatter him when, in his eulogy, he said: "In full
affluence of foreign and domestic fame, admired by the expert in art and
by the learned in science, courted by the great, caressed by sovereign
powers, and celebrated by distinguished poets, his native humility,
modesty, and candor never forsook him, even on surprise or provocation;
nor was the least degree of arrogance or assumption visible to the most
scrutinizing eye in any part of his conduct or discourse."
RICHARD WILSON
was another original member of the Academy, and though not the first
English artist who had painted landscapes, he was the first whose
pictures merited the honorable recognition which they now have. Wilson's
story is a sad one; he was not appreciated while he lived, and his whole
life was saddened by seeing the works of foreign artists, which were
inferior to his own, sold for good prices, while he was forced to sell
his to pawnbrokers, who, it is said, could not dispose of them at any
price.
Wilson was the son of a clergyman and was born at Pinegas, in
Montgomeryshire, in 1713. He first painted portraits and earned money
with which, in 1749, he went to Italy, where he remained six years. His
best works were Italian views, and he is now considered as the best
landscape painter of his day, with the one exception of Gainsborough.
Wilson died in 1782, and it is pleasant to know that after more than
sixty years of poverty he received a legacy from a brother, and the last
two years of his life were years of peaceful comfort.
THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH,
though a great artist, had an uneventful life. He was the son of a
clothier and was born in Sudbury, in Suffolk, in 1727. His boyish habit
of wandering about the woods and streams of Suffolk, making sketches,
and finding in this his greatest pleasure, induced his father to send
him to London to study art, when about fifteen years old. He studied
first under a French engraver, Gravelot, who was of much advantage to
him; next he was a pupil of Francis Hayman at the Academy, in St.
Martin's Lane, but Nature was his real teacher.
After a time he settled in Hatton Square, and painted both portraits and
landscapes. But at the end of four years of patient work, his patrons
were so few that he left London and returned to Sudbury.
It happened that once when he was sketching a wood-scene, Margaret Burr
had crossed his line of sight; he had added her figure to his picture,
and from this circumstance they had come to be friends. Soon after,
Gainsborough returned to his home, and Margaret became his wife. He was
careless and unthrifty, while she was quite the reverse. She was thus a
true helpmate to him, and to her carefulness we owe the preservation of
many of his pictures.
After his marriage, Gainsborough settled in Ipswich; in 1760 he removed
to Bath, and here both in portraits and landscapes he made such a
reputation, that when, fourteen years later, he removed to London, he
was considered the rival of Reynolds in portraits and of Wilson as a
painter of scenery. Gainsborough was one of the original Academicians,
and on one occasion at a gathering of artists, Sir Joshua Reynolds
proposed the health of Gainsborough, and called him "the greatest
landscape painter of the day." Wilson, who was present, was piqued by
this, and exclaimed:
"Yes, and the greatest portrait painter, too."
Sir Joshua realized that he had been ungracious and apologized to
Wilson.
Gainsborough exhibited many works in the gallery of the Academy, but in
1783 he was offended by the hanging of one of his portraits, and refused
to send his pictures there afterward. He was an impulsive, passionate
man, and he had several disputes with Sir Joshua, who always admired and
praised the work of his rival. But when about to die, Gainsborough sent
for Reynolds to visit him, and all their differences were healed. The
truth was that they had always respected and admired each other. The
last words of Gainsborough were:
"We are all going to heaven, and Vandyck is of the company."
He died August 2, 1788.
The celebrated "Blue Boy," by Gainsborough, now in the Grosvenor
Gallery, is said to have been painted to spite Sir Joshua, who had said
that blue should not be used in masses.
But there was a soft and lovable side to this wayward man. His love for
music was a passion, and he once gave a painting of his, "The Boy at the
Stile," to Colonel Hamilton as a reward for his playing the flute.
His portraits may be thought to have too much of a bluish gray in the
flesh tints, but they are always graceful and pleasing. In 1876, his
famous painting "The Duchess of Devonshire" was sold for the
exceptionally high price of fifty thousand dollars.
GEORGE ROMNEY
was born at Beckside, in Cumberland, in 1734. His life was very
discreditable.
It is more pleasant to speak of his pictures, for his portraits were so
fine that he was a worthy rival to Sir Joshua Reynolds. His pictures are
mostly in private galleries, but that of the beautiful Lady Hamilton, in
the National Gallery, is a famous work. He was ambitious to paint
historical subjects, and some of his imaginary pictures are much
admired. He was fitful in his art, and he began so many works which he
left unfinished, that they were finally removed from his studio by
cart-loads. There was also an incompleteness in the pictures which he
called finished; in short, the want of steadfastness, which made him an
unfaithful husband and father, went far to lessen his artistic merit. At
the same time, it is true that he was a great artist and justly
celebrated in his best days; his works excel in vigorous drawing and
brilliant, transparent color. His pictures are rarely sold, and are as
valuable as those of his great contemporaries, Reynolds and
Gainsborough.
THOMAS LAWRENCE
is the only other portrait painter of whom mention need be made here. He
was born at Bristol, in 1769, and much of his work belongs to our own
century.
His father had been trained for the law, but had become an inn-keeper.
When a mere child, Thomas entertained his father's customers by his
recitations, and took their portraits with equal readiness.
When he was ten years old, his family removed to Oxford, where he
rapidly improved in his drawing. When he first saw a picture by Rubens
he wept bitterly and sobbed out:
"Oh, I shall never be able to paint like that!"
In 1785, he received a silver palette from the Society of Arts as a
reward for a copy of Raphael's "Transfiguration," which he had made when
but thirteen years old.
[Illustration: "THE BLUE BOY." (AFTER THE PAINTING BY THOMAS
GAINSBOROUGH. BY PERMISSION, FROM A FAC-SIMILE OF THE ETCHING
BY RAJON, PUBLISHED BY "L'ART.")]
In 1787, the young painter entered the Royal Academy, London, and from
that time his course was one of repeated successes. Sir Joshua Reynolds
was his friend and adviser; he early attracted the attention of the King
and Queen, whose portraits he painted when but twenty-two years old. He
was elected to the Academy in 1794; after Sir Joshua's death he was
appointed painter to the King; he was knighted in 1815, and five years
later he was elected president of the Academy. He was also a member of
many foreign academies and a Chevalier of the Legion of Honor. Rarely is
the path to honor and fame made so easy as it was to Sir Thomas
Lawrence.
[Illustration: COPY OF A PORTRAIT BY GEORGE ROMNEY.]
His London life was brilliant. His studio was crowded with sitters, and
money flowed into his purse in a generous stream,--for his prices were
larger than any other English painter had asked. But all this did him
little good, for somehow he was continually in debt and always poor.
In 1814 he visited Paris, but he was recalled that he might paint the
portraits of the allied sovereigns, their statesmen, and generals. These
works were the first of the series of portraits of great men in the
Waterloo Chamber at Windsor Castle. In 1818 he attended the Congress at
Aix-la-Chapelle, for the purpose of adding portraits of notable people
to the gallery of the Prince-Regent. At length he was sent to Rome to
paint a likeness of the Pope and Cardinal Gonsalvi. He seems to have
been inspired with new strength by his nearness to the works of the
great masters in the Eternal City, for those two portraits are in merit
far beyond his previous work, and after his return to England from 1820
to 1830, his pictures had a vigor and worth that was wanting at every
other period of his life. While in Rome, he also painted a portrait of
Canova which he presented to the Pope.
When he reached London, he found himself to be the president-elect of
the Academy; it was a great honor, and Lawrence accepted it with
modesty.
George IV., following the example of the graciousness of Charles I.
toward Vandyck, hung upon the painter's neck a gold chain bearing a
medal, on which the likeness of his majesty was engraved. In the
catalogue of the Academy, 1820, Lawrence is called "Principal Painter in
Ordinary to his Majesty, Member of the Roman Academy of St. Luke's, of
the Academy of Fine Arts in Florence, and of the Fine Arts in New York."
To the last he had been elected in 1818, and had sent to the academy a
full-length portrait of Benjamin West.
From that time on, there is little to relate of his life, except that he
was always busy and each year sent eight fine works to the Academy
Exhibition. His friends and patrons showed him much consideration, and
various honors were added to his list, already long. He was always
worried in regard to money matters, and he grieved much over the illness
of his favorite sister, but there was no striking event to change the
even current of his life.
On January 7, 1830, he expired suddenly, exclaiming, "This is
dying,"--almost the same words used by George IV., a few months later.
Sir Thomas Lawrence was a man of fine personal qualities; his generosity
may be called his greatest fault, for his impulses led him to give more
than he had--a quality which causes us to admire a man while at the same
moment it makes him guilty of grave faults.
He was always generous to unfortunate artists and, in that way, he spent
large sums. He was also true to his ideas of right and wrong, even at
the expense of his own advantage.
As an artist, Lawrence can not be given a very high rank, in spite of
the immense successes of his life. As in every case, there are opposite
opinions concerning him. He has hearty admirers, but he is also accused
of mannerisms and weakness. His early works are the most satisfactory,
because most natural; they are good in design, and rich in color.
JOSEPH MALLORD WILLIAM TURNER
was an artist of great genius, and has exercised a powerful influence on
the art of the nineteenth century. He was the son of a barber, and was
born in Maiden Lane, London (a squalid alley in the parish of Covent
Garden), on April 23, 1775. When the boy was five years old, he was
taken by his father to the house of a customer of the barber's, and
while the shaving and combing went on, the child studied the figure of a
rampant lion engraved upon a piece of silver. After his return home, he
drew a copy of the lion so excellent that it decided his career, for
then and there the father determined that his son should be an artist.
As a child and youth, he was always sketching, and while he was fond of
nature in all her features, he yet had a preference for water views with
boats and cliffs and shining waves.
In 1789, when fourteen years old, he entered the classes of the Royal
Academy, where he worked hard in drawing from Greek models. He had the
good fortune to be employed by Dr. Munro to do some copying and other
works, and by this stroke of luck he revelled in the fine pictures and
valuable drawings with which the house of his patron was filled. Toward
the end of Sir Joshua Reynolds's life, Turner was a frequent visitor at
his studio.
In 1790, he sent his first contribution to the Academy Exhibition; it
was a view of Lambeth Palace, in water-colors. During the next ten
years, he exhibited more than sixty works, embracing a great variety of
subjects. The pictures included views from more than twenty-six counties
of England and Wales.
In 1802, he was made a full member of the Academy and he also visited
the continent for the first time, traveling through France and
Switzerland only. He visited Italy in 1819, in 1829, and again in 1840.
The pictures of Turner are often compared with those of Claude Lorraine,
and at times he painted in rivalry with Cuyp, Poussin, and Claude,
aiming to adopt the manner of these masters.
In 1806, Turner followed the example of the great Lorraine in another
direction. Claude had made a _Liber Veritatis_, or "Book of Truth,"
containing sketches of his finished pictures, in order that the works of
other painters could not be sold as his. Turner determined to make a
_Liber Studiorum_, or "Book of Studies." It was issued in a series of
twenty numbers, containing five plates each, and the subscription price
was L17.10_s._ There were endless troubles with the engravers and it was
not paying well, and was abandoned after seventy plates were issued. It
seemed to be so worthless that Charles Turner, one of the engravers,
used some of the proofs for kindling paper. After the artist became
famous, however, this _Liber Studiorum_ grew to be very valuable. Before
Turner died, a copy was worth thirty guineas, and more recently a single
copy has brought three thousand pounds, or nearly fifteen thousand
dollars. Colnaghi, the London print dealer, paid Charles Turner fifteen
hundred pounds for the proofs which he had not destroyed; and when the
old engraver remembered how he had lighted his fires, he exclaimed, "I
have been burning bank-notes all my life."
[Illustration: COUNTESS GREY AND CHILDREN. (FROM A PORTRAIT BY SIR
THOMAS LAWRENCE.)]
Turner grew very rich, but he lived in a mean, careless style. As long
as his father lived, he waited upon his great son as a servant might
have done; and after his death, an untidy, wizened old woman, Mrs.
Danby, was the only person to care for the house or the interests of the
painter. His dress was that of a very common person, and it is
impossible to understand how a man who so admired the beautiful in
nature could live in so miserly a manner as that of Turner.
Some time before his death, Turner seemed to be hiding himself; his
friends could not discover his retreat, until, at last, his old
housekeeper traced him to a dingy Chelsea cottage. When his friends went
to him, he was dying, and the end soon came. His funeral, from Queen
Anne street, was an imposing one. The body was taken to St. Paul's
Cathedral, and there, surrounded by a large company of artists and
followed by the faithful old woman, it was laid to rest between the
tombs of Sir Joshua Reynolds and James Barry. His estate was valued at
about seven hundred thousand dollars and he desired that most of it
should be used to establish a home for poor artists, to be called
Turner's Gift. But the will was not clearly written--his relatives
contested it, and in the end, his pictures and drawings were given to
the National Academy; one thousand pounds was devoted to a monument to
his memory; twenty thousand pounds established the Turner Fund in the
Academy and yields annuities to six poor artists; and the remainder was
divided amongst his kinsfolk.
Perhaps there never was a painter about whose works more extreme and
conflicting opinions have been advanced. Some of his admirers claim for
him the very highest place in art. His enemies can see nothing good in
his works and say that they may as well be hung one side up as another,
since they are only a mixture of splashes of color, and lights and
shades. Neither extreme is correct. In some respects, Turner is at the
head of English landscape painters, and no other artist has had the
power to paint so many different kinds of subjects or to employ such
variations of style in his work. His water-colors are worthy of the
highest praise; indeed, he created a school of water-color painting. At
the same time, it is proper to say that the works executed in his latest
period are not even commended by Ruskin,--his most enthusiastic
admirer,--and are not to be classed with those of his earlier days and
his best manner.
This master was so fruitful, and he made so vast a number of pictures in
oil and water-colors, of drawings, and of splendid illustrations for
books, that we have no space in which to speak properly of the different
periods of his art. A large and fine collection of his paintings is in
the South Kensington Museum; "The Old Temeraire," the picture which he
would never sell, is there. "The Slave Ship," one of his finest
pictures, is owned in Boston, and other celebrated works of his are in
New York; but most of his pictures, outside the South Kensington Museum,
and the National Gallery, are in private collections, where no
catalogues have ever been made, so that no estimate of the whole number
can be given.
I shall tell you of but one more English painter,--an artist whose life
and works are both very interesting, and of whom all young people must
be fond,--
EDWIN LANDSEER.
He was the youngest of the three sons of John Landseer, the eminent
engraver, and was born at No. 83 Queen Anne street, London, in March,
1802. The eldest son, Thomas, followed the profession of his father, and
in later years, by his faithful engraving after the works of Edwin, he
did much to confirm the great fame of his younger brother. Charles, the
second son of John Landseer, was a painter of historical subjects, and
held the office of Keeper of the Royal Academy during twenty years.
Edwin Landseer had the good fortune to be aided and encouraged in his
artistic tastes and studies, even from his babyhood, for there are now
in the South Kensington Museum, sketches of animals made in his fifth
year, and good etchings which he did when eight years old.
John Landseer taught his son to look to nature alone as his model. When
fourteen, he entered the Academy schools, and divided his time between
drawing in the classes and sketching from the wild beasts at Exeter
Change. He was a handsome, manly boy, and the keeper, Fuseli, was very
fond of him, calling him, as a mark of affection, "My little dog boy."
He was very industrious and painted many pictures; the best of those
known as his early works is the "Cat's Paw." It represents a monkey
using the paw of a cat to push hot chestnuts from the top of a heated
stove; the struggles of the cat are useless and her kittens mew to no
purpose. This picture was once sold for one hundred pounds; it is now in
the collection of the Earl of Essex, at Cashiobury, and is worth more
than three thousand pounds. It was painted in 1822.
Sir Walter Scott was in London when the "Cat's Paw" was exhibited, and
he was so pleased by the picture that he sought out the young painter
and invited him to go home with him. Sir Walter's well-known love of
dogs was a foundation for the intimate affection which grew up between
himself and Landseer. In 1824, the painter first saw Scotland, and
during fifty years he studied its people, its scenery, and its customs;
he loved them all and could ever draw new subjects and new enthusiasm
from the breezy north. Sir Walter wrote in his journal, "Landseer's dogs
are the most magnificent things I ever saw, leaping and bounding and
grinning all over the canvas." The friendship of Sir Walter had a great
effect upon the young painter; it developed the imagination and romance
in his nature and he was affected by the human life of Scotland so that
he painted the shepherd, the gillie, and the poacher, and made his
pictures speak the tenderness and truth as well as the fearlessness and
the hardihood of the Gaelic race.
Landseer remained in the home of his father, until he was a person of
such importance that his friends felt that his dignity demanded a
separate establishment and urged this upon him. He could not lightly
sever his home ties, and it was after much hesitation that he removed to
No. 1 St. John's Wood Road, where he passed the remainder of his life.
He named his home "Maida Vale," in remembrance of the favorite dog of
Sir Walter Scott. It was a small house with a garden and a barn, which
he converted into a studio; from time to time he enlarged and improved
it, and it became the resort of a distinguished circle of people who
learned to love it for its generous hospitality and its atmosphere of
joyous content.
The best period of Landseer's life was from 1824 to 1840. In the latter
year, he had the first attack of a disease from which he was never again
entirely free; he suffered from seasons of depression that shadowed all
his life with gloom, and at times almost threatened the loss of his
reason.
It is said that Landseer was the first person who opened a communication
between Queen Victoria and the literary and artistic society of England.
Be that as it may, he was certainly the first artist to be received as a
friend by the Queen, who soon placed him on an unceremonious and easy
footing in her household.
He was a frequent visitor at the royal palaces and received many rich
gifts from both Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. Between 1835 and 1866,
he painted a great many pictures of the Queen, of the various members of
her family and of the pets of the royal household. In 1850 he was
knighted and was at the very height of his popularity and success.
With the single exception of Sir Joshua Reynolds, he visited and
received in his own house more distinguished persons than any other
British artist. He was the intimate friend of Dickens, Chantrey, Sidney
Smith, and other famous men.
Landseer had an extreme fondness for studying and making pictures of
lions, and from the time when, as a boy, he dissected one, he tried to
obtain the body of every lion that died in London. Dickens was in the
habit of relating that on one occasion, when he and others were dining
with the artist, a servant entered and asked, "Did you order a lion,
sir?" as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The guests
feared that a living lion was about to enter, but it turned out to be
the body of the dead "Nero," of the Zooelogical Gardens, which had been
sent as a gift to Sir Edwin.
His skill in drawing was marvelous, and was once shown in a rare way at
a large evening party. Facility in drawing had been the theme of
conversation, when a lady declared that no one had yet drawn two objects
at the same moment. Landseer would not allow that this could not be
done, and immediately took two pencils and drew a horse's head with one
hand and at the same time, a stag's head with the other hand. He painted
with great rapidity; he once sent to the exhibition a picture of rabbits
painted in three-quarters of an hour. Mr. Wells relates that at one time
when Landseer was visiting him, he left the house for church just as his
butler placed a fresh canvas on the easel before the painter; on his
return, three hours later, Landseer had completed a life-sized picture
of a fallow-deer, and so well was it done that neither he nor the artist
could see that it required retouching.
Several portraits of Landseer exist and are well known, but that called
the "Connoisseurs," painted in 1865 for the Prince of Wales, is of great
interest. Here the artist has painted a half-length portrait of himself
engaged in drawing, while two dogs look over his shoulders with a
critical expression.
In 1840, Landseer made a quite extended tour in Europe, and that was the
only time that he was long absent from Great Britain. In 1853, several
of his works were sent to the Exposition in Paris; he was the only
English artist who received the great gold medal.
Sir Edwin Landseer was also a sculptor, and though he executed but few
works in this art, the colossal lions at the base of Nelson's Monument
in Trafalgar Square, London, are a triumph for him. He was chosen for
this work on account of his great knowledge of the "king of beasts."
At his death he had modeled but one; the others were copied from it
under the care of the Baron Marochetti.
Sir Edwin continued to work in spite of sadness, failing health and
sight, and in the last year of his life he executed four pictures, one
being an equestrian portrait of the Queen.
He died October 1, 1873, and was buried with many honors in St. Paul's
Cathedral. He left a property of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds;
the pictures and drawings in his studio were sold for seventy thousand
pounds, and all this large sum, with the exception of a few small
bequests, was given to his brother Thomas and his three sisters, ten
thousand pounds being given to his brother Charles.
I suppose that many of the pictures of Sir Edwin Landseer are well known
to the readers of ST. NICHOLAS. "High Life" and "Low Life," "A Highland
Breakfast," "Dignity and Impudence," the "Cat's Paw," "The Monarch of
the Glen," the "Piper and Nutcrackers," and others, are familiar in the
form of prints to many people in many lands, and they are pictures which
all must love. It is needless to add any long opinion of the artistic
qualities of this master; the critic Hamerton has happily summed up an
estimate of him in these words: "Everything that can be said about
Landseer's knowledge of animals, and especially of dogs, has already
been said. There was never very much to say, for there was no variety of
opinions, and nothing to discuss. Critics may write volumes of
controversy about Turner and Delacroix, but Landseer's merits are so
obvious to every one that he stood in no need of critical explanations.
The best commentators on Landseer, the best defenders of his genius, are
the dogs themselves; and so long as there exist terriers, deer-hounds,
and blood-hounds, his fame will need little assistance from writers upon
art."
[Illustration: ONE OF THE LANDSEER LIONS AT THE BASE OF THE NELSON
MONUMENT, TRAFALGAR SQUARE, LONDON.]
UNDER THE SNOW.
BY LILIAN DYNEVOR RICE.
All in the bleak December weather,
When north winds blow,
Five little clovers lay warm together
Under the snow.
"Wait," said they, "till the robins sing;
Wait, till the blossoms bud and spring;
Wait, till the rain and the sunbeams gay
Our winter blanket shall fold away--
Then, we will try to grow."
All in the fragrant May-time weather,
When south winds blow,
Five little clovers crept close together
Under the snow.
Poor, pink babies! They might have known
'Twas only the pear-tree blossoms blown
By the frolic breeze; but they cried, "Oh, dear!
Surely the spring is late this year!
Still, we will try to grow."
All in the sultry August weather,
When no winds blow,
Five little clovers were sad together
Under the snow.
'Twas only the daisies waving white
Above their heads in the glowing light;
But they cried, "Will we never understand?
It always snows in this fairyland--
Yet, we will try to grow."
All in the bright September weather,
When west winds blow,
Five little clovers were glad together
Under the snow.
For now 'twas the muslin kerchief cool,
Of a dear little lass on her way to school.
"The sweetest snow-fall of all," said they;
"We knew our reward would come some day,
If only we'd try to grow!"
NAN'S REVOLT.
BY ROSE LATTIMORE ALLING.
CHAPTER V.
The Ferris tea-table was a very cheery board, where good spirits of a
most delightful and commendable kind flowed freely. The stiff and solemn
Wilders, who "partook of the joys of life furtively," were inclined to
be scandalized. Who cared? Not the Ferrises, and so, as has been said,
that happy family enjoyed life despite their critical neighbors, and as
they all gathered about the scarlet cloth that evening, they looked like
a band that ought never to be broken.
Fun and laughter ran so high that the dear, tired father forgot his
legal cares and cracked his jokes. These were more or less bad,--but
what matter so long as the children thought him "just the darlingest,
funniest man in the world." No guest remained long in that genial
atmosphere without discovering the source of this sunny family-life, and
the true tendency of the current beneath all the froth and ripple of the
nonsense.
From father and mother, down to little Claire, it was a family of
_friends_. That was the entire secret. There were no petty animosities,
no bickerings; everything was open and above-board. Sincere and loving
confidence bound them together. The girls were interested in all their
father's cases in court; while he, in turn, listened to all their
girlish performances with undivided attention. No new gown or hat was
completely satisfactory until he had passed a favorable judgment. Here
in his own small court he was "Judge Ferris," in that title's noblest
sense. And the mother? She was best sister of all among her
daughters,--"Mother and sister and queen,--all in one precious little
woman," as Nan said, lifting her off her feet with a vigorous embrace.
But the toast was getting cold, and the festivity began as the plates
went 'round. The judicial wrinkles in Mr. Ferris's forehead were pulled
out by those radiating from the outer corners of his kind eyes; the
mother utterly lost her authority as the mirth rose to a gale; and
nobody paid the slightest attention to Lou's request for the honey.
"Nan," said Mrs. Ferris, laughing, "you are the only one who isn't
behaving outrageously, so please attend to your sister's wants." But her
observant eye did not leave her daughter's thoughtful face, and she
asked, during a purely accidental lull in the chatter,--for she
sympathized even with moods in her children:--"What is it, dear; what
are you thinking about? You seem to be taking the butter-dish into your
confidence--we are jealous."
Nan drew her eyes away, and, giving her mother a bright look, she
answered: "Why, I was thinking of the time, before we went to
boarding-school, when Papa called Evelyn and me to him and asked us
which we would rather have him do, scrimp us all our lives on advantages
and education, so that he could lay up something for our future, or,
instead of dowry or legacy, have our money as we went along, depending
upon our ability for the future."
"And we voted as a single man, didn't we?" said Evelyn.
"We did that same, Evelyn; we decided that we wanted but little here
below, but that we wanted that little right away!"
"And I recall how magnanimously you promised to share my last crust with
me," said Mr. Ferris, hitching Nan's chair nearer to him.
"Yes," continued she, "I'll never desert you. But I was going to say
that I don't think I have kept my part of the agreement. You have given
me advantages which even richer girls have not had, and I have not done
a thing with them yet. I have had a whole year of idleness, and I'm
tired of it, and want to go to work."
The family had heard something of this independent mood before, but, as
nothing alarming came of it, they received this announcement without any
demonstration of surprise; indeed, Mr. Ferris attended to the
dissolution of the sugar in his second cup of tea before looking up, and
then he said, "Yes?" with a slowly rising inflection.
"Yes!" came from Nan with a short downward one; "Yes, sir, and I have a
plan this time, and wish to consult my beloved family before doing
anything rash."
"So that you can do it afterward with a clear conscience, I suppose?"
ventured her father, wickedly.
"No, I shall do something a hundred times rasher if you oppose this
plan, for it is the least revolutionary thing I can think of."
"Well?"--said her father, inquiringly.
"You know how hard Aunt Hettie has tried to induce one of us to come
down to New York and spend the winter with her and Uncle Nat, and how
we have all begged off because they live so quietly and so far up town,
we thought we should simply stagnate? I should like to go there this
winter, not, I blush to say, for their sakes alone, but because I wish
to study."
[Illustration: NAN FOUND CATHY FILLING A FIREPLACE WITH GOLDEN-ROD.
(SEE NEXT PAGE.)]
"What! study more?" groaned Lou, who was only fourteen, and in the toils
of cube-root.
"Yes, study more," asserted Nan. "I want to take a course of lessons in
a school of design, for I think I may do something in that line that may
pay, after a while. Now, observe the latent beauty of my scheme. By
spending the winter with them, I shan't need any new clothes--which
means that I intend to pay for my lessons out of my own allowance."
"Oh, never mind that, dear child," Mr. Ferris said lovingly.
"Yes, I _will_ mind! That is just what makes us girls so
good-for-nothing;--we don't 'mind' enough! I really think it would be
fun to actually _need_ a new dress and know I couldn't have it until I
_earned_ it--buttons, whale-bones, and braid. Anyhow, if it were not
fun, it would be good for my character. Now what do you all think?" and
Nan helped herself to cake, observing that the others had finished
theirs.
Mr. Ferris, heaving an involuntary sigh, began:
"Well, dear, as you know, your mother and I consider it our duty to
bring up our girls so that each can, if the necessity should come, earn
her own living; and perhaps the time is here for one to fly out of the
nest to try her wings,--ah, me!"
"But that is just what I don't want to do; and one reason I hit upon
this plan is that it will take me away from home only one winter,
perhaps, and then not among strangers," said Nan.
"But," objected Mr. Ferris, "do you know anything about this school?"
"The Cooper Institute? I should think so. Why, it was reading about this
particular branch of decorative art in the newspaper, the other day,
that made me think of it."
"Then, little girl," he said fondly, "I think I am pleased with your
plan."
When they were all grouped before the fire, and Mr. Ferris had drawn Nan
close to him, as though somehow he were about to lose her, Evelyn took
her mother's hand in hers and began:
"Papa, don't think I am going to do nothing; I am not like Nan, nor can
I do the things she can; but I try to believe each has a special talent,
and if I have a passion, it is for housekeeping; and Mother and I have a
lovely plan!" And those two exchanged a laughing glance of great
portent.
Anything like secrecy immediately aroused in the Ferris family the most
vehement denunciation.
"What _do_ you mean?" demanded the chorus.
"Well, then, Mother hasn't the slightest idea what we are going to have
for breakfast to-morrow morning, because _I_ am the housekeeper of this
house, and I am going to buy everything and plan everything, and pay all
the bills,--with a little pecuniary aid from you, Papa,--and make a
study of beef and poultry, while Mother is going to do fancy-work and
read French novels. But I am only going to learn to do well what
ninety-nine girls out of every hundred have to do,--so there!"
"Splendid! splendid!" shouted Mr. Ferris, going over to this oldest of
the flock and taking her face lovingly between his hands. "I declare, I
don't know of which to be proudest; you mutually surpass each other, my
children."
"Wait until after to-morrow morning's breakfast, and I fear you will be
able to decide!" called the new housekeeper, as she disappeared to have
a consultation with the cook.
All these revolutionary measures were not of the sudden growth that
their speedy results seem to indicate. Any girl who enjoys the luxury of
aimlessness during that long-desired period after she has "finished,"
will, sooner or later, encounter that arch-fiend of happiness,
satiety,--the Apollyon of those who exist merely to have a "good time."
Nan had been reared amidst the most healthy influences, and her vigorous
young nature demanded more nourishing rations than those offered by the
life she had been leading. However, this longing had only come of late,
for she had been most devoted to the pomps and vanities, while her
parents had looked on with some anxiety, but held their peace, trusting
that she would "come out all right."
Bert's surroundings were different, her home influences being wholly
worldly, her mother desiring nothing more of her daughter than that she
should move among the best circles, finally making a brilliant marriage.
Bert had not only dutifully but eagerly explored those aristocratic
precincts, and had enjoyed herself hugely, as she observed everything in
her own original and critical way, amusing herself with her own
conclusions. Her wit and breeziness made her always welcome, and she
could even enliven the clammy atmosphere of a young ladies' luncheon, as
there was always sure to be grateful laughter at her end of the table.
This success was exhilarating for a while, until she began to discover
that she got very little for her pains. She herself needed stimulating;
she demanded equal exertion from others; "why should she be interested
in uninteresting people?" she should like to know. She didn't find out.
She was already very privately admitting to herself that she "would like
to shake the best circles from center to circumference." But the poor
girl did not know what might be the social result, and to make a break
had never occurred to her as a possibility until Nan's audacity
suggested it.
So, while Bert sat on the other side of her father's desk and signed
letters in her most elegant hand, "Mitchell & Co., per B.," wondering if
the junior members of the firms to which she had been writing would ever
guess who "B." was, or if they would conclude it stood for some stupid,
round-shouldered Brown or Bates or Baker,--Nan sped down to Cathy's to
be the first to announce Bert's business career, as Evelyn's new cares
detained her at home.
[Illustration: THE "B." OF MITCHELL & CO.]
Nan found Cathy filling a fireplace with a yellow glory of golden-rod.
"That's lovely!" commented Nan. "But what if you want a fire some of
these cool evenings?"
"Why, that's the beauty of my idea; the fire is all ready to light under
these, and when we want one all we have to do is to let the whole thing
burn up; the golden-rod will be dried by that time, and then I can get
more. See?"
"Good; that's sensible; for if there is anything I hate, it is a grate
too fine to have a big, roaring fire in it. You always were an artist in
flowers. But that isn't what I came to remark. What do you suppose Bert
has done now?"
Then followed a long talk, such as only girls are equal to, during which
Bert's clerkship and Evelyn's housekeeping venture were discussed, and
Nan's own plans divulged.
"Oh, me!" Cathy sighed hopelessly. "This is all very soul-stirring; I
only am behind. I can't dash about and assert myself as you girls do,
and besides, I think it is my duty to stay at home with Mother."
This duty Cathy had borne sweetly, for her mother was a doleful
companion, who was making the mistake of casting a shadow over this
daughter's life because her only other daughter had not been spared to
her. This grief and the loss of her husband many years before had not
taught her to make the lives of those still left to her as happy as
possible; yet Cathy cheerfully made "sunshine in a shady place," while
Fred manfully shouldered his father's business, which weighed heavily on
his young shoulders.
"But I do want an object in life besides," continued Cathy, "for staying
where I am put is only half my duty. If I should relieve Mother of the
housekeeping I believe she would die, so I can't follow Evelyn's
example. What _can_ I do?" she asked mournfully.
Nan was reflecting that there were three kinds of girls,--those who led,
like Bert; those who are led, like Evelyn; and those who must be pushed,
like Cathy. "And maybe it is my duty to push," she thought.
"Well, Catherine," she began, settling herself in her chair, "would you
really like to earn your own living?"
"Yes; I most certainly should like to do something toward it, for I have
often wondered if dear old Fred didn't forego part of his own profits
from the nursery for our sakes. Did you girls find out your vocations
all alone, without any help or suggestion from others?" she continued.
"Bert did, of course," said Nan. "Who ever knew her to take advice from
anybody? But Evelyn and I talked all day and all night, and alternately
propped each other's falling spirits, and last night the jury of the
entire family sat upon us!"
"Oh, yes----" and Cathy sighed again. "But you see I have nobody. Mother
wouldn't be interested, and Fred wouldn't hear of such a thing. He
thinks a girl should be very feminine, and let her brother support her
if she has no father. No, I must get on without sympathy."
"But you shan't! _I'm_ here on purpose to help you as I have been
helped. I feel it my duty to pass on the impulse."
"You are a dear, good girl, and I love you," Cathy said gratefully.
"I'll be your humble servant and do just what you tell me. I wish I
could go to New York with you and take lessons in flower-painting."
"You'd never get rich selling a daisy and a lily and a little buttercup.
You would better go to raising golden-rod in your brother's nursery, and
then peddle it about the city, filling people's fireplaces at a dollar
apiece!"
"I wish I could. Do you know, I should just love to raise flowers----"
"_That's it!_" screamed Nan delightedly. "Just the thing! Have a
hot-house,--cut-flowers for the million,--beat Haas & Schaeffer out of
town! You could do it, Cathy; you have exquisite taste in flowers, and
everybody will be crazy to have a basket or bouquet from the high-art
green-house! We girls will always buy of you,--why, Haas sent me a lot
of carnations for the Atwood party without any _stems_ to them----"
"And he never knows enough to have narcissus or daffodils, or any of
those stylish flowers!" excitedly broke in Cathy, with dilated eyes.
"And don't you charge _quite_ five dollars apiece for rose-buds either!"
"And I will cut _lots_ of leaves with them; and funeral people shall
_not_ have those hideous 'gates ajar' from my establishment!"
But at this both girls burst into a merry laugh, and seriously set about
discussing the ways and means.
Cathy decided to find out the cost of such an undertaking, and the
business outlook of the project before consulting Fred.
Nan remembered that her father knew a man somehow connected with a
green-house in another city.
Cathy mentioned a certain corner of their grounds where she could build
hers.
Nan suggested that she go down to Johnson's and see what books there
were on the subject; and so on, until at last they parted with a happy
sense of lively stir and aim.
But these four fortunes were not made in a day, and the time seemed long
before much but discouragement was achieved. Just here is where the
masculine pertinacity is valuable. Business results are slow, and the
feminine mind chafes at delay, and wants to see the net gain
immediately.
Bert found stenography very tedious, if not quite a bore; and there came
many days when she would have been willing to slip back into social
inertness, and keep to her slippers and book rather than present herself
in the dingy office. Although, when once she had conquered, it wasn't so
bad, for there _was_ a bright rug on the floor, and a small
feather-duster, hung up by a scarlet ribbon, did effective service. Her
sense of the humorous also came to her aid, for the expression of
relieved suspense she caught on her father's face as she appeared
regularly morning after morning amused her, and the one of loving
friendliness that began to settle there more than repaid her.
[Illustration: "I PLAY LOUD WALTZES ON THE PIANO, UNTIL THE SILENCE OF
THESE SEPULCHRAL ROOMS IS PUT TO FLIGHT." (SEE NEXT PAGE.)]
On Saturday, at the end of her first week, she found a little pile of
silver by her plate. She regarded it curiously for a moment, then
inquired doubtfully:
"Is this the exact sum you would have paid to a Mr. Snipkins, had such a
person been hired in my place, and done the work I have done?"
"Exactly, Bertha; no more, no less," her father replied, smiling.
"_Earned_," she murmured, slowly dropping the pieces one by one into her
purse. "What a queer feeling! Money for an equivalent given--I don't
believe I shall ever spend it!"
Mr. Mitchell looked particularly pleased, as he said: "Ah, you begin to
appreciate what a dollar stands for."
Evelyn's table blossomed out into all manner of pretty devices, each
studied from a newly purchased cook-book. The butter reposed in
beautifully shaped rolls on a feathery bed of parsley; even homely
roasted potatoes looked inviting as they lay in a nest made of the snowy
folds of a fringed napkin. Mr. Ferris declared he was twice fed by
Evelyn's banquets. So it was all very fine until the bills came in at
the end of the month; not that daintiness in serving cost anything, but
she had erred in other directions. Evelyn was in consternation, for she
had confidently supposed she could save a snug little bit from the sum
allotted for housekeeping expenses, and this amount she was at liberty
to spend as she chose, and she had already chosen to get a dozen tinted
finger-glasses, a Japanese bowl for broken ice, another for salad, and
so on, until, to her mind's eye, her table was a dream of color and
form; but when that eye opened on the grocery bill, and the butcher's
bill, and the milk bill, and then on minus six dollars and eighty-five
cents, it nearly dropped a tear of shame and disappointment.
"No," she thought, after suppressing her first impulse to ask her mother
what to do, "no! If I have been extravagant, I must find out where, and
pay for it; and this deficit shall come out of my own allowance. Next
month I will do better."
And she did.
Nan wrote from New York, about the middle of November:
"Thanksgiving is coming, but I'm not. As my highest earthly
desire is to earn twenty-five dollars, I'm not going to spend
that much, especially as I haven't got it, for just two days'
pleasure. I may mention, by way of a mere casual remark, that
at present there isn't the dimmest possibility of my earning a
punched coin this year, unless I happen to take a prize next
spring. In my own humble imagination I have already done this
and have, of course, chosen the things I shall buy with the
money! But I do wish there were no rudiments to learn. They
keep one back so! All this week I've devoted the forces of my
nature to drawing straight lines and angles, However, I have
long suspected that one of my faults was dislike of real hard
work, so I am going to 'peg right along,' and lay foundations.
"There are several nice girls in the class, and Aunt Hettie
says that I may invite Ruth Manning, who has no home to go to,
here to Thanksgiving dinner. I am having a gay time shaking up
this quiet house. I play "loud waltzes on the piano," and sing
at the top of my voice, which you well know penetrates to the
gables of the garret, until the silence of these sepulchral
rooms is put to flight. I am also adding worldly touches to
these same tombs, and dear Aunty sees how much prettier they
look, and wonders she never thought of the little changes I've
made. And what do you think--I trimmed her up a bonnet; quite
different from her usual head-gear, I can tell you, with really
a furtive air of _style_ about it!--and I held her before the
glass until I _made_ her own that she liked it; and when I
marched her in to show it to Uncle Nat, and commanded him to
say it was becoming, he said it looked like one she wore when
he was courting her, whereat he kissed her, and she blushed
with pleasure. _She will wear that bonnet next Sunday_,
although I think she expects instant excommunication.
"Tell Evelyn I long for the locusts and wild honey she seems to
be serving up so charmingly; also that we made a great hit when
we made over my brown suit, for it is quite 'the thing.' I
think it is splendid of Fred Drake to loan Cathy the money to
start her green things.
"I'm going to paper my room with common manilla paper, when I
get home, and then put splashes of gilt on it, happy-go-lucky
style. I saw a room done so.
"Hug yourselves all around, for
"Your loving
"NAN FERRIS."
Yes, Cathy's brother behaved nobly when he once found she was
determined; and, when this hitherto gentle and submissive creature
announced to him that she could get her house built, heated, and stocked
for from six to eight hundred dollars, mentioning other items showing
careful study of the subject, and asked if she could not have that
amount out of her share of the property, he not only promised to "fix
it some way," and chucked her under the chin, as a special mark of
tenderness, but offered her the services of a young German boy who was
in his employ.
So it was not long before the sound of the hammer was heard in the land,
and the first snowflakes of winter fell on countless panes of glass,
while her little forest of tender plants sprouted and climbed, and
blossomed in the humid air below.
(_To be continued._)
LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY.
BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT.