Puck — April 1877 — page 14: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

gives nothing. He must. share his pleasures with all, and the delightful things he saw, others must s¢e, too. The man who ses genius must. go whithersoever his genius leads him. Pegasus will not go in the plow, nor yoke with the patient useful hack; and ill is it for them who would bind him to their offices. Fancy the fate of that clever man who shall confine within his own limits the swelling cloud, which from earth and air and sea has collected lightnings to rive mountains, and thunder to make the flat earth tremble! Hugh had ‘“chummed” with his first foe, Brock, and from him received his first instruc- tion in art. He was permitted to assist in color- ing the minor characters of that famous play, the Miller and his Men, as illustrated in half- penny sheets by Mr. Skelt. Later he drew and colored unassisted, except by counsel from the master-hand, Charlie Brock, a portrait of the Red. Rover, which he sold for six taws, a pegtop, and’ a knife without a blade. Out of the abundant pocket-money with which his grandfather furnished him in the holidays, he bought apparatus for sketching from nature, not only for himself, but for his friend also; and the importance the easels and camp-stools gave them amongst their less-gifted companions and in their own consideration was a great in- centive to art. They went in boldly for the most striking scenes they could find, and worked in vivid colors; their trees were green, and their skies blue, and their houses red. It was some time before they upset the canons of art; but one day Hugh painted a brown tree “ proper,” as the heralds say. “You've painted your tree brown,” said critically. » the tree is brown, and I'm sick of green. ‘The boys are tired of trees always the same color; besides, wi Nn paint trees green without walking seven miles to look at'em, I shall go in for nature and use up the other paints, or else I sha’nt have any blue and green and red by the end of the term.” ‘The brown tree was a success, and from that day they began to paint in the new style, greatly to their advantage. ‘Their productions were much admired, and Hugh promised that if his paints held out he would paint a sunset, which he did; and the gorgeous hues suggested to one faction the 5th of November in all its pyrotechnic glory, and to the other party a transformation scene in a pantomime, when they light up all the colored fires, you know. Gregory Biron was ill pleased with Hugh's amusement: He reminded him that he was now fifteen, and at an age to lay aside childish, girlish, rubbishy occupations, and begin to think seriously of the business of his life; and then, finding his exordium disregarded, the irate old gentleman withdrew him summarily from school, and pa¢ked him off to the mili- tary training-school at Sandhurst, with instruc- tions to Mr. Fox, who had the taking of the boy, to beg the authorities to work the boy well, and on no account allow him to waste his time in painting. ‘The natural consequences of this course were that Hugh hated Sandhurst, hated soldiers and the art of war, and was now inseparably bound to his beloved mistress, Painting. ‘The propensity of Adam to jeopardize the happiness of the whole creation ones apple is * strong in the youngest and oldest of us, and will endure until doomsday. Gentlemen who would cut their hands off rather than steal a penny will smuggle cigars they won't smoke. Men become polygamous a3 soon as ever they find themselves bound to monogamy; and chil- dren will forever persist in crawling over the fireguard and into the fire. ‘ugh was old enough to understand that he was dependent upon his grandfather, and to feel that he was bound by gratitude to conform to the desires of his benefactor. But this knowledge made him love his grandfather and the military profession no better. He studied from a sense of duty, doggedly,.and not well. With a willing heart he could have compassed in a few months all he learnt in a couple of years. When he went home he felt necessitated to assume a pleasurable interest in_his life and | prospects, because he would not have his grand- father pained by a knowledge of his true feeling on the subject. That did not improve matters; he became disgusted with himself, and in that condition no man can, work for long at any- thing. He corresponded with Charlie Brock, who was in London, getting on famously, ne wrote, at an art-school. ‘I wish for nothing, except that you were here, old boy!” Circum- stances combined to make him utterly detest the life before him. Looking for faults, one can see no good, None of his associates at Sandhurst cared for his paintings, though the coloring of a foul pipe delighted them beyond measure. ‘The only person who sympathized was Mr, Fox, and his fellow-feeling astonished Hugh, who previously had inclined to think ill of the man. “There is a dash of good in every one,” thought Hugh; ‘‘and this love of art is the yeast that leavens this heavy lump of iniquity.” He felt he had done Fox an injustice, and endeavored to atone for it by imposing con- fidence in him now. He told him of his wishes, his present dissatisfaction, and his repugnance to the career planned by his grandfather for him. He showed him all his works. Mr. Fox could not himself draw, and he was not a good critic; but that did not particularly disappoint Hugh, whilst Mr. Fox had such a general high appreciation of art... He bought a most expensive frame for a panel which Hugh had presented to him, and when he went to London he took Hugh’s works and brought him back guineas for them, and a commission for half a dozen more if he would be good enough to paint them. “Ah, Mr. Biron,” said Fox to Hugh, “we are proud of our national wealth; but were we to consider how greatly money impoverishes the artistic products of a country, should we not rather regret that we are not poor? How many are there now dallying in luxurious ease, and wasting their hours in the voluptuous languor of drawing-rooms, who would not, in rags and a garret, have produced works of art, to live like the emanations of the Romans when Rome has passed away! Have not the greatest and noblest productions of past ages been wrought when necessity drove the artist—who is by nature constituted an indolent creature— to work? It is possible that Heaven, when she deprived you of your parents, intended you should develop the genius which she gave you for a birthright. Ah, Fortune is like most mothers; she spoils her best-favored children, and so brings them down to the dead-level of the rest.” The words went like barbed arrows into Hugh’s susceptible soul, and would not come out. Mr. Fox gave them time to rankle before | he shot again. It was the autumn vacation, and Hugh had stolen from the house with his canvas, and was sitting in a beech wood. Mr. | Fox silently watched him as he rubbed in the | landscape before him. Fox had begged as a favor to be allowed to accompany him. Pres- ently Hugh said, with a sigh, “So you think I | am a spoiled child?” | “TI do not ask you to agree with me, Mr. | Biron. Those who are not spoiled are the first to see who is spoiled, and vice versa. It is the worker who snarls at the idler. We, only, see that instead of prancing about in gay colors | lebefore the eyes of admiring women and chil- | dren, you ought to be working in a dull studio, giving to the world masterpieces of art in re- turn for dry bread; and so, whilst you thank Fortune for giving you riches, we must curse her for not suffering you to be poor.” It is. not well to overdose a patient. Mr. Fox was a clever doctor, and left Hugh to benefit quietly by the medicine he had exhib- ited. Hugh did not touch his canvas for some minutes, but sat with idle hands, looking fixedly in the eddying water at his side, thinking of fame and art and all the romantic delight of hardships in prospective; and coming back ‘anon to the dismal reality of humdrum exist- ence, the foppery of a military life in these years of peace and frippery, and the prospect of another session at Sandhurst. Often he in- dulged in dreamy reveries; but each dream was swesters each awakening more distressing, to im. “TI would I were as ras Lazarus!” he muttered, going back to his colors. (To be continued.) From Ove Point or Virw.—Scene, British jury-room. All agreed on their verdict except Irish juryman (who holds out). “Ah, thin, iliv’n more obstinit’ men I nivir met in all me loife!!"— Punch, Mr. Buckie says that men and manners have changed but little in the last two thousand years, but we fail to find in his valuable works. any record that it was the custom of a Roman citizen, on leaving the Ginmillus Maximus about 11 A. M., to look furtively up the street and then travel in the other direction with that zeal and rapidity which a man rarely displays, except when on his way to the funeral of a rich aunt.— Norwich Bulletin. “YT am convinced that the world is daily growing better,” remarked the reverend gentle- man to a brother clergyman; “my congrega- tion is constantly increasing.” “Yes,” interrupted the brother, who hap- pened to be a penitentiary chaplain, “and so is mine.” “And there the discussion on the early ar- rival of the millennium dropped.—Chicago Evening Journal. A younc gentleman who is particular about his washing, the other day wrote a note to his washerwoman and one to his sweetheart, and, by astrange fatality, put the Wrong address on each envelope and sent them off. ‘The washer- woman was well pleased at an invitation to take aride the next day; but when the young lady read, “If you tumble up my shirt bosoms any more as you did the last time, I will go some- where else,” she cried all the evening and de- clared that she would never speak to him again.— Exchange. Five thousand broom-handles a day are made in Shiocton, Wis., and the married male Shi- octoner never stays out at night longer than nine o’clock.— Norristown Herald. ‘Tar was certainly an awkward request when the photographer asked Lee, the Mormon, to | ‘assume a pleasant look," just before he was shot.— Burlington Hawkeye. comichooks.coup