The San Francisco call. [volume], December 01, 1895, Page 24, Image 24

About The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913

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24
IN CHILDHOOD`S
REALM
GRANDPAPA'S GLASSES.
My grandpapa has to wear glasses,
'Cause his eyesight Is not very strone.
And he calls them his "specs," and he's worn them
For ever and ever so long.
And when he gets through with his reading
He carefully puts them away,
And that'i why I have to help find them
'Bout twenty-five times in a day.
Bat at night when we sit 'round the table,
And papa and mamma are there,
He reads just as long as he's able,
And then falls asleep in his chair.
And he sits there and sleeps 1n his glasses,
And you don't know how funny it seems;
But he" says he just has to wear them
To see things well iv his dreams.
— December Ladies' Home Journal.
UNCLE SAM'S CHILDBEN.
Did you ever stop to thins, you young
folks who read The Call and are proud of
the gay flac that waves over you— or is by
poetic license supposed to — did you ever
atop to think what a curious lot of nephews
and nieces your beloved Uncle Sam is
blessed with?
The children of Germany are Germans,
and that's just all there is about it. French
men are Frenchmen, and Chinamen
always happen to be Chinese. But the
children of these United States!
They are of all kinds and colors, and
some of them really seem to belong, by
cood rights, to ages that are gone and half
forgotten. Why, right here in our own
California there are people— but that is an
other part of the story.
To begin in the right place, there are
those nephews and nieces away up in
Alaska.
They happen to be free-born American
citizens just as much as you and I are— or
perhaps more, because their ancestors
must have come over from somewhere ever
so long before the Mayflower set sail, or
even the excellent Mr. Columbus had
thought of coming over here to bring the
news from Europe.
We call those people up there in Alaska
"natives," and it is customary to say it
with a scornful sort of accent, if you can.
Nevertheless, they are very amiable and
very hospitable people, as ail their visitors
who have not been cruel or selfish will tell
you. One gentleman, who went as a mis
sionary to some parts of that cold north
ern country that he had to reach by a
journey on foot that was so difficult and so
dangerous that he was barely alive when
he had finished it, told me beautiful sto
ries of the gentle treatment he received at
the hands of Esquimaux, who had hardly
seen a white man before in their lives.
The homes of these people were holes in
the ground, bnt hollowed out till they
were quite spacious and with little open
ings for the smoke from their fires to
escape. To enter them one had to go
down into a hole and then along an under
ground passage to the house proper. To
nave an opening large enough to admit a
man into "the house proper would have
been to invite in more fresh, cold air than
the poor natives could conquer with their
wretched little firea.
When my friend, the missionary, ar
rived at the first of these underground
homes his shoes were worn out, and he
was tired and discouraged. The natives
fed him with the best they had and put
him to bed, comforted with the best of
their store of the skins of seals and bears.
They wished him to remain, but he was
able to make them understand that he
must press on at once to another village,
which in reality he wished to reach in
time to atone for a mistake which he had
made in carrying out the orders of bis
Bishop.
While the missionary lay and slept
through the long hours of the night, the
natives sat up and worked for him as I fear
we Christian people would not be very apt
to work for any strangers who came to our
shores without money.
They made him new boots, high and
Btrong, and lined them well with straw, to
keep the cold out and the warmth within.
They made him, too — these natives j
whom you would very likely have called •
savages— a long shirt-like coat of skins, :
very light and very warm. No rain could j
"THE DREAM TURKEY."
penetrate this coat of skins, which was
not, if you please, a coat of fur. It was a
light coat, fine like silk, and shedding the
rain as it turned away the wind.
I meant to tell you ail about a wonder
ful Christmas dinner that my missionary
friend was able to set forth for those
natives some time after that — a dinner
where they had everything that comes in
tin cans, and were going to have the finest
oyster >tew in the world till they remem
bered tnat you can't stew oysters in con
densed milk — but it is ume that my story
came down from Alaska.
Some of the young Americans who live
right out here in Arizona are just about as
barbaric as any people in the world.
It is not any time at all since the Apache
Indians used to kill people in such incon
ceivably horrible ways that even the books
about cannibals and pirates do not tell
anything like it. It used to be said that
these dreadful people would tie their pris
oners to a stake and build a little fire
about their feet. Then the big "braves" —
only you will not think, surely, that they
were really brave at all — the big braves
would sit around laughing and enjoying
themselves, while their children were
taking the prisoners to pieces, just one
little joint at a time.
Don't you think Uncle Sam ought to do
something to discipline such nephews and
nieces as that?
Well, he has done all sorts of things.
*ome of them were wise and some were
foolish, and altogether those naughty
Apaches have cost us a great many lives
and a great many dollars.
Besides the dear little "Yankees" who
live way down in Maine and the rest of
New England, the honey-tongued children
who live "way down in Dixie," just think
how many hundred thousands of coming
Presidents and Presidentesses who are just
now snowed under in the Middle and
Western States!
There are the "Wolverines who live in
Wisconsin, the Buckeyes who are born in
Ohio just on purpose to run things in Wash
ington when they get big, and the dear
little Hoosiers who begin to talk the best
Kind of common-sense right through their
noses long before they are able to walk a
step.
There are plenty of native-born Ameri
cans in almost every State in the Union
who can't speak a word of English, but
after all I believe California has the most
astonishing conglomeration of races of any
spot on carth — unless it is that cute little
land of Hawaii, that is half the time crying
to come into our family and the rest of the
time declaring that it won't— so there now.
If we should get those little Hawaiians
for real own cousins!
They don't wear a stitch of clothes
when "they are little— that is, they don't
if they are lucky enough to live in the
native villages where the foreigners don't
set quite all the fashions yet.
And the fathers and mothers of those
little islanders just love them almost to
death.
They love each other's children, too —
those happy people of Hawaii. And a
funny thing about those loving mothers
is that they don't think it is anything
strange at all to trade babies!
Well, of course they all live pretty close
together, anyway, so nobody need cry
about it. And it must be very convenient
if your family has too many boys in it to
trade some of them off for girls, or vice
versa.
To come back from those nephews and
nieces that old Uncle Sara really hasn't
adopted yet, there are enough children in
our own California to write a book about.
The race that has a right to be remem
bered first is surejy the Indian. There are
not many Indian children — fewer and
fewer each year. Mrs. Hudson, who surely
has a right to paint Indian babies, since
she herself was born right up there among
them — one of the first pair of white twins
born in Mendocino County — Mrs. Grace
Hudson has given everybody who looks at
The Call a chance to see exactly what
Indian babies are like. There are just a
few thousand of them scattered about the
State, and except when they grow up and
find whisky to drink our California In
dians make very little trouble for Uncle
Sam or anybody else.
Our Indians live in houses that are
more like big baskets than anything else,
and most of them are very poor. They
have been driven from pleasant woods and
springs they loved to dreary, desert places,
and the game and crops of acorns ti'iat
used to be their food grow less and less
plentiful as the years^ go by. The race is
dying, but let us hope it is to make place
for a better and happier one.
The Spaniards and Mexicanos were the
first white people to overrun California.
Many of them are here still, and some are
rich and proud. It is said that when an
Englishman, who had a title, wished to
marry a Spanish girl of our State., his peo
THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, DECEMBER 1, 1895.
pie murmured that she was not his equal
because her ancestors were perhaps no
body in particular.
And then the girl's father, a fine, proud
Californian, who didn't think titles were
worth the trouble of wearing, sent those
people over some information regarding
his "family" which made them feel that
their English titles were very new and very
tawdry indeed when they had to be com
pared with the fine old Spanish ones our
Californian wouldn't bother with — except
to please his pretty daughter.
Of course we, the children of the Grin
coea, are the most important young folks
in California— everybody knows that. But,
after all, Uncle Sam does as much for
other kinds of infants, trying, of course, to
make them grow like us.
There is a public school with a flag over
it up in Chinatown where white school
ma'ams spend their time trying to teach
little Chinese in gorgeous pink and impos
sible green silk trousers to read and figure
in true public school fashion. Very good
pupils too do these picturesque little Ori
entals make; and— would you believe it?—
when their school closes in the afternoon
they go right along to a Chinese school
THE BUSIEST DAY IN THE WEEK.
[From a photograph by Marta H. Philip.]
where they work away until 9 o'clock at
night.
Among the foreigners who have got to
De taught to be good Californians there
, are the children who belong amone the
, 10,000 people of Switzerland who are living
in our State. The Swiss Minister Pleni
potentiary and Envoy Extraordinary (that
is his really truly title, and he has it en
! graved on his visiting-card), has just been
out here to visit these people.
1 hope that when he gets back to Wash
| intrton he will tell Uncle Sam to please
• make those Swiss children go to our
! schools and iearn English, so that you
' can't, as now, drive your horse a day's
; journey in some parts of the State without
! iinding a single English-speaking family.
THAT GEOGRAPHY LESSON.
Just a few little nephews and nieces —
good little Gringoes all this time— have
sent in their geography letters. Perhaps
j there'll be ever so many more next week,
I and perhaps — who knows?— there may be
, some from foreien parts.
Here are the letters, and surely no one
could read them without learning some
thing new about the great and glorious
State we live in.
Los Angeles, Nov. 26.
Dear Geography Editor: There are so many
interesting things to tell about Los Angeles
that I hardly know where to l>egin. Best of all
there is the river; in summer the lowlands
about it are covered with flowers, and great
fields of sunflowers are blooming there still.
Down from the hills little clear brooks come
running to the river and you can see the
pretty pebbles shining under the water.
There are beautiful orange groves all about
the country here and the trees never droD
their leaves, but are always shining green.
The oranges ripen and hang, and almost any
day in the year you can go to an orange tree
and gather fruit and sweet-scented flowers.
English walnuts grow here, too, and the trees
are pretty for shade.
There are reservoirs all among the hills that
supply the water for our city. Around these
little lakes are planted grass and palms and
other trees and flowers. Then you see there is
a nice little park, and people can take boat
rides on the lakes and be happy.
Christmas berries grow among the hills, and
we are going to decorate the house. You can
look through the white roses that cover our
porch to the white snow on the hills beyond
and it looks pretty. I will write more next
time. Ruthie C. If.
Alameda.
Dear Call : I am just going to write a compo
sition about Alameda, and a big boy told me
some of the things to say.
Alameda is situated about ten miles from
San Francisco. It is mostly up of houses for
people to live in who have to work in San
Francisco.
Alameda is situated upon a peninsula which
is going to become an island when the new
Government canal is finished. There is a new
steel drawbridge across the canal, and wh'-n
some more dredging is done there will be a
very fine place for steamers and sailing vessels
to land their cargoes.
'.Ye have a very fine electric car system run
ning down Santa. Clara avenue and across to
Oakland. The cars run right around a circle,
so when you want to j?o any place you just Ret
on a car going either way and it will be all
right. Yours truly, J. C. Kenny.
Tehachapi, November 25.
To the Geography Editor : Nobody else will
write you a letter from Tehachapi, so I must
do it.
Tehachapi Pass is a low place in the Sierra
Nevada Mountains where the railroad goes
that connects Northern and Southern Califor
nia. Jf the State should ever break in two
Tehachapi is the place where It would break.
The wind blows hard all the time here, so you
have to keep your hat tied on. Sometimes
cloudbursts come down the canyons here and
some time I will tell you about that.
Walter Rodgers.
THE DONALD SEBIES-NO. V.
FOR TINY BOYS.
At last the time to eat the grand Thanks
giving dinner had come, for the bell was
ringing, and its silvery peals filled all the
house witii welcome music and impatient
little Donald's heart with joy.
The happy boy could not walk liko a
gentleman into the dining-room, but
hopped like a froggy all the way down the
dimly lighted hall.
When papa threw open the great doors,
oh, what a beautiful sieht met his eyes
and what delicious smells greeted his nose.
From one end of the room to the other
stretched the long, snowy-draped table,
heaped with all the goodies which this
happy time of the year brings, while over
all was shed a blaze of light from the
many jets of the great chandelier.
Mr. Turkey, with his beautiful brown
coat, who occupied the place of honor, was
all decorated with dainty white and laven
der ruffles and ribbons, and was truly a
sight to behold.
The delicate salads and cranberry jelly
in their pretty dishes, the mine and pump
kin pies, and all the other good things
just made Donald's mouth water.
When asked by bis papa what part of
the turkey be liked best, he answered,
"The drumstick, of course, papa ; didn't
you know that the drumstick was the best
part of the turkey?"
After he had eaten— l was going to say
I'enough," but it was more than "enough" ;
it was as much "as he possibly could,"
| which was "enough" for two such boys as
i he, and all the rest were through, he
: slipped round to grandma's chair and
I asked her to please keep his drumstick for
i him until the next day.
She smilingly promised and then they
all went to the drawing-room, where Don-
I aid had a happy time lying on a furry rug
I before a blazing tire, "eating raisins and
I nuts and listening to a beautiful story
which mamma read aloud, while the
gentle raindrops pattered against the
window panes. Then bedtime came and
the tired, sleepy boy was soon safely
tucked in his little white crib.
Just as mamma was about to leave him
on the verge of slumber-land the little
fellow surprised her by sitting up in bed
and begging for Mr. Turkey's drumstick.
So she went down to the pantry, found the
treasure and took it to him. Oh, how
pleased he was, and mamma left him
enawine it just the way a little doggie
does.
After a while, when she went back to the
nursery to wire his tiny bands and to say
one more good-night, what do you think
she saw?
Well, it was such a funny sight that
mamma wished she were an artist so she
mieht make a sketch of what she saw.
Why, the dear little fellow had fallen
ftttasieep with the great drumstick stick
ing half in and half out of his mouth !
Mamma called papa to come and see,
too, and when he did he thought it was
such a good joke that he could not stay in
tne room for laughing.
Gently pulling the turkey-bone away,
mamma left the dear little boy to live over
a^ain the merry hours of Thanksgiving
day in the happy realms of "Dreamland.
PIEEOED.
Yet th« Enveloping Tissue Was Not
Broken.
A curious experiment has been made at
Briancon, in the presence of the city offi
cials ana the officers of the artillery. A
quartermaster named Armand had re
ceived in his breast two shots from a revol
ver in the hands of a revolutionist, but,
strangely enough, his military coat was not
perforated, while, in the papers and a book
in the pocket of the garment were found
two circular holes, corresponding in diam
eter with two balls found the day after the
attack on the li oor of the arsenal. A figure
was dressed in a soldier's coat and papers
and a book similar to those carried by
Armand were placed in the pocket. Several
bails were tired at the figure, but, although
the coat was not injured, circular holes
were found in the book corresponding with
the balls of the revolver used in the ex
periment.
Mr. Paul Issartier writes the following
comment:
"The fact does not seem very extraor
dinary. I have myself seen a similar cir
cumstance, or rather one that presents
some analogy to this story of the Quarter
master Armand. A workman received a
cut with a hatchet on his shoulder; the
flesh was found to be very deeply cut, al
though his clothing was not damaged in
any way."
A simple experiment will enable any one
to believe in the possibility of this: Put a
potato, an apple or any soft fruit which
has no ker:.el inside in a handkerchief,
suspending it by the four corners tied to
gether, so that nothing touches it. By
striking from below with a kitchen knife
at the suspended fruit it will be gashed or
cut through. But however sharp the knife
or fine the handkerchief the cloth will not
be injured.
Is there not some relation between the
effect of the knife in this experiment and
that of the ball as described?— Popular
Science News.
Eaten by an Alligator.
A young Jamaican met a horrible death
in Port Lirnon, Costa Rica, on Sunday,
October (J, in the river Banana, having
been caught and eaten by an alligator.
Sinclair, with several other companions,
had gone to bathe in the river, and while
in the water the alligator appeared, when
they all made for land.
After getting out it was discovered that
Sinclair was missing. Hia friends, how
ever, hopeful of recovering the whole or
part of his body, went away, but returned
to the river an hour later with dynamite
and rifles just in time to see the alligator
on the surface of the water with Sinclair
in his mouth, whom he held by his left
side, but as soon as the alligator spied
them he went below with his victim and
never came to the surface again, despite
all the dynamite and shots which were
discharged in the river all that day until
night.
On the 10th inst. J. Kaempffer shot an
alligator, and, on opening it, found in the
stomach of the rapacious reptile different
parts of a human being— a hand minus
the arm and another hand with the arm,
the flesh being still on it. A lot of bones
were also found. It is believed that these
were parts of the unfortunate Sinclair.
The alligator was ten feet long.— Panama
bur aud Herald.
ART TALKS FROM PARIS
There Are Many Pacific Coast
Art Pilgrims in the
Gay City.
EDUCATION VEESTJS TALENT.
Parents' Opinion of the Length of
Time It Takes to Become
Famous.
The number of American art students in
Paris is, of all foreign nationalities, the
greater. The Pacific Coast, and especially
San Francisco, has sent a small army of
students here. Among those whose names
you hear oftenest, whatever rounds of
art's ladder they have climbed, are Aaron
Altmann, Edouard Cucuel* Maurice Dal
mue, William Dunbar Jewett, Harry
Fonda, Gottardo Piazzoni, Granville Red
mond, C. R. Peters, Harry W. Seawell,
Miss Claire Curtis-Huxley, Miss Rita Po
tron, Miss Blanche Roullier, Miss Anna E.
Klumpke, Jules Pages, Frederic L. M.
Pape, Ernest Peixotto, Florian Peixotto,
John Bakewell Jr., Edward H. Bennett,
H. C. Corbett, all of San Francisco; George
H. Piper of Virginia City, Willis H. Thorn
dike or Stockton and Harry Lewis of Los
Angeles. Of this number ten of the San
Franciscans exhibited in the salon— the
old and better last salon of the Champs
Elysees.
These students are all hard workers and
very much in earnest in attempting to do
something more than simply to "rub their
elbows in art." Like the majority of
Americans, most of them study at Julien's.
Whatever may be the aim of each when he
arrives in Paris, sooner or later, nearly all
turn to painting, if painting will follow
them, but the muse will not always be
wooed. A few turn to sculpture. They
live just off the BouleVard Montparnasse,
which is thick with academies and studios,
and they eat, generally, at the Art Club.
*** * *
Aaron Altmann has been two years in
Paris and is studying in the Gerome Ate
lier at tne Beaux Arts. He has turned his
attention to painting and shows the great
progress he has been making in two pict
ures recently painted. "La Matelassierd,"
the figure subject, shows an old woman
carding a mattress; "Clamart at Harvest
Time" is a landscape. Both pictures are
very promising and show a decided talent.
His coloring is beautiful, and strongly re
sembles that of Millet. Mr. Altmann has
spent his summer in the country of Bas
tien Lepage.
Edouard Cucuel studies at the three
principal studios — Julien's, Gerome's and
Collarossi's — thereby broadening his man
ner of work and emphasizing his indi
viduality. He has grown notably stronger
in his drawing in the past few months,
being more simple and massing.
Maurice Dalmue was born in Paris, but
went to America when a lad, beginning
his studies in drawing in San Francisco.
William Dunbar JeWfett, a graduate of
Berkeley, Has spent six months at Julien's
studying sculpture. He is now at work
in a private atelier of his own.
Harry Fonda has been one and a half
years in Paris, and does very good work.
He exhibited in the last salon an oil paint
ing of "Concarneau," a seaport town of
France. Mr. Fonda is the musician of the
club.
Gottardo Piazzoni is a Swiss by birth, a
Californian by adoption. He has been in
Paris a year and a half, and is a very prom
ising young painter.
Granville S. Redmond, the deaf-mute
sent by the State institution at Berkeley,
has been here a year and a half. He ex
hibited in the fast salon an oil painting
called "Matin d'Hiver." He is also study
ing sculpture.
Harry S awell has just returned home
to San Francisco after a stay of three years
in Paris. He exhibited in tlie salon this
year an oil painting showing the interior
of an old kitchen and its occupant, an old
peasant woman. It is very dark in tone,
indeed quite Rembrandt in style, and
gives promise of great things. It is called
"I'lnterieur dune Vieille Chaumiere."
••* • •
George H. Piper is studying drawing
for illustration particularly. At present,
however, he is much interested in model
ing and architecture. He has been over
here two years.
Willis H. Thorndike is also studying to
illustrate. He makes very chic girls. He
has been at Etaples this summer, on the
coast of Belgium, and while there he has
made a vast improvement in his painting.
Harry Lewis was born in Ohio. His
home now is in Los Angeles. He is study
ing water colors.
Miss Claire Curtis-Huxlev, who exhib
ited in sculpture at the last salon, is
worthy of mention. The work was a bust
head entitled "La Priere de Grandmere,"
and speaks well for the talent of the
young sculptress, who has studied but six
months at Julien's, on the Rue de Beni.
She is a pupil of Puech and Bouguereau.
The model for her work was the old
Italian woman who sat for Rodin for his
famous bronze study in the Luxembourg.
As a rule, women sculptors are apt to be
petty in their work, giving more attention
to details than to the strength and com
position of their subject. Miss Huxley
shows none of that weakness so far. Her
work for the next salon wiil be a figure.
Her model for this is a favorite of Roll's
and sat for him in the composition of his
"Joys of Life," designed for the staircase
of the Paris Hotel de Ville. It was exhib
ited in the Champs de Mars Salon.
Another noteworthy exhibit was a
kitchen interior — "Coin de Cuisine" — by
Jules Pages, who has already secured an
honorable mention from the society. The
kitchen represented is that of a famous
restaurant at Montmartre, much fre
quented by American art students. The
cook, in white cap, jacket and apron, is
standing at his blazing furnace, sur
rounded by copper pots and kettles. The
strong light is in the background, giving a
contre-jour effect. The harmony of color
is beautiful. That Mr. Paces has great
talent no one can deny. He reminds one
of the work of the old Dutch masters.
Miss Anna E. Klumpke, who has al
ready secured noteworthy fame as a
painter, exhibited a portrait in oils.
Miss Rita Potron showed a pretty por
trait of a lady, on porcelain, but her prin
cipal work was a composition representing
Judith holding the head of Holofernes.
The picture is painted on Limoges (email)
enamel.
Miss Blanche Roullier exhibited work in
pastels— "Plumeur de Volaille" and the
portrait of a young lady.
••• • *
Ernest Peixotto has been in Paris twice
for study, and has secured an honorable
mention. He has attended no school, but
studied by himself. He exhibited this
year "La Sainte Famille" and "Femme de
Rijsoord." His cousin, Florian Peixotto,
exposed a portrait in oil, "Vieillard Hol
landais." The drawings of Frederic L. M.
Pape (Eric Pape is his pen name) in the
Century have been well known for the past
two years. Constant tells him that he is
another Da Vinci, he is so very correct in
his drawing. To my mind, however, his
work is cold.
The architectural students from Califor
nia are John Bakewell Jr. and Edward H.
Burnett, who were received at the last
session of the Ecole dcs Beaux Art, and
H. C. Corbett, who has taken the examin
ations of this session.
These young men have chosen a yast
work ana a paying one, inasmuch as art
has to-day turned quite commercial. Here
in architecture is benefited, for there is a
general tendency everywhere to make
good painting a decorative adjunct of spa
cious and lofty architecture.
••• • •
Education Versus Talent.
I suspect that almost every American
boy who has ever broached the subject of
following art as a profession to his parents
has had held up to him as illustrative of
genuine talent the case of Benjamin West.
He is told that when West was 8 years old
he made a brush out of a cat's tail, bor
rowed some yellow ocher and painted his
small sister's portrait in a remarkable
manner.
Now, John has never painted his sister's
portrait even when 18 years old, so John's
father says: "You? You'll never be an
artist. You've never shown any talent."
So John is either refused aid outright, or
along with material help come all the fond
and heartless, discouraging words which
one's family so well know how to give.
But the historical account of West and
his portrait happens to run a wee bit
otherwise. Some friendly Indians were
his first teachers. They imparted to the
boy West the secrets of the mixture of
their war paints, and to their red and yel
low his mother added indigo. His brush
was made from hairs cut from the cat's
back. He was never opposed, but always
encouraged. When he grew older a coun
cil of the neighboring Quakers was held 10
decide on the question of young West's
following his calling. They wisely agreed
that God would not bestow faculties and
forbid their employment, and so he went
to London to study.
Now John is an* artist because he has to
be. It is a disease he has. Unlike the
measles or the mumps, he doesn't recover
so quickly when doctored.
Finally he comes to Paris. Fortunate
for him, if he is by nature a gentleman
and has already an education, even an
ordinary one. It always helps to be a gen
tleman. Education, to be sure, does not
make an artist nor originate talent, but it
does develop it and often brines out great
and unexpected powers. Ignorance seems
to go with an artistic temperament, ana
specializing always tends to narrowness,
which in time cramps and finally kills all
feeling and originality.
When John arrives in Paris he is filled
to overflowing with all the young students'
dreams of future greatness. He takes up
his studies at Julien's and talks
of nothing but work — morning, noon and
night. The old men listen, but say nothing.
They know tnat he will cool off in a lit
tle while and work only half a day. When
he shall have reached this stage he may
have learned to value quality more than
quantity. On the other hand, he may
have learned. the greatest fault of modern
Bohemia — incorrigible laziness. This lazi
ness may be shown in many ways. He
may be simply bumming, not dreaming
great dreams of work, as he lies on his
couch and gazes at the chimney pots
through wreaths of smoke. He may waste
his time by taking models out to the coun
try, or he "may go out to study new sights
and scenes in earnest. Often it takes
weeks to adjust the proportions of this
grand new experiment and pleasure, and
during the adjustment work often suffers.
Everything is in his favor here if he will
only make it so. He has all sorts of acces
sory instruction. For a reasonable sum
(5 francs a half day) he can have the best
private models in his own studio. There
are numberless incitements here to study
his profession which America cannot give,
and all these cost him nothing. The
streets are filled with picture-shops and
galleries. Tiie people themselves are pic
tures walking about. The churches, the
theaters, the concert-rooms and the res
taurants are covered with pictures. The
atmosphere is surcharged with art. He is
also away from all restraints and free to
do as he will.
*** * *
In a few months a letter comes from his
father, asking if John's masterpiece is
ready. Then a small array of sisters,
cousins and aunts who think that he has
already done great things in the sketch
which he made of Aunt Mary, conse
NEW TO-DAT-DRY GOODS.
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KOHLBERQ, STRAUSS & FROHMAN.
IMPORTANT • : •
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HANDKERCHIEFS. DRESS GOODS.
LADIES' INITIAL HANDKER- ENGLISH ARMY SERGE, 50 inches. 6
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quently expect that he will eet Into the
salon the first year he is in Pans True,
they don't know much about the salon
(I have known of some good people who
.thought it an open bar), but at the same
! time they know it is considered necessary
I in the advancement of art. If he does exjr
I hibit the first year of his study here, it w ur "
be because he has wonderful genius or a
wonderful cultivation of ereat talent, it
docs not often happen.
Parents and friends have anill-distruised
contempt for any work which does not
come up to their ideals— ideals, perhaps
which prefer a daub of potato-patches ana
broken crockery to a grand original con
ception impartially revealed. They k no^
I nothing about the'sshemes of color to be
worked out. To them red is red, yellow 13
yellow and red and yellow make orange.
"What more would you have?
They can't see the wings of their chil
dren, so they refuse to believe in the power
of their children to soar. One gives his
son three months in which to conquer
fame; another two years. The latter is
only a beginning. Men and women are
! not lacehorses.' it takes time to prove
that one has genius or talent.
Then, too, there is a vast difference be-
I tween a painter and an acknowledged
painter. Giod luck does not always stand
lat the door knocking. It must otten be
made, and the process is long and painful.
The irony of non-appreciation by one's
j nearest and dearest is often an arti3t's
greatest fame.
You remember Meissonier's experience.
His granddaughter, upon ber fifteenth 01
sixteenth birthday, had received a beauti
ful fan. The sticks were exquisitely carved
in ivory, but the fan itself, of blacE gauze,
was absolutely plain. Evidently the donor
intended that the art of the grandfather
should enhance the value of the present.
i He was about to do so, when she stopped
him: "Voila! qu'il va me gater mon
eventail avec ses mannequins!" (He is
going to spoil my fan with his dummies!)
••• • •
To return to our unfortunate John ! His
genius or talent may not develop so
quickly as that of his neighbor and play* -.
mate, Henry. He may paint tolerably
| well. He may draw the figure accu
rately and sketch with cleverness churches
and restaurants. Even then, when he has
reached this stage, he should be happy if ho
1 cad an uneventful life for the next five or
six years, toiling steadily, as if he were
I plying an ordinary trade. There is some-
I thing more to be sought than praise-
I worthy industry on small things. He
! m DSt follow with all his might after origi*
! n ality in the solution of his favorite prob
j 1 em. No artist can fit himself into an
j other's form or shape. He must find his
! own fitness.
He must do something more than aim
for perfection of form and effectiveness ol
coloring — the modern craze.
Before he begins a life and death strug
gle for originality in feeling and sentiment
he will probably pass through the numer
ous crazrs of medievalism, romanticism
and all the other isms in which young
painters in all ages ind-.ilne.
Sifting chaff from wheat takes time.
And it takes courage, too, for an artist of
to-day to reverence ideas above mechan
ism. He will have all manner of evil
spoken against him by his broth r artists.
But there are people who do not look fo»
exquisite beauty of form and color alone
in a picture.
It would be impossible and unjust to
ctiticize the work of contemporary
students. But the most of them possess
one excellent quality in common — their
determination to be original in all
lines — first of all in imagination,
(whicrf is a lost art to-day); in the
choice of new subjects which shall
be distinctively American ; in the manner of
treatment of old subjects — in short,
in the power to combine great
sentiment with great artistic effect
in coloring. At the same time,
all Americans, both students and artists,
possess two acknowledged faults— the high
lights in their studies are not toned
enough and they do not pay sufficient at
tention to drawing.
Flobejtce Blanchard.
25 Avenue Wagram, Paris, Oct. 25, 1895.