The Quaker Artist

'I teil thee, now.Richard, that thee'll never get a cent oí' my money if thee keeps on with this devil's work.' The speaker was Friend Joseph Harris, and he held at arm's length a small picture in water colore, the features of which were hardly discernible in the gloom of the winter morning. Friend Joseph had been at the barn as was his custoru, to fodder the cattle and feed the horses before breakfast, and had discovered this humble bit of art in a nook in the granary. He did not have to be told tbat it was bis soa Richard's work, whose inclination to such ongodly pursuits had been the distress of his parents' lives. Full of suppressed wrath Joseph burst into the kitchen where the fainily were waiting breakfast, and without preface addressed his son witli the thieat whieli he considered the most dreadful he could use- tliat of disinUeritance, It meant somethiug, too, lor in fc-pite of his plain surroundings, Joseph Sarris owned nearly two hundied acres of land worth easily ;t liundred and lifLy dollars an acre. aud his visits to the county town on the flrat of April of each year were not to pay interest but lo receive it. A tall, straight figure, he waa nearing sixty years of age, but is vigorous as a youth, with quick mutions and sharp black eyes, indicatiug a violent nature chained for life by the strict discipline of the Society of Friends. Mis son Richard, now Uirnedof twenty-two, was oí a different mould, short and stoutly built. His face at lirst sight seetned heavy aud vacant, but this was in tact the abstraction of the dreainer. Hia soft, brown eyes, and hair clustering in tíiick curia over his lovv but broad forehead, made amends for bis somewhat commonplace features. The moment his father entered the kitchen Richard feit that his secret labor had been discovered, but his anxiety was inore for it than for himself. He rarely dared face his father's anger, for Joseph Harria, like many of his sex, made up in severity at home for the smooth and passionless exterior he maintained abroad. 'Will thee give to me, father ?' said Richard, advancing toward the outstretched hand which held the fiketch, while the hand's owner contemplated it with unspeakable disgust. Poor little painting! It was a fragment of an autumn afternoon, during which Ilicnard had been husking corn in 'the hill field' and which had abided in his meniory clothed with the halo of a hundred day-dreams. There was a corner of a woods, the foliage half green, half shading into tints of brown and red. A rivulet leaving a piece of meadow still gay with autumn flowers and green with late grass, flowed rippling and sparkling out of the sunlight into the shade of the dying leaves! What courage and hope it must have! Ilichard followed in thought its waters as they flowed on to Ohester Creek and then to the stately Delaware river, and far out till they met the mighty oceaii which washes the shores of all the world. And as he mechauically plunged his husking knife into the shucks and turned out the golden ears one after the other, he hutnbly look this lesson to himself, as was his wont, and said: '1, too, must have have more courage.tirmer hope. Wby should nol 1 go f orward in my study of art with greater faith? I must, I will.' And to fasten the vow he had painted two studies of this little piece of meadow as a constant reminder, snatching the time on First days and Fifth days, when his father and mother were at meeting, and he and Mose Riddle, the colored man, were left to look lifter the stock. One copy he had sent on a venture to a commission house in New York, the other he had hidden in the barn. It had acquired a kind of sanctity to him, and each tree had become a symbol of some rebufE or danger he was fated to encounter in his future lif e. He had, moreover, described it to Sibbilla Vernon and had promised this sole confidante of his aspirations that he would bring it over sometime and let her see it But Sibbilla lived two miles away, and as her parents were also stviet rnembers of meeting, who regarded every work of art as profanity, this would have to be managed with due caution. Richard's first impulse, therefore, was to secure the picture. But his father had a doublé cause of displeasure and his anger was deep. He had agreed to give Richard a fourth share in tlie proHts of the farm this year, and not only was this painting business an ungodly amusement but also a waste of precious time and a loas of money. It must be stopped. Til pul it where it deserves to g, and where thee will lollow unletis thee ;urns thy steps from the world and its follies. But tlie üre that tliou wilt meet will be that which is not queuclied, and where thw worm dieth not.' Wilh these words, which Friend Haris spoke slowly and with that slight chanting intonation which characteizes the utterances of the speakers in meeting, the solemnity of which was farther increased by the use oï the formal "thou" insteul of the usual "thee," he stepped to the kitchen fireplace, where a goodly wood íire was burning uuder the crape, and strikinc; the picture against the corner oí the mantelpiece tore a rugged split through lts centre and threw the whole into the flames. In a moment it was a shriveled einder. There are certain natures whose inherent strength can only be developed by a violent shock. Full of latent power, theír weakness comes from a native humillty. They distrust themselves through a genuino admiration of others. Such was Richard Harris. But the necessary shock had come. He gazed a moment at the einder, his face crimsoned, but the severe discipline of the Society and the family exercised the sway that it usually does even on the very young among Friends. Father,' he said in a low and even ione, 'I repeat what I have often told ;hee; I have no light that there is e vil n paintiug; but as theethinks there is, [ shall bid thee and mother farewell to-day, and seek employmert elsewhere. I suall not ask thee for any share in thy estáte.' Taking his hat from the window-sill ie passed out of the kitchen door leavng his father speechless with amazenent at this rebellious utterance, and lis mother - a poor weak woman, constantly in miseiy bet ween carrying out ;he severe rule of her husband whom she feared, and yielding to her tendernes3 for her boy whom she loved - wiping her tears without emitting any sound, either word or sob. As for his two sisters they sat demure and motionless through the whole scène, at heart rather pleased at it, as they had no sympathy with their brother's taste for forbidden arts, and thought him a queer.wasteful, uncomfortable member of the heusehold. Moreover, though younger than he, they were not too young to see at once the pecuniary advantage to them of his renunciation of nis sliare of the eatate. Richard went toward the bam and look a fleat in a nook of the corn-fodder staek that was built along the side of the barnyard. He did Dot feel tlie cold, raw air of the early morning. His mind was too f uil of the step he was about to take and what had led up to it. Now or never he must quit the farm, renounce the teachings of the Society, throw aside the coat with standing collar and the quaint, broadbrimmed black hat, give up the plain language, reject the counsels of the venerable facera oí meeting wb o would surely be appointed to visit Mm, and nove a recreant to the revered preepta of Fox and Barclay. All this ras nieant by a pursuit of liis strong ias for art. Why was he boru with it? Whence ame it ? These questions he had ol'ten sked himself. For six generations his ncestors had never touched a brush r palette; not a painting nor a statue or a musical instrument nor any rama or work of flction liad been alowed in their houses. How had he een created with a passion for color nd form, with a love of poesy and music, which neither the dreary farmrork nor the colorless life, nor all the rigid, deadening discipline of the Soci;y could quench ? Going back to his earliest memory he ould recall that when four yeara old e was left for a few houra at the house f Mike Wallis, an Irish tenant on a eighboring farm, and that Mike's wife ad kept hirn in the utmost bliss by howing him a colored print of the Virm and the Infant, and telling himth'e athetic history as it had pictured self in her warm Iriah heart. But what was the horror of his parents'next day when he toddled into the room when they were at dinner and called : 'Mudder, mudder, come see God.' His parents ran to the door to see what this strange appeal meant, and lo! there, on the iloor of the front porch, chalked in rude but faithf ui outlines, were the Child, with rays of glory around his head, and the Mother, by his side, holding a cross. He could still recall the acowl that came over his father's face, and his mother's Ímpetuous rush for a bucket of water and scrubbing-brush. Nor had he forgotten the violent shake and immediate spankinghe himself received for his artistic endeavor. His meuiory leapt tili he was a boy of ten, and to his intense delight at effecting a trade of a Barlow knife for a box of paints. Many an hour of joy had they given him, hiding himself in the garret of the old house, in the back part of the haymow near the dusty gable window, or in a little hut he had built in the woods. But his prying little sister betrayed him one day, and not only was his treasure conflscated, but he himself was tied to the bed-post by his mother and given such a whipping as would have discouraged most youthful artists.. Later in 1 i fe, when he was too old for such vigorous measures, many lectures had he received on the frivolity of such tastes and -the wickedness of ministering to tlieni. These scènes passing through his memory convinced him that it was vain to battle with such inflexible rules, and that to be free he must leave the farm and all its assooiations. There was but one which had really held him. This was Sibbilla Vernon. The daughter of rigid parents, her mother even a "public friend," whose voice at monthly and quarterly meetings was familiar to all members of the Society, Sibbilla was a not unusual type of the advanced thought of her sect. Calm, self-possessed, clear-headed, she had announced when but flf teen to her family that her own couscience was lier guide, and that in all essential matters she should follow it. Prora childhood Bhe and Richard Harria liad delighted to play and talk together; anti though no word of love, no kiss and no caress had ever pussed betweeu them, botli their families and themselves considered their union merely a matter of time and aioney. Nor did this absence of the usual passages oí love seeni to any one eoncerned a strange circumstance. ïhey were accustomed to the repression of all outwarcl show of feeling. In neither iiouseliold had the children ever seen a kiss exchauged among its members, young or old. Though devoid of auy passion for art uerself, Sibbilhi understoodand respected the forbidden tastes of her lover. She looked upon liis peculiar abilities as gifts of God for use in life, and she quietly but flrmly put asido the traditions of lier sect, whieh condemn them iudiscriminately. "Wilt, thoit presume to deny the many testimonies of Friends, both in England and America, against these sinful arts?' her raother would ask; being a "public friend" of considerable local faine, she never employed the incorrect nominativo "thee," even in family liie. 'Mother,' replied the daugliter, 'they spoke for their day. I must act in mine by the light I have, not by theirs.' Her mother wisely avoided argument, trasting that the Spirit would enlighten her daughter in time. Leaving the fodder-stack, Richard walked across the bare flelds toward the plain brick house whicb was Sibbilla's home. Ilis mind was made up. He would go to New York and devote nimself to the study of art. He had saved sinee his majority about three hundred dollars. He had youth, sfcrength, talent, love - was not thatenough? Would Sibbilla approve of it? Would she make the serious sacriflce it involved ? Aa he approached the house it was about ten o'clock, and all the males were out at work. He knocked at the front door, instead of the side door as usual, and Sibbilla herself opened it and gazed at him with considerable surprise in her hazel eyes, quickly changing to an expression of pleasure, which Richard did not fail to note, and which fllled him with both joy and anxiety. , 'Why, Richard, what bringg thee here at this hour ?' was her exclamation. 'Sibbilla,' he said, '1 wish to see thee,' and stepping in he closed the door, and they both stood in the wide hall, obscurely lighted by the transom at each end. He paused a moment to recover his control, and then spoke in a low, vibrating toue: 'I am going toleae the farm in order to study art, I shall have to give up my membership in the society, as thee knows. Pather says he will leave me nothintr if I do, and I know thy mother agrees with Mm. But I am not afraid. All 1 ask is that thee approve of my decisión and will become my wife as soon as I am able to offer thee a home.' At that suprema momeut ot' resolve all the s'.rength which for generations had been mirtured by the nobl Quaker theories of selfreliance, all the assion which for generations had been muffled and smothered under the narro w Quaker system of formality and repression, burst forth and were expressed in the face of Sibbilla Vernon. She seemed to rise in stature, and looking him f uil in the eyes, laying one hand on iiis aria and passing the other around his neck, she said : 'Richard, i will come to thee then, or I will go with thee nosv.' The tone was low and the words without baste, but he who heard it feit in his inmost soul that no oath could be stronger. 'Thank Uod and thee,' he utteied, and for the flrst time in their lives ea(!h feit the magie meaniog of a kiss of love. Seated on the wooden 'settee.' whioh is the common f urniture of the country hall, he told her his father's words and action and his own unalterable determiimtion to seek his fature in art. It was agreed that they should be married by a magistrate as soon as Bichard should have an income of seven hundred dollars a year. F uil of quiet joy he weut home, an nounced his intended marriage and immediate departure, packed his trunk, and told Mose to have the dearborn ready at six o'clock in the eveuing to take him to the station. After the flve o'clock supper the members of the family maintained almost entire silence, hls motli er quietly crying, his father reading the "Book of Discipline," his favorite literature. The dearbom drove up with Mose, who had been to the station with the milk, and stopping at the country store, which was nlso the post-offlce, had brought a letter for Eichard. It was rather unusual for any rnember of the household to receive a letter, theref ore Mose annouuced it with considerable emphasis, addressing his master by his first name as is the custoni in strict families: 'Joseph, hy'ur's a letter for Eiuhard. Hiram sez it's a letter from New York, and 'pears as if it mout be on bizness. ' Joseph took the letter, and resisting a strong inclination to open it passed it to his son. It was from the flrm in New York to whoni he had sent the copy of his picture, and it read: NewYobk, Jau. 18, . Dbab Sir: We have the gratlflcation of informlDg you that the study you sent us on sale has attracted the attentlon of onn of our patrone to whom we have parted with it for $500. Deducting comin., stor'ije, insur'ce, deliv'y, etc, as per encloBed statement, leaves a net bal. of Í872.62, for whioh fiud our c'k herewith. You mention a duplícate sf the etudy yet in your p issession. We will tske thnt at the name figure, cash un dellvery, and wili give you an order for five more studies to be completed within a year. Respectfully, Skiles, Wiibs & Co. As he read this letter the check feil from his hand on the table. The sight of the colored and stamped paper was too much for his father. Glancing at the large amount, as much as he received for the best wbaat erop his farm could raise, he siiatohed the letter from his son's hand and eagerly read it. Rishard stood by in silence. 'What does he mean by the duplícate study ?' said his father in an uncertain voice. 'He means,' said Richard quietly, 'the picture you threw in the fire this morning.' A new light dawned on his father's mind. So long as his son's taste seemed nothing but a time-and-money-wasting foim of idleness it had no redeeuiing features; but the incredible fact that there were people willing to pay hundreds of dollara apiece for such vain images now stood right before him. He was too shrewd to misunderstand it and its resulta. 'Richard,' lie uaid, with a softened voice, 'I desire that thee would postpoue leaviug us for a few days. Thy mother and I will accompany thee to tho city, and will be present at tl ie ceremony. I think Sibbilla's parents will also not refuse to attend.' As he went out he saidto Mose, who was waiting with tJie dearborn: 'Mose, thee should always be slow to iuiger, aud avoid tbe committal of iash uctions when out of temper.' - Our Continent.