66 a-calling for Mr. Ollison. But when the boy fetched me to her, I told her you weren't in, and I didn't know when you would be in." Seeing Tom's reproachful expression Grace went on, Well, you weren't in at the minute, though I knew you'd be home directly. But she wasn't one of the sort to come about a decent house. I'll warrant she' come again, sharp enough, so I thought I'd let you know first, and you can tell me what is to be said to her." "Who was she?" Tom asked. Old Grace could understand such questions by her eyes, though they did not reach her ears. "She was a bad one, whoever she was," answered the old woman. "Dressed in tawdry finery, with a fluff of yellow hair and blue eyes, a-crying, and all in a fuss. Coming begging, of course, and making you believe she meant to reform!" "Kirsty Mail at last!" exclaimed Tom, rising from his chair. "And to think she has been sent away like this!" thoughts of her. And surely," he added, with a slow, gentle reverence, "he will marvel, if, in a world where he sent his own son in his own likeness, there are those who will mistake such as Grace Allan for any representative of him." Once again, Mr. Sandison threw Tom a quick, bright glance, like one of sudden and happy recognition. He did not say another word, but walked straight from the parlor up-stairs, and into his own room. Tom did not linger long behind. It struck him that he could no longer say he had never heard Mr. Sandison name God, and that he had now named him, not as any unbeliever might, but from the standpoint of one who entered into his yearning love, defeated by human hardness, and who suffered, as a son might, to see his father misrepresented and misunder stood in his own family. And it struck Tom, too, that, for the moment, it had not startled him to hear Mr. Sandison speak so, despite the belief he had held for so many years concerning him, and the si Grace could see the young man's agitation. She laughed in her dismal, cavern-lence which had confirmed it. ous way. "Oh, that sort don't kill themselves often," she croaked. "And when so, maybe it's the best thing they can do. I gave her a good piece of my mind." "Woman!" said Mr. Sandison, "if there is no mercy in your heart, is there no reflection in your bosom which should teach you words and thoughts far different from these? If not, how can God himself help you?” There was something awful in the mas ter's tone. It sent a strange thrill through Tom. It was neither loud nor angry, only unutterably piercing and sad. The words could not have reached Grace's deaf ears, scarcely even the voice, yet for the first time since Tom had known her, she quailed visibly. Her sallow face blanched, and as it did so, a weird youthfulness swept over it, and a wild light as of fear and defiance flashed in her black eyes. But they could not meet her master's. Without another word she sidled out of the room, as if from the presence of some. thing which she feared to face, yet on which she dared not turn her back. Mr. Sandison rose from his seat. "That poor soul, driven away from the door," he said, in low solemn accents (he knew all that Tom knew of the story of Kirsty Mail), "where is she now? and what will be her thoughts of God to-night?" "Wherever she is, God is with her," said Tom quietly, "and whatever are her thoughts of him, he has only loving The three bedrooms of the establish. ment were all on the same highest landing, above the other flats of closed-up rooms. Grace was in her room already, but all there was darkness and silence. Mr. Sandison was in his; he believed he had closed the door behind him, but the latch had slipped, and it stood slightly ajar. As Tom passed, he saw the master of the house kneeling by his low bedside, his face buried in his hands. Tom crept by, with a blush on his face for his unintentional intrusion. In the dead of the night he awoke suddenly. It seemed to him that somebody had passed down-stairs. Yet the sound which had penetrated his slumbers was scarcely that of a footstep, rather of a hand drawn stealthily along the outer wall, groping in the darkness. From Blackwood's Magazine. AN ARTIST'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.* SIGNOR DUPRE is one of the best known of Italian sculptors. His works are pointed out to the traveller in many places where they stand in comparison with the greatest works at least of the old Italian masters, and his influence upon modern Thoughts on Art, and Autobiographical Memoirs of Giovanni Duprè. Translated by E. M. Peruzzi. W. Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh and London. art in this particular domain has been and amusing to read about the primitive great. If any living artist has a right to artist who has no ambition that way, whose be listened to respectfully when he speaks mind is too much absorbed in the success of the principles and processes of the of his statue to think whether or not he is work to which he has dedicated his life, sufficiently taken notice of in society, or he is the man who should command our asked to dinner by the right people. The attention. Through a period of so many | Florence in which Signor Duprè writes 'changes, in which so many new forces might be the Florence of those grandest have come into being, during which his days when Giotto and his workmen were country has been so entirely reorganized not ashamed of the shop, or when Botti-its very constitution and forms of ex- celli hung up a bag to put his earnings in, istence altered he has lived and labored from which all the comrades were free to with never-failing energy, with an aim en take a handful of coins as they wanted tirely undiverted by the great events go-them. There is even, indeed, something ing on around him, in his own particular in this modern artist, though unlike in sphere. The successes he has attained every moral quality, which reminds us in that sphere, and the influence he has now and then of that old swashbuckler, had upon contemporary art in Italy, may that quite disrespectable, bragging, lying, be matters somewhat difficult to make swaggering dare-devil of a Benvenuto, clear to the general reader; for Signor whose delicate genius and amusing blackDuprè's great works are all, or almost all, guardism have been the admiration of the in his own country, and it is there that his world for a couple of centuries. Differinfluence has told most. But the auto-ent in every moral attribute, a devoted biography of a lively, sincere, and vigorous mind, full of interest in life, and warmly devoted to an object worthy of the highest exertion, possesses claims upon human attention which are more irresistible even than art. The book before us, in which his experiences are set forth, in a translation not only wonderfully true and accurate, but which has preserved much of the native ease and spirit of the original, is one in which the reader, even if indifferent to art, will find interest and pleasure. Signor Duprè, though his name sounds rather French than Italian, is a typical Tuscan, with all the homely humor, the quips and jests that have made the Florentine workshops merry from the time of Giotto. He belongs, as near as is possible in the much altered conditions of this time, to the same class and the same atmosphere as those in which the old, stout-hearted work- Giovanni Duprè was born in Sienna in men of the arts developed into greatness 1817, the son of a poor carver in wood, without knowing it, without alteration neither clever nor successful. Life had either of their habits or surroundings. fallen to a very low level in those days Rising, as if he had been born in the fif- after the Napoleonic passion had subsid teenth instead of the nineteenth century, ed, and Italy, fallen back into the old out of the bottega of the wood carver into bonds, was weary with exhaustion and the sculptor's studio, there is no dandy. hopelessness; but yet there was this adism of art about him, no struggle to rise vantage of the grand dukes, that they in the world, no aim except the honest were good in a way for art. Dupre the and noble one of doing his best and high-elder had bits of work to do in various est at all times, and growing in knowledge of the principles as well as the methods of execution by which his art should most fitly be pursued. To rise in the world is a fine thing it is the chief object, even of genius, in these days; but there can be little doubt that it is far more interesting husband, a fond father, a blameless citizen, the Florentine sculptor of the present day has yet a whimsical resemblance to him of old. They are of the same naif, robust, and pertinacious race, with the same fervor of personal life, the same impulses and excitements. It is true that where Benvenuto had always his dagger handy, and spared nobody that came in his way, our good Sor Giovanni has nothing worse to tell us of himself than a passing box on the ear bestowed upon an impudent varlet in a crowd. In a literary point of view, however, we can say nothing better for the irreproachable autobiographer of modern times than that his narrative is almost as interesting and amusing as his unscrupulous predecessor's wild story, and breathes of the same atmosphere, though the lawlessness and license are gone. shops, now at Florence, now at Sienna, to which latter place both he and his wife belonged; but he earned very little, and the family was very poor, especially when want of comfort produced quarrels and partial separation. The mother lived in Florence with her children, the father neither with my father nor my mother. I was about nine years old, and walked on with courage beyond my strength. So great was my desire to get to Florence, that I passed Staggia and Poggibonsi without feeling tired; miles from Siena, and half-way to Florencebut near Barberino - which is about twenty my mind misgave me that I should not be able to arrive in Florence that evening; and then went where he could get work, taking with him poor little Giovanni, the eldest boy, who felt to the bottom of his heart his separation from his mother, but did his best to make life bearable by childish ventures in art, improving upon the colored red and green stucco parrots sold in the streets, and trying to copy figures out of prints, working late and early, "my lit-my strength abandoned me, and I was so overtle head on fire" with the vague fermentings of creative power. His little troubles at this period are told with wonderful feeling. One of the masters to whose shop he was sent struck him when he spoiled his work, telling him that he would always be an ass, even when he had a beard on his chin. Another, still more cruel, took out of his hand an eaglet with thunderbolts in its claws, which the little fellow had been set to model, and "dashed it to the ground, breaking it to atoms in spite of the thunderbolts. Viewed from this long distance of time, this scene has a somewhat comic character," he says, "and must seem especially so to one who bears it described. But for me, a poor little boy, anxious to learn and get on, so as to lighten as far as possible the burden on my father who, poor man, earned little, and of that little was obliged to send a portion to his family in Florence - it was quite another thing; and though I felt within myself that I was not a complete donkey, still to see my work thrown thus brutally on the ground was so painful to me that it took away all my little strength." The poor child was badly cared for, badly fed had to get up in the early mornings and go with his father to the shop, while sitting up at night to copy and carve after his own quick coming fancies, until he dropped to sleep over his pencil. On one occasion the longing that he had to see his mother grew so strong, and the repeated disappointments of this hope so bitter, that he could bear it no longer. He had been told that he should be taken to see her at Easter; but, on the eve of Easter, he discovered that his father had no intention of going. They were then at Siena, and the rest of the family in Florence. Now, however, my patience gave way before my loving desire to see my mother; and without saying a word, I rose early and ran away from the house. Passing out of the Porta Camollia, I set off on my walk with only a bit of bread in my pocket, in the boyish hope of reaching my destination the same day, and so passing my Easter with my mother, without reflecting that, by so doing, I should pass it come with fatigue that I could not get up from Babbo (a word which corresponds to daddy) pursuing, arrived next day with threats of a whipping; but the mother interposed, and poor little Nanni was let off on humbly begging pardon. He was left with the mother he loved and sent to a shop in Florence to learn his trade, where the eager little soul, devoted to his work, and always experimenting, drawing and carving little heads, never idle, pleased everybody. There was no luxury to be found in the crowded little house inhabited by this poor family, where penury and labor reigned. The poor mother was blind, or almost blind, incapable of needlework, and gained a scanty living by buying and selling old clothes. The eldest of the children, a pretty young girl, died the same year the younger brother had to learn his trade in a charity school; but in spite of all these difficulties "I was light-hearted," says the story-teller. There were plenty of casts to draw from, and good-nature and kindness about him. He had a little library of seven or eight books which he kept in a box, thinking "that all books were good - good because they were printed - and not only good at home, but good everywhere else; and so I used to take my books to read in church during the Mass." One Sunday his master saw him devoutly poring over the "History of the Pazzi Conspiracy," while the sacred office was going on in Sant' Jacopo, and gave him to understand that this was not an appropriate study for the place and moment. Thus the little fellow went on making discoveries both in life and art. Time passed, however, and the boy be came a young man. He grew into great favor with his master and advanchment in his work, so that he was put at the head of the younger workmen in the shop, and all the principal portions of the work were committed to his hands. Then came the period of temptation and wavering. He began to be less interested in what he did, less contented at home, more disposed to pleasure than to work. How he was delivered from the dangers of this peril ous moment by the efficacy of a pure and worthy love, he tells with simple grace and genuine feeling. Now," he says, "that I must begin to speak of her who saved me, and loved me, and whom I loved and esteemed always because she was so rich in all true virtues, I feel my hand tremble, and the fulness of my love confuses my ideas." One day after he had begun to frequent public-houses and billiard-rooms, to be discontented at home ་ and idle abroad, he suddenly saw a little figure passing with quick steps by his shop. It was only a momentary vision, but it would not leave his mind; "that upright, modest little figure, those quick little footsteps," the air and manner of a young creature occupied and impervious to all foolish impressions, going about her honest business, had charmed him in spite of himself. As he sat at his work he glanced up from time to time in the hope of seeing her pass once more, but in vain. At last—it was again an Easter morning - he saw her once more: I was at Mass in the Church of the Santi Apostoli near by. Suddenly lifting my eyes, I saw facing me the dear young girl on her knees. Her face was in shadow, as it was bent down, and the church was rather dark, but the features and general expression were chaste and sweet. I stayed there enchanted. That figure in her modest dress and humble attitude, so still, so serene, enraptured me. When Mass was finished, the people began to go away, but she still remained on her knees. At last she rose and went out, and I followed her from afar. She stopped at a house on the I could not believe that such a modest, serious door of which I saw the sign of "laundress." young girl could be so employed; for, as a general thing, laundresses are rather frisky and provocative, turning their heads and glancing about, and sometimes very slovenly in their dress-in fact, the opposite of all that dear good creature was. From the first moment that I saw her, I felt for her a respectful admiration, a tranquil, serene, brotherly affection and trust. I was seized with an irresist ible desire to love her, to possess her, and to have my love returned. Often, without her knowing it, I followed her at a distance, to assure myself of her bearing and her ways, and always observed in her a chaste, serious, and modest nature. At last I attempted to follow her nearer; and when she became aware of it, she hastened her steps and crossed to the other side of the street. I was disconcerted, but at the same time felt contented. One day, however, I decided at any cost to speak to her, the hour when she was in the habit of passing and to open my heart to her; and as I knew by the Piazza di San Biagio, where I was at work, I held myself in readiness, and as soon as I saw her, went out and followed her, that I might draw this thorn out of my heart. Yes, I somehow thought she would not take my offer amiss. She crossed the Loggia del Mercato and took the Via di Baccano and Condotta, and turned into the Piazzetta de' Giuochi, and I always followed her nearer and stopped suddenly, turned, and without looking nearer. At last she became aware of this, me in the face, said, "I want no one to follow me." I stammered a few words, but with so much emotion in my voice, that she again stopped, looked at me a moment, and said, "Go home | as well as in fiction, to real and honest to your mother, and do not stop me again in the streets." I gave her a grateful look, and we parted. I returned to the shop with my heart overflowing with love and hope. love. For a little while he was allowed Here we must pause to ask, with much deference to the superior knowledge of the translator, whether she has not a little failed in perceiving the full meaning of the young woman's sensible and modest speech? Vada a casa dalla mamma, of course may mean, "Go home to your mother; "but this would be a little pert on the part of Marina, and there would be no reason in it for the "grateful look" of her young lover, and the overflowing of love and hope in his heart. What she meant to say evidently was, "Go to our house to my mother. Speak to my moth-rose it will blossom," she added, by way er," the proper and decorous way of of consolation. This, however, was a bringing his suit - which she did not dis- dreadful blow for the young man; and he dain-under her notice. That this was describes the conflict of his feelings, his how he understood it seems plain. inclination sometimes to throw away his good resolutions, to take his pleasure like the rest, and forget the little Puritan who had won him back to the ways of selfdenial and virtue for love of her. If, however, he dropped back a little into foolish ways, his backsliding was brief; and by great good fortune he met his little love and her mother in the street immedi From that day a great change took place in me: companions, rioting, and billiards disappeared as by enchantment from my life. That same evening I went to the laundry. I saw the mistress of it, and with an excuse of having some work to give her, I spoke to her casually, and in a general way, of the young girl (whose name I did not know); but she being very sharp, smiled and said, "Ah yes; Marina - certainly - I under-ately after a boyish scuffle, which his hot stand. But take care and mind what I say; Marina is such a well-conducted girl that she will not give heed to you." "But I did not say that I wanted to make love to her." "I know; but I understood it, and I repeat that she will not listen to you, and if you want to do well, you will never come here again. Here there is work and not love-making to be done. But if you like, you might go to her house and speak with her mother. Perhaps then-who knows? But I should say that nothing would come of it, and it would be better so. You are too young, and so is she. Now you understand. So go away, and good bye." "Thank you, I understand; but where is Marina's house?" temper had betrayed him into, and with bewildering delight and astonishment found himself suddenly and most oppor tunely taken back into their good graces. After this he felt there was no longer time for any trifling, and that to marry Marina was the way of salvation. His hot young logic, his passion and eagerness, ended by convincing the mother, and all was settled for the marriage. Here is a pretty little scene out of the austere love-making which was all that was permitted, in which we have a charming glimpse of the reticent Italian girl, full of all those delicacies of reserve which the Latin races think essential for their young women: On My eagerness to see her every evening, my The young man was only eighteen: but exactness in carrying her all my savings, and youth is precocious in Italy, and he was the respect which I showed her by my words already a good workman, with no appar- and acts, made me dearer to her eyes than I ent prospect of being anything more, ever was before. One evening we were standwhich is the condition of all others, ex-ing at the window of our little parlor, which cept perhaps that of a man of hereditary its ledge were some pots of flowers reaching overlooked a garden which was not ours. fortune, which makes early marriage ap- out over the windows, and among the flowers propriate. Still it is not wonderful that his own mother wept and opposed the all things. I talked to her of my studies, of was a plant of verbena, which she liked above idea, and that the girl's mother would not my hopes, of the happiness I felt in being near consent until she had consulted with his her; and all the time I was so close to her that family. All, however, yields, in real life our two breathings were mingled together. |