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JUNE, 1896.
For Woman’s w< hk.
TYPOGRAPHY.
I love the type, and the ink I love;
’Mi t the *pi” I fairly revel;
The'‘typo—'' I know he’ll be crowned above —
The editor, and even the—“devil!”
Intensely I love them, each, and all,
When they handle my MSS well.
But what doth most my heart enthrall
i < the “tvpo’s” enchanting spell!
A “vocal duet,” in the month of May
Ry the muse- - I keep—was sung;
But I never knew, can you tell me pray,
How a “vocal duet” grew “young?”
Some “humid shadows,” I borrowed one day
From Coat' s Kinney's “Rain on the roof;”
• t my borrowed thought was thrown away,
Hurried” shadows, gave ample proof.
1 . rosy summer, some lines to the moon,
Asked her o'er a brook to “shimmer;”
She granted the boon, but the “Ode to June”
Most cruelly made her to “skimmer!’’
Some “widowed” volumes. (I thought that
bright,
And meant their mates were “non est,”)
Were all well “endowed” when they met my
sight,
And could * hold their own” with the best!
Rambling in autumn, I picked a spray
Os delicate “purple heather;”
By magic unequaled twas wafted a wav,
And float'd back to me—a “feather!”
Once on k 'ime I essayed to wear
The fanciful nom-de-plume
Os “Vera Grey:” they guessed my hair—
and * very gray" was my doom!
What inky type mav hold for me yet
The future alo ie can tell:
But one thing I’ll never, no never, forget.
Is the “typo’s” magical spell!
Cora Glover Lyle.
For Woman’s work.
THE LEAF BEFORE THE WIND.
BY ROBERT SAYRES.
(This hapless story is told, not as an exposure,
but jn explanation of the Sword picture, which
Mignstine Mehrtens recently bought for his pri
vate museum.)
\Z WHEN we were dining late one
X A. night at a popular case in the
Theatre district, two men at the next ta
ble began the following conversation:
“Do you see that large,ha dsoniie woman
at the last table on the left?”
“Y-s, everyone is looking at her. Who
is she? ’
“A devil.”
“A beautiful devil—and what else?”
asked the man who was being informed.
“A genius,” said the other, “but a devil!
She was once the famous Cithy Vw Dent,
youngest daughter of old Peter Van Dent
of spring lock fame. He may thank his
lucky stars that he is under the sod, and
not here to see the beauty tigress—shame
less too. Likely she’s had a dozen names,
since she never burdened herself long with
one man or his name.”
“How they are staring at her! But she
doesn’t mind a bit. Look at that old fel
low forgetting his champagne—why he is
going over t > speak to her!”
“The duffer; it is old Davy Longstreet,
used to be one of old Clauson’s cronies.”
We, too, were looking and recalling the
strange, sad story of Huntly Y. Clauson,
five years ago.
Clauson was a memory now, but his im
age appeared like a meteor when the wo
man who bad cast an incantation on him
returned suddenly after her years spent
across the sea. Undoubtedly she was
handsome, of the fiercer type; near unto
six feet, of statuesque proportions, with
the head of a goddess, and that air of com
plete ownership which enveloped you like
a fatal cloud; moreover, there was a glow
which sent a thrill through everyone who
came within her touch.
I have said that Clauson was a memory.
1-t is the same thing, since one morning
he awoke ti smile upon the world with
a mind as vacant as the stare in his blue
eyes.
In the latter part of the eighties there
was added a new name to the world of
artists who exhibited at the Academy ex
hibitions. One may exhibit for years, but
not be within the pale of criticism until
one’s picture is given a conspicuous place,
and is criticised as “something” or “noth
ing.” Some prefer the latter, as, curiously,
many more people flock to see a con
demned picture well placed than a lauded
one in honor. However, this was a fall
exhibition with “something” on the line
by Huntly Y. Clauson; the judges marked
it “Second Prize.” The canvas showed
a youth trundling a wheelbarrow on a hill
side, with a puppy snapping at his bare
heels. The young man’s figure was dressed
in worn-out working clothes, of a nonde
script color that fell in with the medium
tones of the sky and stretch of hill, giving
such an idea of quietness that you waited
to hear his whistle, for the youth’s mouth
showed the pucker. So it was suddenly
that people found themselves asking:
“Who is this artist?”
He was to be found in East Twenty
third Street, where, on the top floor of a
shabby building, artists were living in
bunches, tied—like firecrackers on a
string—to the string of p >verty, which
fetters more than all else. The door bear-
ing “44’’ in painted black figures bore also
the name, “Huntly Y. Clauson.”
A few days after the awarding of prizes,
a fellow student, known as ‘ Parrott the
Dabbler,” was within room 44, holding
conversation with Clauson. Their talk
was - omewhat as follows:
“Perhaps you haven’t met Alias Van
Dent yet,” said Parrott in half question.
“Perhaps not,” returned Clauson, “why,
‘yet?”
“Oh! I’ll tell you, Hmtly Y,” (Clauson’s
familiars called him Huntly Y.) “your
luck’s all cut out for you, and your fame
three days old is good forever. Miss Van
Dent is going to take you up; I heard her
say so.”
“Be so go d as to explain Miss Van
Dent,” and Clauson went on stretching a
piece of canvas as they talked.
“Now I never supposed you were the
man who didn’t know about Cithy Van
Dent, when the League’s been howling
over her beauty all winter. The Stadie
girl’s beauty isn’t in it.”
“Leaving Miss Stadie out, what about
Miss Van Dent—who is she?” said Clau
son.
“Oh! yes, to go back to what I over
heard. A day or so ago 1 passed a hungry
crowd of gazers 'efore your canvas at the
Academy; Miss Van Dent was making all
manner of extravagant remarks, and
wound up by saying she wanted to know
vou, and hoped you would teach her.
You’ll hear from her soon, I’ll wager, and
if she takes a fancy to you everybodv will
bob unto you, and you’ll get to be the
rage.”
“You said she worked at the League,
didi’t you?”
“Yes, I guess she works about as I do,”
replied Parrott with a laugh. “Artist’s
life is too poor for me! But she has mon
ey. You didn’t know I had cut my pro
fession, Huntly Y., did you?”
“I knew you were digging a hole some
where; of course I expected to see you go
through it, in time.”
“Shrewd fellow,” said Parrott; “I’U be
a broker if Dodds doesn’t slip me. You
know he’s got the stuff, and—” footsteps
outside, and a knock on the door were the
interruptions. When Clauson opened the
door he was amazed to see two ladies—one
young, and dressed with exquisite elegance,
the other much older, and with somewhat
the appearance of an upper servant.
“If Mr. Clauson is in I would like to see
him ” said the younger.
“That is my name. Will you come in?”
She declined. It was probable that he
did not have many visitors; the half
opened door showed disorder and barren
ness. She stated her business briefly, and
several minutes later Clauson was standing
on the landing, watching the two women
descend the rickety stairs, while a new ex
citement possessed him—he remembered a
wonderful profile and superior coloring.
He read her card, “Miss Cynthia Van
Dent, Madison Ave.” He had given his
promise to call the following afternoon to
talk over her desire of forming a class at
her studio.
“Come early,” she had said, “for it is my
reception day.” In this unconventional
way they met; characteristic of the girl’s
independent and unrestricted nature, and
dazzling to the young artist, who had hith
erto lived in one thought, whose light
burned always with one idea. Such char
acters may live on forever, but the world
will call them young to the las’: the world
cherishes a large circle, forgetting that a
small one is nearest the center.
Parrott whistied meaningly when Clau
son re-entered the room, and the two fell
to talking again.
Daylight was fading in the shabby little
studio, and Clauson’s strong, athletic fig
ure, grown to more than six feet, cast a
grotesque shadow on the wall in contrast to
Parrott’s small, gaunt ~me. In character
too, Clauson’s was a superior one. A dis
t'nguishing feature was the lofty, open
brow. The eyes proclaimed a genial na
ture, into which others were given to
smiling and drawing smiles—and when he
Smiled it was a song. At this time he was
about twenty-six or seven. His mother he
had never known. His father ha thought
might be on the globe somewhere; this was
reasonable, as no clue of Clauson, Sr., in
his wanderings, had reached his son dur
ing those many years, although a stipulated
allowance bad come twice a year until
several years previous, when it had ceased
altogether. An uncle, who believed in
Huntly’s talent helpe 1 him largely in
studying for eighteen months in Paris.
Before three the n< xt as ernoon Huntly
Clauson was in Miss Van Dent’s studio; he
thought he l”»d never seen such a menage
rie before. There was a mixture of every
thing in the room; one was inclined to sup
pose that it contained the complete list set
down in the art dealer’s cata’ogue. There
was a bewildering lot of draperies, and the
walls were hung with some rare old tap
estries. The atmosphere was warm, and
a sensual ease pervaded it all. At each
WOMAN’S WORK.
end was fixed a set of mirrors in the em
panelling so that in moving about, the
room was shovn after the manner of a
kaleidscope. The effect was thrilling at
first, but afterwards produced the feeling
that your head was being twisted about.
Miss Cynthia Van Dent received the
young artist very graciously. There was
an instant charm about her that gave per
fect assurance, it was neither flattery nor
praise; her manners were frank and a cer
tain dash was put into the sl gbtest action
or spoken word. Then too, she was verv
beautiful to look upon. The added height
to her figure, with its perfect contour, wa
climaxed only by the rare boautifulness of
her face. She wore a wonderful yellow
gown, of peculiar softness, and sat in a
deep oak chair with head thrown back
against the richly carved and polished high
top. Younger in years than the artist,
but in the world’s knowledge she was far
beyond him. She asked him to look at
some o f her work—considerably unfin
ished, but with a dashing quality that so
admirably expressed her character. She
would be an extremist Some of the
drawings were horrible caricatures of fa
miliar models. Clauson recogn zed and
knew them to be really fine subjects. It
was infectious; he =miled, and the gir !
laughed merrily. Even if a Meissonnier
or a Millet looked at them she would not be
abashed in the least.
“I cannot draw vet,” she said; “it will
take me years I feel form, and underrisnfl
its freedom. But oh! if I could only strive
wifti regularity every day T might accom
plish a little bit. With me it is snurV
and flashes—a flame that burns itself out
before an idea is described. Now, the
foreshortened arm on that figure,” holdins
out a study worked in a singular strength,
“is the be°t thing I ever did. I spent an
hour and a half on it—something I never
did before or since.”
“It is precisely that which can h«lp,’
said Clauson, “but as soon as interest flags
put it aside. After a time one drops down
to close studv, when a mere fad ”
“Th xt’s exactly it,” interrupted Miss
Van Dent, “but not for me. I will never
do that. There are so many things,” this
with a sigh as she rose and began to walk
about the studio.
Two ladies entered at this point: one
came forward, kissed the girl and began to
fondle her beautiful, white hands.
“You poor, dear child—buried in your
art, as usual. We shall not see anything
of you all winter; when everybody is al
ways crying out after you; and it is so
useless, too, when you are just as inacces
sible as the moon. No dear, I cannot
s'ay; the Doctor is waiting for me outside
You must be sure and come to Mrs. Josef
fy-Linton’s dinner to-nierht; Phee-phee is
going to sing, and we will do a theatre af
terwards. Good-bye. Now you will be sure
to come, won’t you? Good-bye.”
Otl A r visitors began to arrive. When
Miss Van Dent introduced Clauson to some
of the voung women, she added. “1 think
Miss will join our class.” Thereupon
began great discussions, and he found him
self fairly surrounded Two or three men
came in, and casting curious eyes upon the
stranger, joined the several groups, ap
pearing to take no further notice of him.
“When will you dish tea to the starving
poor?” asked one Paderewski-haired y z nth.
“Now.” returned Miss Van Dent,
promptly beginning. And Clauson left,
but she had given him a flr°t cup of tea.
(To be Continued.)
State of Ohio, City of Toledo, 1
Lucas County j SB '
Frank J. Cheney makes oath that he
is the senior partner of the firm of F. J
Cheney & Co., doing business in the City
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that said firm will pav the sum of ONE
HUNDRED DOLLARS for each and
every case of Catarrh that cannot be cured
by the use of Hall’s Catarrh Curk.
FRANK J. CHENEY.
Sworn to befo?6 me and subscribed in
my presence, this the 6th day of December,
A. D. 1886.
( A. W. GLEASON,
A " J Notary Public.
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F. J. CHENEY & CO., Toledo, O.
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9