University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

Tennyson.

On the following morning, our young hero sallied
forth to seek his fortune; but, first of all, by
the advice and directions of Fitful, to seek the
residence of Nathaniel Munson. He traversed
street after street, like all strangers, taking the
most circuitous route to find a place to which the
simplest straight forward course would have led
him. He had arrived, however, almost to his place
of destination, when he suddenly stumbled against
his friend, Mr. Christopher Scrapp, the caricaturist.
“Halloa!” said that gentleman, with a stare of
recognition, “you are a more perfect picture than
ever! Come, step into my studio a moment; you
shall have the privilege of examining my productions,
free of expense, unless, sir, (and as I look at
you again, you have an eye to appreciate the fine

arts,) you may be inclined to become the possessor
of something in my line.”

Paul followed the artist, and they entered a dark
little room on the third floor of a very old, rusty
building. The sanctum where Mr. Scrapp gave
birth to his immense ideas, was a remarkably
sombre place, the light being only admitted through
a small oval aperture; and the air was strongly
scented with that pleasantest of all perfumes, the
stale smoke of a cigar. Around the walls hung
the productions of the renowned caricaturist. Here
was a figure, almost as tall as the spade he held,
standing in a pair of immense shoes; the artist informed
Paul that that picture was symbolical of the
true friends of their country, who, with their great
understandings, were about to dig the grave of the
administration. Paul suggested that he supposed
the adjoining sketch, a very squat figure, represented
as standing on his head, was symbolical of
the rise of great understandings. “No,” said the
artist; “I thought you would recognise that; not
to know that celebrated satire, sir, argues yourself
— hem — of course it does! That picture has
struck terror into the opposite party; yes, sir, they
grew pale with horror! It was quite terrible, I
assure you. The president offered me one of the
best offices in his control, if I would only consent
to withhold those withering productions, in future,
from the public. But, no, sir, I am not to be
bought; no, sir, I am true, true. I feel it here,

here in my heart, that I am true, — not to be
bought.” Here Mr. Scrapp knocked at his breast
several times, as if he would have his heart speak
for itself, and establish its truth beyond the shadow
of a doubt; but the knocking only called up a
cough, and Mr. Scrapp changed the subject.

“Here are the productions of my pupils; but
none of them, you will observe, equal mine in
grace of outline, or beauty of execution. One man
only out of a hundred — yes, I might say out of a
thousand — has the capabilities to become an artist.
I flatter myself that I happen to be that lucky one!
Still, it is necessary for any man to study the art,
very necessary! My system of teaching is very
remarkable; it is simple, expeditious, yet complete.
You would be surprised to see with what facility
my instructions are given; perspective, architecture,
and the human figure are all taught at one lesson!
The young gentleman or lady, as the case may be
— I prefer the latter — sits down and takes a pencil.
I take his or her hand in mine; and, without the
least premeditation, make a spot in the middle of
the paper, thus; that is the point of sight; now I
draw two lines from the spot to the left corner,
then two to the right, thus; at this corner I make,
with a few hasty touches, a house, and there, in the
distance, another — a very small house — thus;
here I draw the figure of a man — the man is a
little too tall — add another story to the house, thus;
that makes it! There, sir, is a composition comprising

all the elements of art, and executed without
the least premeditation! By this time, the
pupil is master of perspective, architecture, and the
human figure. Astonishing, is n't it?”

“Very!” replied Paul.

“Peculiar?”

“Quite so.”

“And original!”

“Undoubtedly!”

“Permit me to examine your head. Perceptive
organs, immense; constructiveness, large; destructiveness,
very large; mirthfulness, full; color,
ditto! Young man, you are an artist by nature!
fact, I assure you! Put yourself under my direction,
and you may yet astonish the world.” Paul
thanked Mr. Scrapp for his good opinion, and observed,
that if he could find sufficient leisure from
other employments, hereafter, nothing would give
him greater delight than to pursue the study of
art. “If I succeed,” said the young man, “in my
present mission to a gentleman that I am in search
of, perhaps I may call on you again. Can you tell
me where I may find the establishment of Nathaniel
Munson?”

“Old stingy Nat, I think you mean? O, yes,
he keeps just below here. Drop into the meanest-looking
shop that you can find; you can't mistake
the place.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Paul, as he took his
leave, not a little damped in his hopes, and bent his

steps to the place before mentioned. He found,
somewhat to his surprise, that Nathaniel Munson
was the same little shrivelled-up Quaker that had
attracted his attention, a few evenings before, in
the restaurateur. Paul handed him a note from
Fitful, and the old man, without taking any particular
notice of the youth, opened it, and glancing
hastily over the contents, ejaculated, in a dissatisfied
tone, “Humph, boy, art thou a great eater?”
and he peered with his mean little gray eyes very
sharply at the youth, as he waited for an answer.

“Indeed, sir, I cannot answer that question,”
replied Paul, with a smile, “for I am ignorant of
what your ideas of a great eater are.”

“How many meals does thee require per day?
how many?”

“Three, usually,” was the decisive answer.

“Three! what extravagance! two are plenty,
young man; and remember, the short days are
coming on; breakfast and supper will be quite
sufficient. Let me see — lodging, too! Does thee
not think that asking too much?”

“No, sir!” said Paul, very emphatically.

“Very well; what is thy Christian name?”

“Paul, sir.”

“Hem — a very good scripture name, that; no
doubt thee is honest. John, show this young man
his duty. There, get thee to work, boy; I shall
love thee, if thee is honest and industrious.”

From the expression of Mr. Munson's face, just

at that moment, you might have imagined that he
loved the boy already very much! and would, in
future, take care that the youth was provided for!

“So, so, Mr. Paul,” exclaimed the before-mentioned
John, “old Broad-Brim has found somebody
to come to his terms at last, has he? Well, I 'm
blessed glad o' that! But how on 'arth did you
strike a bargain with the old parchment?”

“Why?” asked Paul, affecting some surprise.

“Why! Lord bless you, you do n't know the
old 'un, then! I tell you what, my friend, that old
skin-flint used to belong to a society called the
`Penny Catcher Tight Grip Club.' The leanest,
meanest member was always entitled to the chair;
of course, old Munson always had it. But now —
and he grows very melancholy and lonely, sometimes,
to think of it — he is the only surviving member;
all the others died of starvation; but bless
you, they had n't such constitutions as our old
man 's got — there aint no die to him — he 's too
mean to pay the debt o' natur. What! old Split-fip
ever die? No, no! he 'll dwindle down to a
shadow, a very small, mean shadow, and then slip
into some rich gentleman's coffin, and enjoy the
luxury of a handsome burial, all at somebody else'
expense!

“But I reckon you haint seen little Edith, yet?
of course not. Well, to my thinking, there aint a
girl in town a touch to Edith Munson. Her hair is
light, her eyes blue; not a bright sky blue, nor

dark blue, but a kind o' twilight blue. They do n't
bore right through one, as some eyes do, making
one wish they were dead, but they kind o' melt
right in so tenderly, that it makes a fellow feel so
happy he wants to kiss all creation. That 's what
I calls being in love.”

When Paul repaired to the residence of Nathaniel
Munson, that evening, he was conducted, by the
above-mentioned Edith, (who, in every particular,
fully came up to the glowing description that John
had given of her,) into a little room, which, although
meanly furnished, was extremely neat and
clean. The young man observed that preparations
had been made to receive him to tea, and he was
not displeased with the appearance which things
presented.

“Take a seat, if you please, sir. Father did not
tell me that you were coming, until a few moments
since, or perhaps we might have been a little better
prepared,” said the maiden, as she hurried away to
bring in the tea. “Well,” thought Paul, “this is
not so bad as I had anticipated.”

“I see,” said the same sweet voice of little
Edith, as she filled the young man's cup, “I see
that your attention is attracted by the strange appearance
of that poor woman who stands gazing in
at the window. You will please not to be astonished
at any thing which she may do. Poor creature!
she has had a deal of trouble; has been
deranged for many years, but is entirely harmless.

We call her `good Mary.' She has a kind heart,
poor thing, notwithstanding that she acts somewhat
strangely at times; but you will soon get used to
that, and not mind her. She has lived with us ever
since my own mother died. Indeed, I believe I
should play the child and weep, if Mary should
leave us. She has always been so very kind to
me, that I think I love her quite as well as I could
my own mother.”

“Ah,” answered Paul, with a sigh; “is there,
then, any one in the world who can fill the place
of a mother?”

“Indeed,” replied Edith, while a tear trembled
in her eye, “I do n't know; I have scarcely any
recollections of my own mother; but I do n't think
I could have loved her much better than I love
poor Mary.”