Seven Sittings with Powers the Sculptor, Part II [pp. 359-361]

1869.] LITEBATUBL SCIENCL AND ABIJ 359
thought she saw Mr. Morris's face,!pale and sad, watching her intently. Her heart gave a great jump, and she scarcely knew what she
was doing. Her partner, Mr. Grandville, asked her if she had a headache? "Yes, severe headache," she answered; then, shocked for
the first time in a long while at having told a fib, she hastily added:
"No, no, I am quite well, only weary of the hop."
She left early, and lay awake that night, wondering if George (she
unconsciously called him George) were doing the same. The next
morning she was sitting on the piazza trying to fix her attention on
Miss McGregor's charming novel, "John Ward's Governess," when
her aunt approached in a great state of excitement.
"Bella," she said, "have you heard the news? Poor Mr. Grandville was in bathing, and ventured out beyond the breakers; the lifeboat was not on the water, and he would have been drowned, had not
a Mr.-dear me, what was the name?-Mr.-Mr. Morris swam out and
saved him."
Bella was at that moment thinking of this Mr. Morris, and looked
up, startled, when she heard her aunt carelessly mentioning a name
which had, within the last few days, become to her so familiar.
"Mr. Morris?" she repeated, awkwardly echoing the name.
"Mr. Grandville, who was-"
"Yes, yes, but Mr. Morris saved him."
"Of course. They are going to make up a purse for him."
"He will not take it."
"Eh? why not?"
"Because-that is-I would not be paid for doing such a thing.
It is an insult." And she went up to her room, and paced up and
down excitedly. George's heroism seemed to her superb. She pictured to herself the struggles of the drowning man-every one hesitated to go to his aid- a moment more and he will sink, when
suddenly a handsome, oh, a remarkably handsome man springs
into the surf, buffets the waves! He will be lost; it is death
to venture out there! Ah, he sinks; no, no, he has reached the
drowning man, holds him firmly, and strikes out for the shore-the
people on the beach cheer, the men say "Thank God!" the women dry
their tears, and, as the preserver and preserved fall exhausted on the
beach, a great shout goes up, and George Morris is the hero of the
day!
Bella's eyes flashed; but suddenly she turned pale. What if
George should be ill after such exertion, what if he had injured himself in the struggle with the waves? She began to tremble for him,
and wring her hands. Oh, dear, dear, what should she do? She
could not ask her aunt without causing suspicion. Suspicion?
What suspicion? How silly! Yet she did not ask Miss Mortimer,
and retired early that night, pleading indisposition. She could not
sleep-George's face was constantly before her. At last she sank
into a troubled slumber; dreamed that George was dying, and awoke
to find her eyes wet with tears. Angry and ashamed, she paced the
room until the Catholic church clock struck three,.when she retired
once more, and finally fell into an unrefreshing sleep.
She scarcely spoke to Miss Mortimer the next morning, and at last
left the piazza, after kissing her aunt tenderly.
"Don't be angry with me, auntie," she said, and with that she
went to her room. A half-hour after, she donned a walking-dress
and went (oh, Bella, Bella!) in the direction of Mrs. Brown's cottage.
Her heart beat hard as she approached. The door was half open.
She knocked, there was a rustle of a dress, an inner door shut, and
Mrs. Brown, with her eyes red, stood before Bella.
"Oh, miss, is it you?" she said, confused; "come in, come in."
Bella entered slowly.
"Is Mr. Morris-well?" she asked.
"Quite well, quite well."
"I would like to see him."
Mrs. Brown's lips quivered.
"Too late, miss," she answered, "he has gone."
"Gone?"
"To Philadelphia. Forgive me, miss, but I fear you've broke his
heart. He loved you so."
"Hush! you must not speak in that way." And Bella grasped
a chair to support herself, for the room seemed to swim around.
"He-left no-that is-no message for me, I suppose?" she said,
after a moment.
" Nothing."
"It is-well-very well."
And having uttered this heroic sentiment, Bella sank into a chair,
overcome.
Suddenly she started up. A man's step was heard on the walk.
Bella glided behind the door, and George entered.
"I have forgotten my valise," he said, and then stopped, for Bella
had shut the door, and stood with her back to it. She held out her
hands entreatingly, her eyes were filled with tears, and there was a
glory in her face which had never been there before.
"George! " she sobbed.
He put his hand to his head like one in a dream, and his pale face
flushed.
"George, I love you! Will you have me?"
And the two young creatures fell into each other's arms, and
wept divine tears of joy, while Mrs. Brown put her apron to her eyes,
overcome.
"You love me, you love me?" repeated George, over and over
again.
Bella's heart was so full of happiness that she at first answered
him with sobs, but after a while she whispered "Yes, yes," to his
passionate questions, and called him her hero, her own!
"But your aunt!" said George; "what will she say?"
"She will ask you to forgive her for playing the eavesdropper, and
then say Heaven bless you both," replied a voice, and Miss Mortimer
stood on the threshold of the inner apartment.
"Yes," she said, slowly coming forward, "I have been weeping in
there, and praying that you might be happy. Mrs. Brown has told me
all, and I can only say, love Mr. Morris, Bella; he is worthy of you."
"Aunt, dear aunt," cried Bella, as she kissed her, " I have at last
found a true heart who loves me more than I deserve. But George
will teach me to correct my faults, and the world will witness the
wonderful transformation of a wild, thoughtless girl into a faithful,
loving wife."
SEVEN SITTINGS WITH POWERS, THE
SCULPTOR.
BY HENRY W. BELLOWS.
II.
THE STUDIO.
May 2d.
ASKED Mr. Powers this morning to what he attributed
the superiority of the Greeks in sculpture.
To their superior powers of analysis (he replied), and the
fact that their sculptors appear to have been philosophers
and logicians, as well as artists. They analyzed every thing to
which they applied themselves at all, and had learned reasons
for every thing they did. They guessed at nothing. Their
sculpture was based on anatomy, carried to the finest knowledge, and, if we had their current literature, we should probably find in it the keenest discussions and controversies respecting details and the curve of lines which, to a less careful and
sensitive people, would seem wholly superfluous. In short, the
Greeks based art on knowledge, and took infinite pains to
apply knowledge to art. There was no dash, no blind inspiration, no trusting to feeling alone, in their sculpture. They
knew what they were after, and sought it with unwearied
diligence and pains. There are a precision and a delicacy, a
science and a skill, in their productions, which we have to
emulate from a great distance.
Another point. The Greeks, although they had a dim sense
only of the inner life, and of that spiritual independence of the
soul which Christianity has taught us, had the highest appreciation of what was distinctively human in man, considered as a
member of the animal kingdom. For instance, man is the only
animal that has a real nose or chin. Horses have faces that
are all nose, swine have snouts, and elephants trunks; lions
have vast smelling organs; but none of them any thing that
can be separated from their faces, and properly called a nose.
It is even more true of the chin, that it is peculiar to man.
Again: the noses of animals point forward or upward; man's
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