The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 29, 1897, Page 17

/ (5 e \ TNt - Ll 1 ¥y o 1’ "”‘l )NI! /) ,,ulm i oco DQDQDOOO Jlammflmwm._ N 'BEJO =2 — ! v Ay, Ul U \ ¢ 3 o] wllil.! a”‘w‘! i 9‘11 !n i HE Mechanics’ Pavilion swarmed with a hurry- mg and humming crowd that swayed within its walls. The very air teemed with warm life and pul- sated upward to the raflers, carrying the and the echo of the voice of happiness into the farth- est corner. There were the sounds of footsteps, the rustiing of gowns and the mingling of voices and laughter— and blending softly, like the soothing voice of the mother when tne child will not be cam, the deep, soulful notes of “Tannhauser’” saved the time for joy. And there was light, light everywhere, from the far distant corner of the gallery, where an icecream sign stared unblush- ingly and uninvitingly back at me from over the moving heads of the peonle, to the booth near by, where the small boys with wistful eyes and watering mouths looked longingly from the tall glass pitchers of nut-brown cider to the dis- figurea whiteness of the sign above, which told the price of that beverage per glass. I moved closer to the group of boys while waiting for the warmth and har- mony to crush out the chill and clash of the darkness whence I had come. “Gee!’ said one, crunching a good- sized mniouthful of candy the while he spoke. “That fellow behind there’s drinking some.” % “He can. 1t's his,” another said, and a third piped in: “Wouldn’t you like to be a cider man, 80's you wouldn’t have to pay for it?"” “Ob,” said one a bitlarger than the rest, and more wily. “1’'m going to sell cider,” and he walked as near the booth ashe dared and spoke loudly, while the others crimson - decked warmth of life followed respectfully, “just so’s I can give. all the nice little boys a drink.” He glanced out of the corner of his eye to note the effect upon the seller of tem- perate drinks, and observing nothing but a stony stare he tossed a few peanut shells in our direc tion and betook himself to the popcorn balls, with all the rest of his companions admiringly grouped about him. “Boys are a great nuisance,’ observed the cider man sourly. “‘Always have been,” I agreed, where- upon he fell to wiping the white oil cloth with a deal more energy than was really necessary. 3 Farther up the way, and nearer to this wonderful band which bears the stamp of importation straight from Yermany, a group of girls had paused and were look- ing out with shining eyes. “Isn’t it Icvely,” sighed one, “I am so glad I came,” and her eyes rested on the geometrically arranged rows of jellies that shone too good to te true, “Let’s go look at the flowers,” And they hurried away, with me a close second. There were no flowers, but the ferns and palms in their cool, green shades were refreshingly beautiful. “Nature,” I said, aloud, and then I paused.. Once in the depths of the red- woods where there was not a sound saving the rumble of the stage as it dashed down the mountain road, or the murmnr of the waterfall in the distance; where the great pvines carpeted the grounds with their sweet-scented ncedles, and the red- woods seemed to pierce iuto the won- drous blue of the sky ; where down deep in the ravines the madrone was dropping its variegated foliage and the cornus was flushing at the touch of autumn, right in the midst of all this, on the trunk of a tree that had fallen in-some storm, was painted in glaring white-washed letters: ‘GOLD CURE IS SURKE.” Fall Particulars Given. The white signs with the black lettering in the midst of these ferns and palms at the Pavilion were necessary, but—well, necessary things are sometimes to be de- plored. But it was impossible to be in the at- mosphere of the place without catching the spirit of it. I found myself staring at a collection of mounted butte:flies with ill-concealed delight and laughing with the rest at the lack of humor in a collec- tion of humorous drawings, at the sight of which I should have wept at any other time, and enthu<ing over the painted por- trait of an oily-looking man, the grim humor of which would have haunted my dreams had I seen itina saner momeat. But joy is a sort of delirinm, and it hasa way of radiating and rushing over one with a flood-tide of vibrations. Borrow moves slowly and heavily, but its vibra- tions are mostly beyond our ken, which 1s a wise provision of nature. The most sedate wandered about, filling * their mouths with popcorn, all gluey and syrupy, and smiled and talked the while, and the children threaded their happy way in and out, chattering eagerly. A fastidious-looking woman, with her bands full of gayly painted picture-cards, stood contemplating a booth constructed of paper napkins, and another, with a tired, flushed face and a baby in herarms and one tug ing at h r ckiris, called to her husband 10 observe the cabin made of soap. “Isn’t it pretty ?” she asked. Just then the musicbegan again, and he smiled. *‘Yes, dear,” he said, and he took the heavy baby from her arms, and their eyes met, and then they strolled away closer than they had come. I saw them again, standing before a crazy-patchwork quilt that mostly covered half of the wall and was a self-coniessed study ingreen, yellow and red satin, and they were iaughing to- gether happily. The ert gallery—a most enyiable poses- session of the Mechanics’ Pavilion—was filled with visitors, moving slowly about and gazing long and interestedly at the creations of our well-known artists. Cer- tainly the booths were, and are, and ever shall be, the same, and one may not al- ‘ways be interested in hearing, year after year, the same individuals expatiate upon the same merits of the same wares, but the art gallery, with its quiet bit of land- scape, its quaint and beautiful figures and impressionistic studies, always attracts. And with the music stealing up from the lower floor and the murmur of voices coming softly with it thereis a kind of peace in the midst of the colorings that « air of the outer night crept in. BUST oF MME MepjESCA, 8 e Xt S almost makes one feel friendly toward mankind. An old man, lame and bent, stood con- templating a battie scene. “It does one good to see1t,” he said. ‘“’Twas a long time ago and my memory ain’t very good now.” “You fought?” He nodded. “‘Came out only with a limp,” he went on. *“Could tell you of every skirmish and fight, and when and where they were, But Ican’t do it now,’” he said, smiling a little sadiy. **Tao long ago.” Well, he hadn’t come out of the struggle with fate with ‘‘only a little limp.” Few ofusdo. The most of us were carried out, wrecked body and sonl. The battle of life is more terrible than man’s warfare, the onslaughts are less open and more dangerous. 8till he was enjoying the paintings. He wandered from one to another, feebly, but cheerfully—indeed, every one seemed cheerful. Keith's exhibit bears out his former reputation of standing with the best in landscapes and a work of Yelland’s caught my eye as 1 passed, so full was it of life and action. Jouliin, Hill, Van Perbandt, Castlehun and others whose names are familiar to us all have reproduced the scenes about us for our approval. Cer- tainly California is not to blame if its artists are no more wonderful, and from the results of their efforts so far perhaps it is not the fault of the artist either, but rather the fault of time, who hurries by too fast. The work of the sculptors has the promi- nence that it deserves. All of the older modelers are represented with work much in their usual style, but there is a new exhibitor, a young man whose name is as yet unfamiliar, but who will undoubtedly make a name for himself in the days to come. This young manis R. L Aitken, and he is represented by eight pieces of most creditable work. It seems incredible that they can be the work of a student of only ayear. But they are and will bear the closest com- parison with the work of men who have been studying many years. The principal piece of work by Mr. Aitgen is a bust of Modjeska, which is particularly strong. Besides these there are several portraits and a “‘studv of a woodchopper.” A relief portrait of Daniel Frawley is lifelike in the extreme. It must have been late, for the atmo- sphere of the main building was changed. The doors of exit were open and the chill The musi- cians were laying aside their instruments and preparing to depart. At thedifferent booths the keepers were covering and lay- ing aside their wares or looking over the day’s receipts. Mothers searched for their children, calling them with a touch of impatience in their voices, and the chil- dren came slowly, swaliowing the last bit of popcorn or sweetmeat, and verging on tears because the joy was gone and indi- gestion was threatening. And the men and women and children passed out with a sense of the morrow’s labor and responsibility stealing back into their faces. JEAN MoORRIS. IR B e e