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^ [. sion of that love. Several notable ones

were named, but the influence of her oval face and high-bred features on the painter's imagination looks out from many a

One of the most exquisite as well as important of all the Alba portraits is that secured by Mr. Archer M. Huntington for the Hispanic Museum in New York.

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portrait of a very great lady and the presentment of a national.character, the Maya, but it also declares to the world the great romance of Goya's life. He has written his name on the canvas and Dona Maria Teresa's index finger points to it, while on her hand are two conspicuous rings, one bearing the name of Goya. A challenge to the conventions* an open declaration that before profound love all else becomes insignificant, seem here proclaimed.

Goya's detective eye could not fail to read her character and to paint it, but was he not also prophetic in putting into the face a tristesse deepened by dignity? The duchess died by poison in 1802, while she was still at the height of her power and charm. Indeed, it was because of this power that her jealous and tyrannical queen wished her out of the way.

Velasquez, Rembrandt, and Nature were the masters which Goya in his prime acknowledged. It was a study of these which made him sail free of the mistaken tendencies of art in his time. Velasquez, the finer of the two artists, the more delicate, never disposed to grossness, yet left a recognizable effect, especially in portraiture. The earlier manner of Velasquez, certain critics declare, is reflected in the portrait group of the family of Carlos IV, which is compared to "Las Meninas." There are those, however, who scoff at this comparison.

Rembrandt sets for Goya another palette, and with Velasquez frees his hand, preparing him for the long list of portraits which include (from Mr. Martin Ryerson's treasure-house) the actor Isidro Maiguez, the charming wide-eyed child Victor Guye (of Mr. J. Horace Harding's collection), and for those wonders of forceful composition exemplified by the series of "The Monk and the Brigand," of Mr. Martin Ryerson and "The Forge," before referred to, from the Frick gallery.

In the latter Goya is seen in one of those tensely forceful moods that with superb dramatic power draw the observer into the spirit of the group as though he were an actor in it. The palette set here is Rembrandt's. Goya was not always clear in his colors, but in this the tones are the rich, glowing browns that illumine a sunstruck woodland brook. But the great thing is the force expressed by the robust

actors. To paint this powerful group Goya first had it firm and complete in his mind, and then, with great force, he threw it on the canvas with broad strokes from the determined hand that savagely denies technical limitation. In it he shows the power to reproduce in us the emotion felt by himself, and that is art.

The series of " The Monk and the Brigand,'' of which Mr. Ryerson owns the full set of six, show this same mood of Goya's and this same free method of setting down what his painter's eye had seized from nature.

It is not usual, however cursory or locally limited the review, to omit at least a reference to Goya's manner as a terrible satirist of the world both high and low, as relentlessly and fantastically shown in the series of "Los Caprichos," and the unmasked horrors in "Los Desastres de la Guerra." Added to these are the sepia and pen sketches owned by the Hispanic Museum, which were the harvest of his old age. But the liberty is taken here of avoiding the controversial opinions on the use and beauty of these strange expressions of a great painter's abnormality.

Here in America the spell of Goya is upon us, his works are in the galleries of our serious collectors, and in such happy variety that the strikingly different methods which he employed can be studied at leisure, that of the Osuna group at the Prado with its daintiness and its subtile revelation of character, and that of its neighbor at the Prado, the "Third of of May" with its tragic power. Preeminently a painter of portraits, his best years of production begin at the very end of the century. The famous family group of Carlos IV was finished in 1800. The portraits of General Guye, Mr. J. H. Harding's collection, of Isidro Maiguez, of the fascinating, insolent queen, belong to this period, as well as innumerable treasures locked in our private galleries.

All these works are but the indicative expressions of the man himself, whose extreme complexity was increased by the combination of an overvigorous physique and highly sensitized temperament, which were excited by the experience of an eager life among the populace and life at the licentious court of Carlos IV, "the wisest fool in Europe," and of Teresa Maria, his vicious queen.


By Harriet Welles

Author of " Anchors A weigh"

Illustration r.y II. I. Peck


ROM the register of the United States Navy the wooden ships are gone— with John Paul Jones, Decatur, and Farragut to some serene harbor beyond the most distant horizon line—and of the ship life of their day but one custom persists.

It was the rule on those old sloops-ofwar that any sailor under arrest, awaiting sentence and having a complaint to make or a grievance to air, took his stand by the mainmast, and asked to speak with the captain; this was his right.

The white sails are gone. On our great steel ships no sign of them remains, but every day,-at a given hour, on each dreadnought, battleship, cruiser, and destroyer of the United States Navy the captain "holds mast."

Seven bells.

On the quarter-deck of the gray dreadnought anchored in the harbor the morning sun gleamed on a little group of sailors and petty officers who, as "witnesses," gathered and formed in line for the morning's mast.

Around the great triple gun-turret the master-at-arms marched the prisoners, two by two, and lined them up at right angles with the witnesses.

"Don't be forgettin' that you steps forward, and takes off your cap, when your name's called, and don't look scared to death—there ain't no can-o-bulls present," admonished the master-at-arms. "Say what you've got to say, and when you're ordered to 'stand aside,' put your cap on, and step back into line. This ain't no trial! It's just a chance for you to tell your side of things."

The prisoners eyed him silently—excepting one youth who inquired of his neighbor in a surly whisper what was "th" use of tellin' the captain anything? Nuthin' happens to him 'ike happens to

us!"—then transferred their attention to the yeoman with the report-book, who took his place just as the executive officer crossed the deck and knocked at the door of the captain's cabin.

"Mast is ready, sir," announced the executive, and waited, while the captain finished signing some papers and took up his cap.

"I've gone over the case of that fellow who takes drugs," said the executive; "we've done all we can for him. The doctor says it's no use—he hasn't the backbone to quit; let him go ashore, and the same thing happens. Big mast this morning—but the other cases are the usual things."

The captain nodded. "I suppose when you have one thousand and thirty men, of the average age of twenty-one years, you can expect a fair amount of ingenuity for getting into trouble," he remarked as, followed by an orderly, they stepped out on the quarter-deck.

"Attention! Salute !" commanded the master-at-arm to the prisoners.

The captain returned the salute and, pausing, scanned the yeoman's reportbook. "Carry on," he said.

"James Collins. Charged with being asleep while on duty. Reported by the boatswain's mate in charge of the watch," read the yeoman.

The boy stepped forward anil took oft his cap.

"Anything to say, Collins? What ailed you?" asked the captain.

"Nuthin', sir," the sailor answered. "This is my first cruise and I just can't hold me eyes open—went to sleep standin' right up straight! I ain't never been near the ocean before, and I'm perishin' to sleep—all the time."

"If every man went to sleep when he felt like it how long do you think this ship would last?" asked the captain; "I'll have to give you a summary court, Collins, and remember this: if ever you are given an important post—in war times— and you sleep on it, you are liable to receive the severest punishment that can be inflicted."

"Stand aside," the master-at-arms ordered. Collins stepped back into line.

"Thomas Jenkins, Carl Jones, coalpassers, reported by the water-tender for fighting," read the yeoman.

"What were you fighting about?" asked the captain.

Jenkins, burning with righteous wrath, answered: "Every time I gets the bright work all shined up, he comes in and turns on the steam! Says 'he's tryin' out the valves,' and when I asks him why don't he try 'em out when the brass work's dirty—he laughed!"

"Well, Jones?" asked the captain.

Jones grinned unhappily. "Get tired o' seein' him forever at his polishin'— thought I'd give him something to polish for. He hit me first," asserted Jones, grasping for a straw.

The witness interrupted.

"They fights all the time," he volunteered virtuously. "I seen 'em fightin' the other day because Jenkins told Jones no man that had red hair could ever be

a good engineer. Said the admiral said


Jenkins flushed. "Aw, can't you take a joke?" he growled.

"How old are you, Jenkins—and you, Jones?" asked the captain, and smiled at the answers of "Twenty."

"You can punish them this lime by letting them shake hands for two hours, on the quarter-deck," said the captain.

"Next," commanded the executive, and a white-faced man stepped forward in answer to the name of William Clark.

"Reported by the chief master-at-arms for taking cocaine," read the yeoman.

The captain glanced sharply at the trembling hand raised to remove the white cap.

"Is this true?" he asked.

The man nodded miserably.

"How and where did you form this habit?" asked the captain.

"I got to going in a crowd in Harlem three years ago, and some of the girls took the stuff—said it was great and wanted me to try it," said Clark in a low voice; "I enlisted to get away from them and quit it; but every time I go ashore—I just can't help buying more."

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