und her boy so fast to her
in the past.

The lettin' him go out into the evil world without her lovin'
watchfulness and love. All the love that would fain go with him--all the
admonition that she would fain give him--all the love and all the hope
she feels for him is writ in her gentle face.

As for the boy, anticipation and dread are writ on his mean, but the man
is waitin' impatient outside to take him away. The partin' must come.

You turn away, glad you can't see that last kiss.

Then there wuz "Holy Night," the Christ Child, with its father and
mother, and some surroundin' worshippers of both sects.

Mary's face held all the sweetness and strength you'd expect to see in
the mother of our Lord. And Joseph looked real well too--quite well.

Josiah said that "the halos round his head and Mary's looked some like
big white plates."

But I sez, "You hain't much of a judge of halos, anyway. Mebby if you
should try to make a few halos you'd speak better of 'em."

I often think this in the presence of critics, mebby if they should lay
holt and paint a few picters, they wouldn't find fault with 'em so glib.
It looks real mean to me to see folks find so much fault with what they
can't do half so well themselves.

Then there wuz the wimmen at the tomb of the Christ. The door is open,
the Angel is begenin' for 'em to enter.

In the faces of them weepin', waitin' wimmen is depictered the very
height and depth of sorrow. You can't see the face of one on 'em, but
her poster gives the impression of absolute grief and loss.

The quiverin' lips seems formin' the words--"Farwell, farwell, best
beloved."

Deathless love shines through the eyes streamin' with tears.

In the British section there wuz one picter that struck such a deep blow
onto my heart that its strings hain't got over vibratin' still.

They send back some of them deep, thrillin' echoes every time I think
on't in the day-time or wake up in the night and think on't.

It wuz "Love and Death," and wuz painted by Mr. Watts, of London.

It showed a home where Love had made its sweet restin'-place--vines grew
up round the pleasant door-way, emblematic of how the heart's deep
affection twined round the spot.

But in the door-way stood a mighty form, veiled and shadowy, but
relentless. It has torn the vines down, they lay witherin' at its feet.
It wuz bound to enter.

Though you couldn't see the face of this veiled shape, a mysterious,
dretful atmosphere da