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FROM AN ARTIST'S DIARY. 13
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
Additionally, when viewing full transcripts, extracted text may not be in the same order as the original document.
No. I. Sojourn I3st The Farm-House By Th...
follow in Ids steps , binding' up the sheaves . But generally the man was alone ; alone in the wide field at dawnwhen pearly
, cloudlets swam , through the opal heavens ; alone in the hot noontide , when the corn gleamed silvery in the flood of intense light ;
alone when the pale sea-green tints of evening blended with gold and scarlet in the westand when a purpleshadowy solemnity
fell upon the upland corn , -field . , I fancy that I have discovered in this man , or in other solitary
reapers whom we see reaping upon the vast upland corn-fields in this neihborhoodthe prototype of a solitary reaper in a sketch b
g , y Holman Hunt , once shown me by an artist friend—a sketch full of a sweet yet mournful poetry . Often in memory have I watched
Hunt ' s solitary reaper toiling amidst the golden grain , with the azure firmament above him . And now , when my bodily eyes
recognise the reality upon these breezy uplands , my spirit greets ' him with joy .
Justina has commenced a water-color drawing of the present aspect of our corn-field . She will call her picture " A Harvest-field
after a Storm . " Imagine to yourself a stretch of very grey sky , with ' rugged and wild clouds hurrying across it , one streak of a brighter
heaven gleaming through them ; the corn , all gathered into shocks , looking grey instead of golden beneath these gloomy clouds .
Shock after shock has been overthrown by last night ' s gale , which howled like lamenting ghosts around our casements . The field
> -especially at twilight , reminds one of some mournful battle-field _* The shocks here standing firm in long array , there lying prostrate ,
leaning against each other , blown about , ragged , and toppling over , assume a fantastic wild resemblance to long lines of tents
standing , or overthrown and desolated by a furious enemy _, and to heaps of slaughtered men and horses . '
Earlier on in the evening , before the brightness had quite de--parted from the heavenswhilst they yet gleamed with the subdued
of the sun behind , a veil of thin cloudthe shocks of presence corn scattered across the upland presented to , my mind many another
human affinity . I felt as though I beheld in them , a nation _Tbowed by some vast affliction and scattered before God . Here were the firm
and undaunted groups of men who looked up trustingly towards the veiled awful Presence ; here were groups flung tumultuously
into each other ' s arms seeking human aid in vain , and unconscious of a Divine glory glowing above them ; here were solitary human
beings flung prostrate iii their agony of blindness , whilst others bowed themselves in deepest submission and humility , or stretched
forth , beseeching arms towards an Almighty power which they joyously recognised as mighty to pity and to save .
September J 6 th . —Justina , returning from her sketching expedition to the Druids' Grovecalled for me in my sylvan
paintingroom of Plartstongue Dell , , and , as we walked home , related her
adventures of the day . It seems that near to the old wind-beaten
From An Artist's Diary. 13
FROM AN ARTIST ' S DIARY . 13
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Citation
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English Woman’s Journal (1858-1864), March 1, 1862, page 13, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/ewj/issues/ewj_01031862/page/13/
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