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anticipate or dream, and the spectator's interest was intensified at seeing in her and before her what she herself did not perceive. That art can give such power of suggestion to its creations is a marvel and a delight.

Following these two works—and at some distance, although near enough to confirm and even increase the painter's fame-came the Priscilla, Evening; Lorette, Nydia, Boy and Bird, Hannah, Psyche, and others, ending this year with the Arethusa,

lowed, a work full of fire and freedom, strongly personal in suggestion, and marked by a wild and impatient individuality which revealed in the girl the impression of a lawless ancestry, that somehow and somewhere had felt the action of a finer strain of blood. The next year Fuller reached the highest point of his inspiration and power in The Quadroon, a work which is likely to be held for all time as his masterpiece, so far as strength of idea, importance of motive, and vivid force of description are concerned. Without whose glowing and chastened loveviolence, even without expression of liness makes it his strongest purely action, but simply by a pair of haunting artistic work, and confirms the technieyes, a beautiful, despairing face, and cal value of his method as completely a form confessing utter weariness and as The Quadroon and Winifred abandonment of hope, he revealed all Dysart do his habit of thought. He the national shame of slavery, and its painted innumerable landscapes, pordegradation of body and soul. Every traits, and ideal heads, and in figure American cannot but blush to look upon compositions produced, among others, it, so simple and dignified is its rebuke two works of great and permanent of the nation's long perversity and guilt. value, the And She Was a Witch, and The artist's next important effort was The Gatherer of Simples, to whose the famous Winifred Dysart, as far absorbing interest all who have studied removed in purpose from The Quad- them closely will confess. The latter, roon as it could well be, yet akin particularly, is of importance as showto it by its added testimony to the ing how carefully Fuller studied into painter's constant sympathy with weak the secret of expression, and of nature's and beseeching things, and worthy to sympathy with human moods. This stand at an equal height with the pic- poor, worn, sad, old face, in which ture of the slave by virtue of its beauty beauty and hope shone once, and of conception, loveliness of character, where resignation and memory now and pathetic appeal to the interest. dwell; this trembling figure, to whose It was in all respects as typical decrepitude the bending staff confesses and comprehensive as The Quadroon as she totters down the hill; the gathitself, holding within its face and figure ering gloom of the sky, in which one all the sweetness and innocence of ray of promise for a bright to-morrow. New England girlhood, yet with the shines from the setting sun; the mute shadow of an uncongenial experience witnessing of the trees upon the hill, brooding over it, and perhaps of in- which have seen her pass and repass herited weakness and early death. And from joyful youth to lonely age, and the wonder of it all was that the girl even her eager grasp upon the poor had no sign about herself of longing or treasure of herbs that she bears,discontent; she was not of a nature to all these items of the scene impress

one with a sympathy whose keenness is even bitter, and excite a deep respect and love for the man who could paint with so much simplicity and power. It is not strange that when the news of his death became known, many who had never seen him, but had studied the pictures in his latest exhibition, should have come, with tears in their eyes, to the studios which neighbored his, to learn something of his history.

Such works are not struck out in a heat, but grow and develop like human lives, and it will not surprise many to know that most of them were labored on for years. With Fuller, a picture was never completed. His idea was constantly in advance of his work, and persisted in new suggestions, so that the Winifred Dysart was two years in the painting, the Arethusa five, and The Gatherer of Simples and the Witch, after an even longer course of labor, were held by him at his death as not yet satisfactory. The figures in the two works last mentioned have suffered almost no change since first put upon the canvas, but they have from time to time appeared in at least a dozen different landscapes, and would doubtless have been placed in as many more before he had satisfied his fastidious and exacting taste.

The artist found as much difficulty in naming his pictures when they were done as he did in painting them. It is a prevalent, but quite erroneous, impression that his habit was to select a subject from some literary work, and then attempt to paint it in the light of the author's ideas. His practice exactly reversed this method: he painted his picture first, and then tried to evolve or find a name that would fit it. The name Winifred Dysart, which is without literary origin or meaning, and

yet in some strange way seems the only proper title for the work to which it is attached, came out of the artist's own mind. His Priscilla was started as an Elsie Venner, but he found it impossible to work upon the lines another had laid down without too much cramping his own fancy; when half done he thought of calling it Lady Wentworth, and at last gave it its present name by chance of having taken up The Blithedale Romance, and noting with pleased surprise how closely Hawthorne's account of his heroine fitted his own creation. Nydia was started with the idea of presenting the helplessness of blindness, with a hint of the exaltation of the other senses that is consequent upon the loss of sight, and showed at first merely a girl groping along a wall in search of a door; and the Arethusa was the outgrowth of a general inspiration caused by a reading of Spenser's Faërie Queen, and did not receive its present very appropriate name until its exhibition made some designation necessary.

The

I have devoted this study on of Mr. Fuller to his quality as an artist rather than to his character as a man, but shall have written in vain if some hint has not been given of the loveliness of his disposition, the modesty of his spirit, the chaste force of his mind. A man inevitably paints as he himself is, and shows his nature in his works: Fuller's pictures are founded upon purity of thought, and painted with dignity and single-heartedness, and the grace of his life dwells in them.

[GEORGE FULLER was born in Deerfield, Massachusetts, in 1822. He was descended from old Puritan stock, and his ancesters were among the early

settlers of the Connecticut River val- landscape painting, which he entered ley. He inherited a taste for art, as upon about 1860, but did not make his an uncle and several other relatives of distinctive field until 1876. From the the previous generation were painters, latter date, to the time of his death, he although none of them attained any painted many important works, and was particular reputation. He began paint- pecuniarily successful. He received ing by himself at the age of about six- probably the largest prices ever paid to teen years, and at the age of twenty an American artist for single figures: entered the studio of Henry K. $3,000 for the Winifred Dysart, and Brown, of Albany, New York, where $4,000 each for the Priscilla and he received his first and only direct Evening; Lorette. He died in Boston instruction. His work, until the age of on the twenty-first of March, 1884, about forty years, was almost entirely leaving a widow, four sons, and and a devoted to portraits; but he is best daughter. During May, a memorial known, and will be longest remem- exhibition of his works was held at bered, for his ideal work in figure and the Museum of Fine Arts. EDITOR.]

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THE LOYALISTS OF LANCASTER.
BY HENRY S. NOURSE.

THE outburst of patriotic rebellion in 1775 throughout Massachusetts was so universal, and the controversy so hot with the wrath of a people politically wronged, as well as embittered by the hereditary rage of puritanism against prelacy, that the term tory comes down to us in history loaded with a weight of opprobrium not legitimately its own. After the lapse of a hundred years the word is perhaps no longer synonymous with everything traitorous and vile, but when it is desirable to suggest possible respectability and moral rectitude in any member of the conservative party of Revolutionary days, it must be done under the less historically disgraced title, - loyalist. In fact, then, as always, two parties stood contending for principles to which honest convictions made adherents. If among the conservatives were timid office-holders and corrupt self-seekers, there were also of the Revolutionary party blatant demagogues

and bigoted partisans. The logic of success, though a success made possible at last only by exterior aid, justified the appeal to arms begun in Massachusetts before revolt was prepared or thought imminent elsewhere. Now, to the careful student of the situation, it seems among the most premature and rash of all the rebellions in history. But for the precipitancy of the uprising, and the patriotic frenzy that fired the public heart at news of the first bloodshed, many ripe scholars, many soldiers of experience, might have been saved to aid and honor the republic, instead of being driven into ignominious exile by fear of mob violence and imprisonment, and scourged through the century as enemies of their country. In and about Lancaster, then the largest town in Worcester County, the royalist party was an eminently respectable minority. At first, indeed, not only those naturally

conservative by reason of wealth, or accepting the appointment of councillor in 1774, he became at once obnoxious to the dominant party, and in August, when visiting Connecticut on business connected with his large landed interests there, he was arrested by the citi zens of the town of Union, and a mob of five hundred persons accompanied him over the state line intending to convey him to the nearest jail. Whether their wrath became somewhat cooled by the colonel's bearing, or by a sixmile march, they released him upon his signing a paper dictated to him, of which the following is a copy, printed at the time in the Boston Gazette:

pride of birthright, but nearly all the intellectual leaders, both ecclesiastic and civilian, deprecated revolt as downright suicide. They denounced the Stamp Act as earnestly, they loved their country in which their all was at stake as sincerely, as did their radical neighbors. Some of them, after the bloody nineteenth of April, acquiesced with such grace as they could in what they now saw to be inevitable, and tempered with prudent counsel the blind zeal of partisanship: thus ably serving their country in her need. Others would have awaited the issue of events as neutrals; but such the committees of safety, or a mob, not unnaturally treated as enemies.

On the highest rounds of the social ladder stood the great-grandsons of Major Simon Willard, the Puritan commander in the war of 1675. These three gentlemen had large possessions in land, were widely known throughout the Province, and were held in deserved esteem for their probity and ability. They were all royalists at heart, and all connected by marriage with royalist families. Abijah Willard, the eldest, had just passed his fiftieth year. He had won a captaincy before Louisburg when but twenty-one, and was promoted to a colonelcy in active service against the French; was a thorough soldier, a gentleman of stately presence and dignified manners, and a skilful manager of affairs. For his first wife, he married Elizabeth, sister of Colonel William Prescott; for his second, Mrs. Anna Prentice, but had recently married a third partner, Mrs. Mary McKown, of Boston. He was the wealthiest citizen of Lancaster, kept six horses in his stables, and dispensed liberal hospitality in the mansion inherited from his father Colonel Samuel Willard. By

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STURBRIDGE, August 25, 1774.

Whereas I Abijah Willard, of Lancaster, have been appointed by mandamus Counselor for this province, and have without due Consideration taken the Oath, do now freely and solemnly and in good faith promise and engage that I will not set or act in said Council, nor in any other that shall be appointed in such manner and form, but that I will, as much as in me lies, maintain the Charter Rights and Liberties of the Province, and do hereby ask forgiveness of all the honest, worthy Gentlemen that I have offended by taking the abovesaid Oath, and desire this may be inserted in the public Prints. Witness my

Hand

ABIJAH WILLARD.

From that time forward Colonel Willard lived quietly at home until the nineteenth of April, 1775; when, setting out in the morning on horseback to visit his farm in Beverly, where he had planned to spend some days in superintending the planting, he was turned from his course by the swarming out of minute-men at the summons of the couriers bringing the alarm from Lexington, and we next find him with the British in Boston. He never saw Lancaster again. It is related that, on the

morning of the seventeenth of June, homestead, and, aided by a small pen

standing with Governor Gage, in Boston, reconnoitring the busy scene upon Bunker's Hill, he recognized with the glass his brother-in-law Colonel William Prescott, and pointed him out to the governor, who asked if he would fight. The answer was: "Prescott will fight you to the gates of hell!" or, as another historian more mildly puts it: "Ay, to the last drop of his blood." Colonel Willard knew whereof he testified, for the two colonels had earned their commissions together in the expeditions against Canada. An officer of so well-known skill and experience as Abijah Willard was deemed a valuable acquisition, and he was offered a colonel's commission in the British army, but refused to serve against his countrymen, and at the evacuation of Boston went to Halifax, having been joined by his own and his brother's family. In 1778, he was proscribed and banished. Later in the war he joined the royal army, at Long Island, and was appointed commissary; in which service it was afterwards claimed by his friends that his management saved the crown thousands of pounds. A malicious pamphleteer of the day, however, accused him of being no better than others, and alleging that whatever saving he effected went to swell his own coffers. Willard's name stands prominent among the "Fifty-five" who, in 1783, asked for large grants of land in Nova Scotia as compensation for their losses by the war. He chose a residence on the coast of New Brunswick, which he named Lancaster in remembrance of his beloved birthplace, and there died in May, 1789, having been for several years an influential member of the provincial council. His family returned to Lancaster, recovered the old

sion from the British government, lived in comparative prosperity. The son Samuel died on January 1, 1856, aged ninety-six years and four months. His widowed sister, Mrs. Anna Goodhue, died on August 2, 1858, at the age of ninety-five. Memories of their wholly pleasant and beneficent lives, abounding in social amenities and Christian graces, still linger about the old mansion.

Levi Willard was three years the junior of Abijah. He had been collector of excise for the county, held the military rank of lieutenant-colonel, and was justice of the peace. With his brother-in-law Captain Samuel Ward he conducted the largest mercantile establishment in Worcester County at that date. He had even made the voyage to England to purchase goods. Although not so wealthy as his brother, he might have rivaled him in any field of success but for his broken health; and he was as widely esteemed for his character and capacity. At the outbreak of hostilities he was too ill to take active part on either side, but his sympathies were with his loyalist kindred. He died on July 11, 1775. His partner in business, Captain Samuel Ward, cast his lot with the patriot party, but his son, Levi Willard, Jr., graduated at Harvard College in 1775, joined his uncle Abijah, and went to England and there remained until 1785, when he returned and died five years later.

Abel Willard, though equally graced by nature with the physical gifts that distinguished his brothers, unlike them chose the arts of peace rather than those of war. He was born at Lancaster on January 12, 1731-2, and was graduated at Harvard College in 1752, ranking third in the class. His wife was Eliza

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