OUR LITTLE FOLKS.

Otago Witness, Issue 1650, 7 July 1883, Page 27

OUR LITTLE FOLKS.

Ben Bruin. Little Ben Bruin ran over the hill ; The morning was frosty, tho pir.e tiees wore f till. And the sunshine lay bright on the new fallen snow Said little Ban Bruin : " N w, where shall I go 1 They all think »io sifo in t,he Btable, no dt.ubt; l-iut what are my paws for, iC not to get '.ut ? Must I live with the hoi sea and donkeys ? Not I ! The world is before we— my luuL I will tr,y." Ben Bruin trudged on till an hour before noon : Then be said to himself : " I will starve to death soon ! Not an acorn or n*it have I found in this wood : There is plenty of nothing' but «iiow. If I coul'l, For a t»9te of lhe dinner it home, I'd run !ia>-k ; But. aomehow or o'her, I've !o-fc my own track ! Ho ! ho ! there* a pi-ihfc I navi not. si-en belore — A liktlered h use with a half-open d»or ! " I think I'll step iv, f r I m weary a. d laiw 1 " Ben Bruin was little * ou see, and quite tame ; He feared neither children, nor women, nor men. Though he did like a free forent-stroll now and then. Harry Hunter had petted the young orph m bear, Since hU father tho old ones hud s-hot in heir lair ; Ami to school he had lieen forbidden to go _ That he would not be welcome, pray, hovr could he know t Bpn Biuin stopped into the entry, and there Little cloaks, hoods, and tippets were hung up with care, And small luncheon baskets beneath, in a row, " Something good in those baskets. I smell and I know," Said little Ben Bruin, and on his hind paws He balanced himself while his nose and his jaws Found bus-ii.ess enough. Hark 1 a i<tep ! uit-a-pat 1 Little Hose White came in and saw what he was at. Pretty Rose of a schoolmate so rough had not dreamed ; She turned pale, and then red ; then she laughed, then lhe screamed. Then the door of the school room she threw open wide, And little Ben Bruin walked in at her side. Straight up to the schoolmaster's desk What a rush For fcht door and the windows ! The teacher called, " Hush 1" In vain, through that tempest of terrified squeals ; And he, with the children i-oon took to his heels. Ben Bruin looked blank at the stir he had made ; As a bear baby might, he v.i* rather afraid, Ljke the rest of them, and after them ran. Then over again the wild hubbub bogan, And Ben, seeing now that all thii was no play, From the route he had raised in disgust turned away. While he said to himeelf ; "Jf I ever get home, In another direction hereafter I'll roam." Alas I for Ben Bruin's brief morning ot fun 1 Behind him ft click— and the bang of a gun ! And when Harry Hunter went seeking his pet, The snow by the gchool-houso with rod drops was wet; And pretty Eoße White felt go sad that eha cried To tee the boy mourn for the bear that had died. And this is the story of little Ben Bruin, Who found through a fcchooUhouae the door-way to ruin. —St. Nicholas for March.

litebai Bartholomew Mnrllloj ©*, THB LITTLB BANNER FAINTBB. CHAPTBB VII. Th« Double Bargain.

carrying part of his drawing materials, Theresina. met him iv the street. " Good news," said she ; " you were scarcely gone when Ozorio came and gave me ten ducats for the picture he wanted last night; you must take it to him as soon as it is finished." " At what o'clock did Ozorio come ?" r asked Bartholomew. "At ten o'clock I was locking up the ducatst in your money box." "Am I not unfortunate?" said BartholO' mew ; " I have just sold it for twenty."'; "To whom?" asked the mother. 1 , < ■ "To a atranger, Don Rodriguea da Sylva, who was to give me a letter to Velasquez at Madrid." • ' "Oh ! if I had only known that in time/ said the poor mother, afflicted by the regret of her boy, "and I who was bo, pleased with Signor Ozorio's bargain." , > " But why grieve, Bartholomaw," cried Menesfes ; " give the ducats back to my father, and teil him the picture was sold before he came. You will paint him another ; but the stranger, you know, will go away to-morrow." "Hold your tongue, Menese3;'ydu are my evil spirit. What is done, is done;' come, let us dine. After dinner 1 shall go and apologise to Don Rodriguez : I only hope he ' will still give me the letter." .' The dinner was a very silent one'J each seemed to sympathise in the lad's regret. As soon as he had done, Murillo went to, the hotel of Castile ; he was shown into a' room ; where the signor was alone and writing. ' !'! ' " " Ah ! you have brought the picturej" said Don Rodriguez, seeing Bartholomew enter. "Signor," said Bartholomew, his ''young i heart swelling with regret, "my mother had sold it before I got home." ' ' " Dearer ?" asked Don Rodriguez. | " Cheaper, but that is nothing." ' >'; " I beg your pardon, it is a great dealj" said the stranger, evidently annoyed ; "for if I pay more, you can make another for your dealer ; igo and undo your bargain with him." ' " Certainly I should, sir, without hesitation, if your bargain had been made previous 'to the one nay mother concluded with Signor I 'Ozorio ; but it was not ; for my mother's,' begun' by me last night, was concluded this morning ; and yours, siguor, took place in the afternoon." "What is your name?" curtly aaked the stranger. . . "Bartholomew Esteban Murillo,'*, replied the lad. ', \ " Have you a father and mother ?" " "Both, signor." . " Well, I wish to see them and speak to them," said Don Rodriguez, looking at the boy in a way that made him feel confused ; " take me to them." . "h" h "To my father," asked Bartholomew, eari priaed. " Yes," replied Don Rodriguez. ' ' !

ChaftkrVlll. Conclusion. It was quite dark when Don Rodriguez, con1 ducted by Bartholomew, reached the 'house of Esteban. Theresina Bat at her lace, and Esteban was reading aloud in the Bible; They both rose as the stranger entered with their son, "I beg you will forgive my impatience, signora," said Don Rodriguez, bowing gracefully to Theresiua, and then to Esteban ; " but it is not so much the parents of my young artist that I wished to pay my respects to before I leave Seville, as the father and mother who have inculcated such principles of jprobity and morality in the heart of their chil.d^ I tefi you frankly, if I had had the picture! I should have gone without coming here. Murillo has painted a good picture — he is an artist, but there are many artists. The picture pleased me, and I bought it; but Murillo, has done more than paint a good picture. He h'aß done a noble act, and I wished to see those who educated such a child. "Murillo," said he, " I am rich and influential, tell me what I can do for you ? what do you wish?" "The letter for Velasquez," said Murillo, hesitatingly. "I can do more," said the stranger with emotion, " I can present him to you now, if you like." "Is ho at Seville?" cried Bartholomew, eagerly. "He is here, my child," said Rodriguez, taking the boy's hand. M You, Don Rodriguez J" said Bartholomew. "Da Sylva Velasquez. lam going into Italy," he continued, " to join Rubens, who waits for me at Venice. I shall not then receive you at Madrid, but I shall give, ordera about you. Do not fail to send your son to Madrid," added Velasquez, turning to Esteban ; " your son is no ordinary painter, he will be a very great one some day." Velasquez then took leave of the family of Esteban, and left Seville next day. But Esteban, falling ill again, and dying, Murillo could not yet go to Madrid. He found he must remain to support hib mother ; at last, when he was about sixteen, and his mother able to support herself, Murillo deccided on going, not to Madrid, but to Italy. Having little money, he put his idea into execution i he bought canvass, cut it into little 'squares — made a number of little pictures representing saints or religious subjects, and flowers, and sold them for America ; dividing the profit with his mother, he left Seville. When he reached Madrid, he found Velasquez returned from Italy : he went to him ; Velasquez at ouce recognised his young protege, and procured him abundant work in the Escurial and other palaces at Madrid. Murillo remained there three years ; after that he returned to Seville, and having painted, for the cloister of St. Francis, "The death of St. Clare," and a " St. Jean giving alms," these two pictures made such a noise,, that all the religious communities at Seville were eager for pictures by Murillo. Murillo was one of the greatest painters that ever honoured Spain. He died at Seville the 3rd of April, 1682. His chief pupils are Antolines, Menesfes Ozorio, Jobar, Villavicemio, and Sebastian Gomes, surnamed tho Mulatto of Murillo.

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