



\ 





'fs^.^^ 





^ -m 





"IN THE MORNING A MYRIAD OF STAR-LIKE SPARKLES ON TREE AND SHRUB, ON THE 



GRASS AND BARE FURROWS." 



^)iAINTER IN EXCELSIS 



By ARTHUR SCAMMELL 



I 



N that most delightful record of an This very precise and forcible statement 



unhappy experience, the " Confessions expresses not only the personal predilec- 

 of an Opium Eater/' De Quinceylays tions of the writer, but ma}- be taken as 



down for us "An Analysis of Happiness," 

 and stipulates as an essential part of " the 

 science," that the season " shall not be 

 spring, nor summer, nor autumn, but 

 \\'inter in its sternest shape. I put up a 

 petition annually for as much snow. hail, 

 frost or storm as the skies can possibly 

 afford — I am not particular whether it 

 be snow, or black frost, or wind so strong 

 that you may lean your back against it. 

 I can put up even with rain, provided 

 that it rains cats and dogs, or, as sailors 

 say, ' great guns and marhne-spikes,' 

 but something of the sort I must have." 



65 50^ 



a general ideahstic view of the weather. 

 The Ideahst. with his passion for Nature, 

 has the lover's desire to see the beloved 

 always at the height of beauty and ani- 

 mation ; and her mood is at all times 

 reflected in his : the tide of his spirit 

 rises and falls at her bidding. 



C\-m()n, the clownish, finds the sleeping 

 Iphigenia in the wood, and so long as her 

 eyes are closed, his gross nature is un- 

 touched, but when she wakes and looks 

 him in the face, that moment a new soul 

 is born within him. And so to those who 

 love the season of winter, the only bad 



