File:American art and American art collections; essays on artistic subjects (1889) (14802963843).jpg

Identifier: americanartamer01mont (find matches)
Title: American art and American art collections; essays on artistic subjects
Year: 1889 (1880s)
Authors: Montgomery, Walter
Subjects: Art Artists Art
Publisher: Boston, E.W. Walker & co
Contributing Library: Smithsonian Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: Smithsonian Libraries

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Text Appearing Before Image:
Two Lovers by a Moss-grown Spring. Drawn by Taylor. The red light shone upon the floor, And made the space between them wide;They drew their chairs up side by side.Their pale cheeks joined, and said, Once more !O memories!O past that is ! That from the Mill on the Floss, showing Maggie and Stephen in the garden, has acharming old-fashioned flavor about it, — in the house behind them, in the flowers around, andin their dress; and the faces and action of the lovers are full of feeling. Maggie felt that she was being led down the garden among the roses, being helped with firm, 322 AMERICAN ART tender care into the boat, having the cushion and cloak arranged for her feet, and her parasolopened for her (which she had forgotten) — all by this stronger presence that seemed to bear heraloner without any act of her own will, like the added self which comes with the sudden exalt-in°- influence of a strong tonic, — and she felt nothing else. Memory was excluded.
Text Appearing After Image:
Stephen and Maggie. Drawn by Taylor. They glided rapidly along, Stephen rowing, helped by the backward-flowing tide, past theTofton trees and houses — on between the silent sunny fields and pastures, which seemedfilled with a natural joy that had no reproach for theirs. The breath of the young, un-wearied day, the delicious rhythmic dip of the oars, the fragmentary song of a passing birdheard now and then, as if it were only the overflowing of brim-full gladness, the sweet solitudeof a two-fold consciousness that was mingled into one by that grave untiring gaze which neednot be averted — what else could there be in their minds for the first hour? Some low, sub-dued, languid exclamation of love came from Stephen from time to time, as he went on rowingidly, half automatically: otherwise, they spoke no word; for what could words have been but aninlet to thought? and thought did not belong to that enchanted haze in which they were enveloped— it belonged to the past and the future th

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