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MORAN, THOMAS. Born at Bolton, England, January 12, 1837; came to America, 1844; National Academician, 1884; still living in New York City. KENSETT, JOHN FREDERICK. Born at Chester, Connecticut, March 22, 1818; in Europe, 1840-44; National Academician, 1849; died at New York City, December 16, 1872.
Durand also had a disciple, more famous than Cole's, in Frederick Kensett, the best known of the so-called Hudson River school. He was a close follower of Durand in believing that nature should be literally rendered, but he missed the truth of the older man by working in his studio from drawings and sketches, instead of in the open air direct from his subject.
Kensett was in danger; these two fond children were continually bringing offerings to her shrine, flowers, choice fruit, new books, wherever they went they remembered her. It was an altogether new and delightful life that she had entered upon. With Marian she visited charitable institutions, dispensed bounties read the Bible to the sick and poor, and ministered comfort to many a distressed soul.
Then the dismal winter settled down upon them, monotonous days of sleet and snow and darkness, when nothing happened from week to week to break the dreary routine, when even the Sabbaths brought no relief. Mrs. Kensett had ever been an untiring church goer; rain or shine, she was in her place.
I only wish to go away away somewhere and find out what my name is. "'Your name is Harold Kensett. "'Are you sure? I asked, eagerly. "'Yes what troubles you? "'Is everything plain to you? Are you a sort of prophet and second-sight medium? Is nothing hidden from you? I asked. "'Nothing, she faltered. My head ached and I clasped it in my hand. "A sudden change came over her.
Kensett was still looking for Benjamin's wife to appear in the shape of a cold, grim person of imposing appearance, wearing gold eye-glasses when suddenly the toasting-fork was dropped, and with a low cry of joy Marian sprang into her husband's arms; then, without waiting for formal words of introduction, clasped loving arms about the tired mother, and nestled a rosy face close to hers, and gave her warm clinging kisses, such as are reserved only for our best beloved.
May the time hasten when the Frenchmen who put on canvas their Cupids poorly clad, and the Germans who hang up homely Dutch babies in the arms of the Virgin Mary and call them Madonnas, shall be overruled by the artists who, like Kensett, make their canvas a psalm of praise to the Lord of the winds and the waters!
We saw the Academy, and, oh, Curt! there are some very striking landscapes two by Gifford; and the cutest portrait of a girl by Wiyam Hunt. And your friend Bierstadt has a Western scene all fireworks! and, dear, Eastman Johnson was there and Kensett sent such a cunning little landscape. We lunched at Taylor's." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Ailsa did look too cute fo' words.
The young man's voice grew hushed and solemn, and he lifted his hand in silence: "Close the door. That meeting is not for the eyes of the world! Close the door upon that sacred scene where great-aunt and nephew are united at last." A long pause followed; deep emotion was visible in Miss Barrison's sensitive face. She said: "Then you are married?" "No," replied Mr. Kensett, in a mortified voice.
"'Stop him! I cried, in terror. "'Presto! Presto! shouted the professor, balancing himself on the edge of his chair and waving his arms majestically, as if preparing for a sudden flight across the Scheldt; and, firmly convinced that he not only meditated it, but was perfectly capable of attempting it, I covered my eyes with my hands. "'Are you ill, Mr. Kensett? asked the girl, quietly.
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