. Spectacles for young eyes : Boston. ill I am able to carry on the farm,and then I shall go home to live. Wont youpromise to come and see me there ? 0 yes ! she said, gleefully. That would MUSEUM. 181 be so pleasant. Then perhaps I can see a mer-maid,— and she laughed. And I love thecountry! You have promised to show me howtlie sun sets there behind the hills, whore themoon comes up out of the sea. I should lika tosee that! You will promise, Jeanie ? I said, anxiously. Yes, I will promise ; I want to see some ofthe odd customs and the funny things I liaveheard you telling tlie boys about
. Spectacles for young eyes : Boston. ill I am able to carry on the farm,and then I shall go home to live. Wont youpromise to come and see me there ? 0 yes ! she said, gleefully. That would MUSEUM. 181 be so pleasant. Then perhaps I can see a mer-maid,— and she laughed. And I love thecountry! You have promised to show me howtlie sun sets there behind the hills, whore themoon comes up out of the sea. I should lika tosee that! You will promise, Jeanie ? I said, anxiously. Yes, I will promise ; I want to see some ofthe odd customs and the funny things I liaveheard you telling tlie boys about. I will prom-ise ! — and she ran in, leaving me wonderingwhether slie would go or not. \Yould you, ifyou were she ? CHAPTER XIII ATHENiEUM. CLUB HOUSE. HOME. My dear fellow, I said one morning toJames, why cannot you ever find time to goto the Athenaeum Gallery with me ? Do you really care about those stupidthings? he answered. I will go with youthis very morning. The light is better for thepaintings at this time. Let us go now!. And so we went. It is a fine, handsome build-ing, of freestone, several stories high. The en- THE 183 trance forms a large liall, and in the first door isthe Statuary Gallery. James paid our admission fee of twenty-fivecents to a still, silent young girl seated by thedoor, and I walked in, struck by the beauty ofthe statues. Tlie fir^t I saw was a tall youthshading his eyes with his hand. This, I thought,moved as I looked at it. What is it, James? I exclaimed. Whatis this ? Ho is alive. That is Crawfords Orpheus, he replied. He is looking down into the infernal regionsin search of his wife, who was carried away l)yPluto. It is a mythological story. Crawfordwas the finest sculptor of this country. It is a beautiful piece of work. Is that thereason, James, that they have so many of thesestatues from mythology, — because they makethem handsomer than real men and womenare ? Tiiat is ingenious, Jolm ; I never thouglit ofthat reason before
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