In number three, "Will the Anchor Hold?" the artist has combined the emotions of fear and suspense with his pictorial art to thrill and interest. The water is green and the spray opalescent, for the sunlight is shining through the clouds, lighting up the fierce wave that dashes amidships over the vessel. This is a Lake Ontario schooner, caught in the gale. Her sails are old and one of them, the jib,-has gone to pieces at the first rude thrust of the tempest, and now hangs in tatters, flapping and slapping in the wind. The staysail is falling and a man forward is trying to stow it; the foresail is down, and other men are trying to get in the mizzen and stow it snug as soon as possible. The waves and wind have forced the vessel near the shore as is shown by the waves forming into breakers. The only hope of the crew is the anchor. This has been thrown

out. The natural question in every heart, as the chain creaks and strains and snaps to the dashing power of the angry waves, is: "Will the anchor hold?" It is interesting to learn from the painter that the inspiration for this picture was a scene that he actually witnessed, where, fortunately, during a long period of frightful suspense, the anchor did hold, and the vessel reached a port of safety.

In the painting itself there is a vividness about the water and the clouds which are heavy, thick, lowering and full of angry life, which led an eminent critic immediately he saw it to exclaim: "There, that 's what I call water, real, live, angry, surgeful water. No one can look at it and not feel the swing and go, the life and power, the dash and fierceness, the hope and despair of it all." The rush of water, though tremendous and awful, is inspiring; the boat hugs its anchor-chain

as if it knew its only safety lay in its staying power. One feels the mighty force of angry nature combatting the works of puny man. The whole composition of this picture is pleasing, the careening of the vessel; the wave dashing up to its masts; the curling over of the breakers; the movement of the clouds and waves; the active life in the sails and ropes. The coloring also is effective and fine. This painting now has a place in the gallery of R. A. C. Smith, Commodore of the New York Yacht Club.

In December or January, almost any cold, frosty day, when everything crackles and sparkles under the feet, any one of the residents of Hoboken coming over to New York in the ferryboat may see such a scene as Mr. Grant has painted in his "Safe in Port." The great transatlantic liner limping into port, days overdue, with rigging, smokestack, rails, bow and sides covered with ice, and smoke lazily creeping out of the stacks, tells her own story. She bears the scars of her battles with the elements. She creeps slowly along, seemingly glad of the aid of the tiny tug by her side. The fishing schooner to the right glides jauntily and saucily

along, while beyond is another small craft. To the left is a retreating ferryboat, leading the eye to the tall buildings of the metropolis beyond, which loom up mysterious, vast, peculiar in the hazy atmosphere. The strange color effects of water in the winter, on a foggy day, when the sun is struggling to shine, are well presented by Mr. Grant in this picture, and he has judiciously used the shadows to enhance them. At the distant pier we can readily imagine the assembled relatives eagerly awaiting the overdue vessel; the anxiety gone from their faces, relief and anticipation taking its place. To one who has either waited, or been waited for, this picture will especially appeal, and to anyone, the triumphant power of the great vessel, as it thus glides to its dock, gives a sense of glory in the marvelous achievements of man on the ocean.

"Passing the Light" is a picture of strong action and living interests. A fishing schooner under reefed mainsail, is beating her way through a fast increasing sea, past a dangerous reef, on which a lighthouse is placed. The scurrying clouds, the long sweep of the waves grow

Charles H. Grant, Pinx.

ing in their wildness, dashing over the starboard bow of the vessel, her hull glistening with the wet of the over-dashing waves, her lee-rail buried under the water, all speak of the strong conflict, in which, however, the boat, guided by intelligent man, will win.

In "At the Mercy of Neptune" the life and strength of Mr. Grant's work is perhaps most vividly set forth. Here a sturdy ship with sails set has been irresistibly battered to a rocky shore by the fierce attacks of wind and wave. Fate has seemed to fight against the gallant vessel. She has battled against overwhelming odds; her sails have been split, and now, tattered and shapeless ribbons, they flutter in the gale, speaking eloquently of the hopes of the men who once controlled the vessel's destiny. The flag

still flutters in the gale, appealing as it were for help to a rocky and pitiless shore. Where is the crew? No one is in sight. The ship is abandoned. Driven on shore in the now abating storm, there was nothing for the crew to do but seek to escape. Who can tell what has become of them? The long sweep of the engulfing waves that break in such fury over the apparently doomed vessel, however, show signs of speedy abatement. The wind, while still fierce, will give way to the gentler influences suggested by the incoming glints of sunlight, and though now evidently "At the Mercy of Neptune," there is about the uplifted prow, the light shining amidships, the taut sail that has weathered the storm, and the still flying flag, a feeling of hopefulness, of optimism, that clearly says the dawn will bring relief. In the general handling of the subject, Mr. Grant has had full exercise for his power and he has produced a living picture, and therefore one that will live.

In "Ship Off the Starboard Bow!" one loses so much of the power and force of the original painting that it is only by the exercise of some imagination that one can realize its strength and power from the reproduction. The conception is strong and realistic. A fishing schooner, in the afternoon of a somewhat foggy day, with foresail, mainsail, jib and square foretopsail set, on her way to the fishingground, with man aloft on the lookout, is suddenly aroused by the cry "Ship off the starboard bow!" In a moment all is excitement. The fog has compelled both vessels to go under shortened canvas, yet the crew of the little vessel know that in the vast, looming monster just

The

before them is destruction and death should she yaw the least to starboard. On both boats men run to and fro. wheel of the fishermen is thrown "hard down," and the captain calls out his orders while the men work the sheets. It is such events as this that make ship captains men of promptitude. Vessels go on, they neither stop nor wait. They make events quickly, and the men who guide them must think and act promptly, if they would avoid danger and possible death. The aim of the fishermen is to 'ware off, so the main and starboard braces of the foresail are immediately manned. The sheets of the mainsail are hauled in board. As she clears the oncoming monster, a cheer goes up from her crew, while the great vessel ploughs on, pushing her irresistible way through the waves.

It will be seen from these examples of Mr. Grant's work that he is not the painter of the quiet, the still, the calm of the sea. This mood, or poetic feeling of quiet, has not yet come to him; he is still in the full flush of fiery, active youth, when action, motion, force, power, life, appeal to him. With the exception of the ice-covered steamer "Safe in Port," which implies active strength in abeyance,

every picture is one of motion, of life, of action. We venture to prophesy that this active mood will continue in Mr. Grant for another decade or more, and then he will gradually begin to feel the softer and more quieting influences that reign on the ocean during a calm. Then he will become as powerful a depictor of the poetry and gentleness, as now he is of the motion, power and unrestrained activity, of the sea.

It should also be observed that all Mr. Grant's pictures, no matter what the scene, possess the glad optimism of youth in them. Even in such pictures as "Will the Anchor Hold?" or "At the Mercy of Neptune" you feel that all the chances are in favor of the vessels. There is nothing that denotes despair, or letting go, or faltering. This in itself is a good thing, both for the artist and his pictures. It is the optimism of healthful life that helps others, Pessimism at best is a poor prop to lean on in the day of trouble, and Mr. Grant is to be congratulated upon the fact that his optimism is natural and spontaneous, and, therefore, is communicated both to his pictures and those who see them.

GEORGE WHARTON JAMES.
Pasadena, Cal.

ex-President is

sued his momentous message on that subject to Congress, the affairs of Venezuela have attracted considerable attention on the part of the United States. It is, therefore, befitting to give a brief biographical outline of her most renowned son, General Bolivar, the liberator and Washington of the northern half of Spanish-speak

tial estimate of this remarkable statesman and military genius is extremely difficult, owing to the fact that his admirers idolized him as a deity and paragon of matchless virtue, while his many virulent enemies painted him in the blackest colors.

A more varied and tempestuous career than that of General Simon Bolivar can hardly be conceived. He was born in

GENERAL SIMON BOLIVAR, THE LIBERATOR OF NORTHERN SOUTH AMERICA.

Caracas, Venezuela, on the 24th of July, 1783. He was of distinguished ancestry on both his father's and mother's side. He inherited a princely estate and fortune. He went to Europe for his education, witnessed the coronation of the mighty Napoleon as king of Italy, visited as king of Italy, visited the Sacred Mount of Rome, where he solemnly vowed that he would deliver South America from the intolerable yoke of Spain, married, in 1809, a beautiful young lady, and then, as he was returning with her to his native country, saw her fall a victim to yellow fever.

The grief-stricken Bolivar henceforth became wedded to the cause of LatinAmerican liberty. He returned, after a brief stay in the United States, to Venezuela, and witnessed, on the 4th of July, 1811, at Caracas, the signing of the Venezuelan declaration of independence. He enlisted in the patriot army, under the venerable General Francisco Miranda, who at first gained some important victories over the Spaniards. Miranda, however, was a high-souled visionary and

fatally lacking in military capacity. Nature, moreover, conspired in favor of the royalists, for, on the 26th of March, 1812, the most frightful earthquake that ever afflicted northern South America shook the whole of Venezuela, completely destroyed Caracas and her other cities and caused ten thousand persons to perish. The fanatical priesthood did not fail to work upon the overwrought feelings of the people, with the result that thousands deserted the ranks of the insurgents and acknowledged again allegiance to the imbecile king Ferdinand VII. of Spain. A large Spanish fleet had also arrived with strong reinforcements of veteran troops. Finally, as a crowning catastrophe, a successful uprising of Spanish prisoners confined int he Venezuelan fortress and seaport of Puerto Cabello, the defence of which had been entrusted to Colonel Bolivar, rendered General Miranda's position so untenable that he was forced to conclude an honorable capitulation with the Viceroy Monteverde, by the terms of which safety and protection were guaranteed to all Venezuelans, and amnesty was extended to insurgents who should lay down their arms (July 29, 1812).

Bolivar, who reached the rash conclusion that Miranda was a traitor, resolved to arrest his venerable commander, which he accordingly did, aided by a few confederates, in the dead of night, while the unhappy general lay, at La Guayra, in a profound slumber. Miranda was thrown into Fort San Carlos where a Spanish officer, sent to take over the fort, found him next day and dispatched him to Monteverde. The latter, untroubled by any scruples of conscience, had him immediately transported to Spain, where he was loaded with chains and confined in a loathsome dark cell in Cadiz until death mercifully ended his sufferings in 1816. History has vindicated the name of this saintly martyr of Latin-American liberty, and justly condemned Bolivar for an act which must ever be a black stain upon the latter's character.