THE OLD HAI.PER'S TREASURE

tlemanly bearing, which not even poverty and distress could conceal. He was glad to go with her to the studio-anything to earn a few pennies, and here he entered into a new life. One thing Miss Tonnesen sought for to bring into those eyes "memories that bless and burn." With the children of the studio he became a great favorite, calling them his "birdies," and all the hopelessness of his darkened life seemed dispelled by his affection for them. But his eighty years bore heavily upon him, and he soon passed away without any known relatives. The most pathetic part came with the first publication of his wonder

ful pose. A gentleman from Seattle wrote Miss Tonnesen for a copy of the picture, saying: "He was my father, whom I have not seen for thirty years."

Good Night, a sweet picture of childhood, is serene in its simplicity and

naturalness. The little girl who posed for this picture is one of Miss Tonnesen's most tireless models, but her little thoughts were troubled at one time. When she was younger, it was desired to have a pose of a Mother and Child. Her own mother not being of the style of beauty desired, another lady was substituted. To this the young person objected, and cried so lustily that the attempt was given up and she was taken home. But remorse overtook her and she declared, "Mamma, if you will take me back, I would sit on a colored woman's lap." After this experience, Miss Tonnesen knew she could not patch up a Mother and Child picture, but must find one in which both types of beauty were perfect, an exceedingly difficult task. After nearly a year of fruitless search she was rewarded, for on boarding a street car to go home one night she

found herself opposite a woman and child, plainly dressed but of remarkable unconscious beauty, which attracted the attention of nearly every passenger. Although supperless and hungry, Miss Tonnensen determined to follow the pair until she should have an opportunity of speaking to the mother. The car went far out into the suburbs before the mother with the child arose to leave. Miss Tonnensen followed, only to see the woman get a transfer and board another car. Undaunted, she also took a transfer and continued the journey, to where, she knew not. When the opportunity at last came for Miss Tonnesen to introduce herself and make the request, it was gladly granted, and she was taken to the cozy home and given a cup of tea before beginning her trip back, showing the true motherliness of the mother.

Take It All! is the result of an idea conceived by Miss Tonnesen after retiring for the night. She immediately arose. and lighting the gas, sketched her idea on paper in order to have it in the morning. Many unsuccessful attempts were made before the picture was satisfactory. The cat, which appears so delightedly to lick up the spilled cream, was a difficult model to handle. The strange surroundings frightened it, and the bowl of cream seemed too good to be true.

In making her different pictures, Miss Tonnesen has covered a wide range of expression. She has limited herself to one hundred and fifty sittings a year, because she believes that this is all she can give proper thought and attention. It may be truly said that Miss Tonnesen's pictures carry that sentiment and feeling that mark a great artist's work.

IT

T was three weeks to the date of the Spanish coronation, whither several of us were bound, and the steamship had left us at Gibraltar, within sight of the Spanish frontier. Obviously there was a week to spare, and the English military post would hardly suffice to consume that time.

"If you've never been to Africa, there's a boat sailing for Tangier tomorrow," suggested an artillery officer. "She's something of a tub when one is just off an ocean liner, but the trip is worth the taking."

So in the morning we took the Tub for Tangier; a very decent sort of a craft

It

in fair weather, but a rather moist one in a head wind and a driving rain. had not looked like a storm at Gibraltar, and we had dressed ourselves for "Afric's sunny clime" rather than for the weather that set in. But this was not the fault of the boat.

The Tub had a tiny upper deck for the first class passengers and a sardine box cabin for their use below. The former boasted an awning and half a dozen camp chairs, and although the rain came through as though the canvas were a seive, the place was, on the whole, preferable to the cabin, which became packed to suffocation, and had a fringe of

"A narrow street leads up to the city."

sick Arabs along the outside.

For three hours we huddled under two umbrellas, and talked of other things. At times we were even cheerful.

The son of a Basha on the deck below had volunteered the information that whatever the weather might be at sea, it would be fair, in Morocco; and he was quite right, for when the Tub finally anchored within the bay, the sun came out and there was blue sky over the city and the green African hills.

And what a city for an artist is Tangier! It rises above the sea in true barbaric form and color; forts and mosques and stone built dwellings, in cobalt and pink and grayish green above the predominating yellowish white-a fascinating city, in that it seems without law or order, and yet is respectful of the white man's rights.

There is a long pier at which the steamers might land their passengers, but as this would injure the business of the Arab boatmen, it is still necessary to disembark by small boat. Then one walks down the pier to the customs house.

I have crossed many frontiers with

varied experiences, but never have I found a more interesting official than he who sat upon a straw mat among the baskets of dates and the sacks of merchandise, at the seat of customs under the wall of Tangier. He was very fat, and wore spectacles beneath his white turban; a squatty figure in flowing robes, who must have been jostled many times that day by the mules crowding through beneath the gate. With a weary wave of his hand he motioned us through, perhaps conscious that our luggage had been soaked by the rain, and therefore not desirous of hearing our lamentations when it was opened.

Beneath the gateway a narrow street, paved with slippery stones, leads up to the city. Horsemen coming down it claim the right of way; water carriers drive their mules on either side with loud cries of "Baalek;" Moors and Jews and Spaniards elbow one another and push the beggars from their way. There are no cabmen in the city, and the stranger enters it on foot.

It seems to me that the charm of Tangier is in its apparent irresponsibility. There is a well ordered European colony on one of the hills, and the villas in the gardens beyond the town, but the city itself is haphazard, and hundreds of years behind the times. In the Grand Soco, the great market place just outside the walls, the scene is one of true African animation when the camel trains have come in from the desert, and the pack mules have been driven in from the hills.

Families camp and prepare their meals beside the kneeling caravans; merchants barter and bargain for their wares; story tellers recite, with dramatic gestures, Arabic tales to a widening circle of hearers; snake charmers offer their tongues to serpents amid the tumtum of accompanying drums; swordsmen from the plains fight for plaudits of their friends; truly, a varied, barbaric scene, set with an outer fringe of shelter tents,