DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62133#0031
BROWN JUGS.
15
cartoons, but not of their powerful drawing, not of their
beauty, their grace, and grandeur and richness of compo-
sition.
I wish you could have a glimpse of our two pretty little
sister bed-rooms, opening into the sitting-room with its
four windows, now that all is complete. We have taken
down various prints and paintings belonging to the people
of the house, and put up our own. Our bed-rooms have
pale green walls, and I have fastened up my Raphael
prints and my studies of colour from the National Gallery,
with one of Justina’s lovely water-colour landscapes, so
that when the door of the sitting-room stands open the
effect is pretty. You catch a glimpse of a writing table, a
pale green wall beyond, with a print of Raphael’s upon it;
an old-fashioned looking-glass in a gilt frame, hung high,
in German fashion; beneath it Justina’s Highland land-
scape, with its ruddy heathery foreground; on one side the
glass hangs a palette, and somewhat below a little white
porclain vessel for holy water, a sort of shell with a praying
angel above it. Our sitting-room is also arranged to the
best advantage, and ornamented with sundry of our own
sketches and Ettle works of art. Clare’s little bed-room
presents pretty much the same appearance when the door is
open, only that instead of my Raphael she has a clever copy
of a Rembrandt, and a Christus Consolator instead of my
Highland landscape. And then, to complete the picture, you
must imagine our chairs to have very dark pink damask
cushions, so that we get a little warm colour.
Very tired we were by seven o’clock, when, returning from
the studio, we took our coffee; but very thankful to
have everything, even to our clothes, in order. Very tired,
I leaned on our smart window-cushion in the window, and,
looking out into the wet street, saw a droll little object
wrapt up in shawls, head and body, emerge from a narrow
15
cartoons, but not of their powerful drawing, not of their
beauty, their grace, and grandeur and richness of compo-
sition.
I wish you could have a glimpse of our two pretty little
sister bed-rooms, opening into the sitting-room with its
four windows, now that all is complete. We have taken
down various prints and paintings belonging to the people
of the house, and put up our own. Our bed-rooms have
pale green walls, and I have fastened up my Raphael
prints and my studies of colour from the National Gallery,
with one of Justina’s lovely water-colour landscapes, so
that when the door of the sitting-room stands open the
effect is pretty. You catch a glimpse of a writing table, a
pale green wall beyond, with a print of Raphael’s upon it;
an old-fashioned looking-glass in a gilt frame, hung high,
in German fashion; beneath it Justina’s Highland land-
scape, with its ruddy heathery foreground; on one side the
glass hangs a palette, and somewhat below a little white
porclain vessel for holy water, a sort of shell with a praying
angel above it. Our sitting-room is also arranged to the
best advantage, and ornamented with sundry of our own
sketches and Ettle works of art. Clare’s little bed-room
presents pretty much the same appearance when the door is
open, only that instead of my Raphael she has a clever copy
of a Rembrandt, and a Christus Consolator instead of my
Highland landscape. And then, to complete the picture, you
must imagine our chairs to have very dark pink damask
cushions, so that we get a little warm colour.
Very tired we were by seven o’clock, when, returning from
the studio, we took our coffee; but very thankful to
have everything, even to our clothes, in order. Very tired,
I leaned on our smart window-cushion in the window, and,
looking out into the wet street, saw a droll little object
wrapt up in shawls, head and body, emerge from a narrow