The southern enterprise. [volume] (Greenville, S.C.) 1854-1870, 1855-04-06

ana palSleu HinDS, ana teetI yHasiliHS IOScth-.
er, stand gazing on the form Of his murder
cd friend. The bearers now laid their sad
burden on the bed, dispaeing dark man
tie as they did so. Had the fresh blood drops
staining its folds been there previously =? or
had they fallen from the dying man they
lifted him to the couch sa..
And now Domenico took the cold and
trembling had of Castano, and feebly but
tenderly pressing it, said to him in broken
accents-brokcn not by his own groans, but
by those that every moment burst from his
pupil There is no hope. | know not
whence came the blow. l had no enmity
to any one, though had no friendship for
any but you, dear Castano! did not know
that you loved me so much. But | must
not waste breath. This box contains my
will, and in it is my secret ask you only
to finish this-my last picture. Pledge your
self that this shall be done tomorrow"
Castano spoke not, moved not. His whole
attitude, his every feature. told not of
grief, but >desolation and despair All night
he sat by that couch, and they that saw him
wondered. Surely" they said, Never was
son so heart struck by the loss of the most
tender father" 1t was relief to turn
J
fearless eyes to the countenance of the dying
man.
And thus is it in most of such cases, The
evil strength that sustains in the commission
of the crime suddenly fails, and leaves the
criminal prey to remorse and fear. A hor-
riblc dread had taken hold of Castano: a
fear not ofman but of God-not of death
but of Judgment. Death was dealing with
Dcmenieo his murderer was dealing with
his concience, and his God.
| Domenco fingered until the middle of
the next day, and then expired without pain
or struggle in the arms of the heir of his Sc
cret That very day, to the surprise of all
Castano set to work with vehement energy,
and the picture was finished with colouring
of extraordinary richness and brilliancy, and
of tho same consiStence and durability as that
of the master. The longing desire of his
soul was gratitied, the one object, and the
price he had paid He had murdered his
friend that he might put oil few years soon
er in his coourng.
The shout from the pupils whom he had
assembled, as they supposed to exhibit TO
them the proof that he was indeed master
of the secret, for which they knew not that
ne ii"d DaiI suSIi ~ price, WIS huslcu ihto 81
dead silence as they gazed upon him. In
stead of the triumphant glance of successful
art, they met the despairing look of that
sunken eye; instead of the cheerful accents
fhope of future unchecked progress, they
heard the hollow tones in which he told them
his work was forever ended, his purpose for
yer broken off; and instead of proud scfgrat-
ulation and naughty consciousness of being
their master, and henceforth unrivalled amid
his cotemperaries, there came confession of
his wrctchedness and guilt, and solemn
warnings to belief of exceptional exemption
the universal and immutable law Of God in
in fancied popularity of individual circum-
stances. 81 succeed in deceiving myself, hut
God is not mocked and this hand can never
again hold a pencil; or mix n colour. But
he continued, 81 will not tempt you as was
tempted the secret shall he yours" And
he instantly read for them Domenieo's will
And thus it is that the artists cherished Sc,
cret, the secret Of painting in oils the art Of
staining indelibly, has from palette to pal
ette been transmitted to us, often to the
great detriment Of canvas. as well rs clothes