Bradford reporter. [volume] (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, 1859-08-04

gelo stood beside him, and lifting his head
gazed up with mild soft eyes towards heaven
murmuring Mother | am so lonely, and /
am starving" But a sudden glory dawned
n the bright eyes, the cheeks flushed as he
exclaimed proudly, will be great, mother !"
Angelo recognised the little lad of the cot
tage beside the mouu tain stream. The scuIp-
tor took up his chisel, bent over the marble
and the scene grew DINNER and DINNER till
Angelo could see no more.
Once again Angelo beholds lord Como, not
this time in a splendid hall and rejoicing in
youth, but a wretched old man tottering forth
from a low wine shop The boys laughed at
him as he staggered through the street to the
bridge, which a little way off, spanned dark
deep stream, which foamed wildly through the
narrow arches The wind blew the old mans
grey hair as he leaned against the parapet and
Angelo saw his head droop lower till his body
hung on the slender railing. The shepherd
boy tried to cry out and to rush forward to
save him, but giant hands held him back and
he could not move. Oh horror J the old man
falls over the parapet into the river and Aa-
gelo sees the grey hairs tossed wildly in a mad
eddy aud then they disappear, How pale is
the face under the thorn, and how dark the
tiny shadow of the thorn leaf!
Hush ! what does Angelo hear? What q
solemn chant, what grand organ anthem dy-
ing away in the sculptured arches of the Ca
thedral in which Angelo stands, aud how sad
the thousand worShippers are A body is
carried up the main aisle, and Angelo, as it
passes him, sees face which he remembers as
that of the lad in the cottage Bat the face
is marked with deep lines of care and the mas
Sive brow is icy cold and the eyes are fixed
But the corpse is at the altar and the Bishop
is speaking, Angelo listens.
He was born, my brethren" says the
Bishop, in cottage beside mountain stream.
He only knew his mother, and loved her with
his whole heart. She died, and for a while he
mournfully tended the flocks and then wander
ed away into this great city and became a dis
ciple of Art Slowly he learned but surely,
and at last he won fame, and yet when men
applauded and wondered, he never even smiled
One image was ever before his eyes, that of
his dead mother, and he resolved to Scul pture
her as he remembered her. One day he chose
q block of the finest, whiteSt marble and shut
himself up his studio 4 little girl attended
to his wants and there he toiled from early
dawn till twilight, and from out the marble
form. No royal robes hung round it, nought
but tattered mantle, and no crown encircled
the bending bead, but an angelic loveliness
rested, like halo, over the Sainted face AT
last it was finished and on the pedestal the
trembling hand, forever quiet yonder, carved
among ilnmortelIes, two simple words My
Mother y Yesterday his little attendant en-
tered the studio and there she found him, dead !
They whom she called discovered a singular
likeness between the sanity face, which bent
down cold in marble, and that of the scup ptor
turned upward, cold in death. Here my
brethren he lies, and there stands his mother,
as he imagined her, in the snowy marble y
Angelo turned and gazed at the spot to which
the Bishop pointed, and Eondrous fear came
on him, for the face in the marble was the face
of his own dead mother. Then the Bishop
continued, and Angelo with his whole soul
listened " He was, my brethren, man Of
sorrow and of poverty, but his mothers love
and heaven blessed genius were his, aud to-
day when his weary work is ended we meet to
mourn his death. But though the form be-
fore the altar returns to dust his name will
/ live forever; for yOnder queeny statue of his
cherished mother, viii carry her sons glory
down through all coming time"
The Bishop ceased, and Angelo seemed to
hear a low tender voice murmur down to him
from the lofty arches Angelo Angelo I!
the fruit of fame and glory grows ripest in
the land of poverty and sorrow, and wealth is
often but the path to an ignominious death Thou
wilt triumph The voice died away and on
Angeles ears fell the mellow cadence of a
distant bell, so naturally that he awoke Now
! reader you can guess why the smile Of triumph
was on his face, and why he carried little Car
issima so proudly and yet SO tenderly in his
arms and close to his bosom to the fold in the
valley. E.