Pomeroy weekly telegraph. [volume] (Pomeroy, Meigs County, Ohio) 1860-1866, 1860-06-26
NUMBER 25
THE LAST SKETCH.

Under this title, Thackery in his
CormhW Magazine; thus gloriously in
PRODUCES fragment from the pen of
Charlotte Bronette:
Not many days since, went to visit
house where, in former years, I had re-
ceived many friendly welcome. We
went into the oWner's-.an artist st's-stu-
dio. Prints; pictures and sketches;
hung onthe wall as had last seen and re-
membered them. The implements of
the painters art are there. The light
which had shown upon SO many, many
hours of patient and cheerful toll poured
through the northern window, upon
print and bust, figure and sketch, and
upon the easel, before which the good
the gentle the beloved Leslie labored.-
I In this room the busy brain had devised,
and the skillful hand executed, I know
not how many of those noble works
which have delighted the world With
their beauty and charming humor.-
Here the poet called up into pictorial
presence, and infused with life, grace,
beauty, infinite friendly mirth, and WON
drous naturalness of expression, the peo-
pie of whom his dear books told him the
stories-his Shakespeare, his Cervantes,
his Moliere, his LIE Sage. There was his
last work on the easel, beautiful, fresh,
smiling shape of Titania, such as his
sweet, guileless fancy imagined the
Midsummer Nights queen to be. Gra-
cious, and pure, and bright, the sweet
shifting image glimmers on the canvas.
Fairy elves, no doubt, were to have been
grouped around their mistress, in laugh
ing clusters. Honest Bottom grotesque
head and figure are indicated as reposing
by the side of the consummate beauty
The darkening forest would have grown
around them, with the stars glittering
from the midnight sky; the flowers at
the queens feet, and the boughs and To-
liage about her, would have been peo-
pied with sprites and fays. They were
dwelling in the artists mind, no doubt,
and would have been developed by that
patient, faithful, admirable genius, but
the busy brain stopped working, the
lskilful hand fell, lifeless, the loving,
honest heart ceased to beat.
What was she to have been-that fair
Titonia-when perfected by the patient
skill of the poet, who in his Imagination
saw the sweet innocent figure, and with
tender courtesy and caresses, as it were,
posed and shaped and traced the fair
form? Is there record kept anywhere
of fancies conceived, beautiful unborn2
Some day will they assume form ia some
yet undeveloped light? If our bad, un-
spoken thoughts are registered against
us, and are written in the awful account,
will not the good thought unspoken, the
love and tenderness, the pity, beauty,
charity which pass through the breast,
and cause the heart to throb with silent
good, find a remembrance too? a few
weeks more, and this lovely offspring of
the poets conception would have been
complete-to charm the world with its
beautiful mirth. May there not besome
sphere unknown to US, where it may
have an existence? They say our words,
once out of our lips, go travelling in
onsne oreuao, reverberating for ever and
ever. If our words, why not our
thoughts? If the has been, why not
the might have been? Some day our
spirits may be permitted to walk in
galleries of fancies more wondrous and
beautiful than any achieved works which
at present we see, and our minds to be-
hold and delight in master pieces which
: poets and artists minds have fathered
and conceived only.