Juliet signal. [volume] (Juliet [i.e. Joliet], Ill.) 1844-1???, 1863-08-18
The UnknotSn Pail.Ier.

Muriilo, the celebrated artist of Seville,
often found upon the canvass Of some one
Of his pupils, sketches nr experiments Of
drawing. imperfect and unfinished, hut
bearing the rich impress Of genius. One
morning the pupils had arrived before him
and were grouped before an easel, uttering
ordinations Of delighted surprise when
Murillo entered. His establishment was
quite equal to their own on finding the I'M
finished head Of the Y irgin, of exquisite
outline, with many touches % surprising
beauty. lie appealed first to one ami then
another Ofthe young gentlemen, to see if
they could lay claim to the choice but mvs-
terious prodUctiCE, but they returned
aorrowful negative. He who left this
tracery will one day be naster'Of rs ALL
Sebastian 2 said he-a youthful slave stood
trembling before him-'who occupies this
studio at nlghtH'
'N0rone but myself, senior . -
We'll, take your station her tonight,
and If yOu do not inform of the mysterious
Visitant n this room, thirty lashes shall be
your reward on the morrow
lie bowed in QuieS submission and re-
tired. That night he drew his mattress be-
fore the easel, and slept soundly till the
clock suuck thFee.f lie then spraDg from
his couch and exclaimed; Three hours are
my own, the rest are my master'sn He
then seized pallet, and took his seat at
the frame, to erase the work Of the pre-
ceding nights. With brush in hand to
make the ChliviOus stroke, ne paused: oh
those eyes, said he, they pierce me
through that blood will run from those
purple veins; | cannot, o, | cannot erase
il 4! rather let me finish IT.
He went to work; aud soon the slave.
the darkened brow, the child of toll and
suffering; are merged in youthful spirit,
Tiring from the impetus of his own death
less energies into sphere Oc liberty and
bright beauty.
"A little cOlOring here, a touch there,
soft shade here;' aud thus three hours roll
ed uhbeadei by. o those beaming eyes |!
those lips they will speak and bless me !
my bedutifuP'-a slight noise caused him
to look up. MurillO with bic pupils stood
around. the sunshine was peering bright
ly through the easement, WhIie vet the I'M
extinguished teper burned. Aagain he
was slave. and the spirits folded wings
scarce seemed-tO hutter. " He, eyes fell be-
meath their eager gaze.
Who is your master, Sebastian p
You, senOl.
Your dra wing master. mean p
You, senor.'
have never given you lessonP .,-
mo; but you gave these young gentle
men and heard them
Yes you have done better-you have
prO6sed by them, Does this boy deserve
punishment or reward, my dear puFis?'
Reward, SeuOr,' was the quick re-
spouse.
What shall it be?'
Que suggested a suit of clothes, another
sum OF muney; but DO chord was touched
in the captive's bosom. Another said,
The master feels kindly to-day; ask
your freedom, Sebastian .r
He sank on his knees, and groan of
anguish burst from him; he lifted his burn
ing eyes to his masters face, the freedom
Of my fatherp
The death-chill had passed his heart and
be bTeGthed. Murillo folded him to his
bosom. Your pencil shows that you have
talent, your request that you have heart
You are no longer my slave bat ny son.
Happy Murillo have not PAINTED bu,
made q psnter.