The weekly Butte record., 1863-06-13
The Unknown Painter.

Murillo, the celebrated artist of Seville, often
found upon the canvass Of some one Of bis pu-
pills. sketches or experiments Of drawing, i'm
perfect and unfinished, bnt bearing the rich I'M
press of genius. They were executed during
the night, and he was utterly unable to copjec-
ture the author. One morning the pupils had
arrived before him, and were grouped before
an easel, uttering exclamatons of delighted
surprise, when SIurillo entered His astonish-
ment was quite equal to their own on finding
the unfinished head of the irgin, of exquisite
outline, with many touches of surprising beau
ty. He appealed first to one and then another
of the young gentlemen, to see if they could
lay claim to the choice but mysterious pro-
duction, but they returned a sorrowful negative
" He who left this tracery will one day be
master of US all. Sebastian y said he-a
youthful slave stood trembling before him
" who occupies this studio at night ?"
"No one but myself, senor."
"Well take your station here tonight, and
II
to this room thirty lashes shall be your reward
on the morrow"
He bowed in quiet submission and retired.
That night he drew his mattress before the
easel, and slept soundly till the clock struck
three. He then sprang from his couch, and
exclaimed, Three hours are my own, the
rest are my masters y He then seized pal
let, and took his seat at the frame, to erase
the work Of the preceding nights With
brush in hard to make the obliyio1s stroke,
he paused ." Oh those eyes" said he, they
pierce me through that blood will run from
those purple veins; l cannot. O, cannot
erase it! rather let me finish it,
He went to work and soon the slave. the
darkened brow, the child of toll and suffering,
are merged in a youthful spirit, rising from
the impetus of bis own deathless energies into
sphere of liberty and bright beauty.
A little coIoriug here, touch there, q
soft shade here > aud thus three hours rolled
UNDECIDED By. 20 those beaming eyes those
lips they viii speak and bless me my beau
tiful! O.. my beautiful "A slight noise
caused him to look up. Murillo with his
pupils stood around; the sunshine was peering
brightly through the easement, while yet the
unextinguished taper burned. Again be was
slave, and the spirits folded wings scarce
seemed to aatter. His eyes fell beneath their
eager gaze.
Who is your master. Sebastian ?"
You, senor."
Your drawing-master, mean p
You, senior"
Il have never given you lessons"
No; but you gave these young gentlemen
and heard them"
Yes. you have done better-you have
proffted by them. Does this boy deserve
punishman: or reward, M dear pupils p
Reward, senor,7 was the qaiek response.
What shall it be ?"
One suggested suit Of clothes. another a
sum Of money but no chord was touched IN
the captive's bosom. Another said,
ue master ieeiS hllGlE To-Day ask your
freedom. Sebastian
He sunk on bis knees, and groan Of an-
guish burst from him; he lifted his burning
eyes to his masters face, the freedom Of my
father =
The death-chill had passed from his heart
and be 5rsafbsd Murillo folded him to bis
bosom. Your pencil shows that ?ou have
talent, your request that you have heart
you are 10 longer ny slave. but my son =
Happy Mnrillo. have not painted but made
painter -
IL contemplating yoar misfortune, always
look beneath you-in thinking of your virtues
and wisdom, always look above you-thus