The weekly Butte record., 1863-12-26
The Unknown Painter.

some one of his pupils sketches or spec
linens of drawing, imperfect and unhn|
ished, but bearing the rich impress o1
genius. They were executed during
the night, and Re was utterly unabl|
to conieeture their author. One mornl
ing the pupils had arrived at the STUDIO
before him, and were grouped before al
easel, uttering exclamati9ns of delight
ed surprise when Morillo entered. Hill
astonishment was equal to their own o1
finding an unfinished head of the virgil
of exquisite outline. with many touchc|
of surprising beauty. He appealed
first to one and then another of thl
young gentlemen, to see if they cold la]
claim to tie choice but mysterious pro|
duction, but they returned sorrowfd
negative.
"He who has left this tracery will
one day he master of US all. Seba]
tian,' said he to youthful slave VIII
stood trembling before him-''who od
cupies this studio at night p
"No one but myself, senor."
"Well, take Your station here I'd
night, and if you do not inform me q
the mysterious visitant of this room
thirty lashes shall be Your reward .
the morrow
He bowed in quiet submission an
retired. That night he threw his blar
ket before the easel and slept soundl
until the clock struck three. He the
sprang from his couch and exclaimed
Three hours are my own: the rest al
my masters! - lie seized a pallet
and took his seat at the frame to eraS
the work of the preceding night. VIII
brush in hand to make the oblious strok|
he paused.
"Oh, those eyes" he said, they pierd
me through; the blood will run frol
those purple veins-I cannot, | cannd
erase it; rather let me finish it,
He went to work-and soon the slay
the child of toll and suffering-ai
merged into the youthful spirit, risir
from the impetus of his own double el
ergies into gladstone sphere of brigh
est beauty. A little coloring here, ar
a touch there--a soft shade here AMI
thus three hours rolled unheed ly.
"Oh, those beaming eyes. those liz
they will speak and bless me! M
beautiful-oh my beautiful"
A Slight noise caused him to look u
Murillo with his pupils stood around
the sunshine was peering brightly thr'
the easement ; while the yet unextil
guished taper burned. Again he w
a slave, and the spirits folded wind
seemed to futter. His eyes fell beneat
their eager gaze.
"Who is your master, Sebastian 2
"You, Senor p
''Your drawing master, mean -
''You, Senor."
Il have never given you lessons"
"No; but you have given them
these young gentlemen and | hear
them
eyes, you have done bctter-yd|
have profted by them. Does this bo /
deserve punishment or reward, my dea
pupils y
"Reward! senor-reward p was til !
quick response.
"What shall it be 2"
One suggested suit Of clothes-ar
other sum of money; but no cord wa
touched in the captiye's bosom. An
other said: "The master feels kindl /
to-day-ask your freedom, Sebastian.
He sank on his knees, and groan
anguish burst from him. He lifted hi
burning eyes to his masters face i
"The freedom of my father !"
The death chill had passed from hi
heart, and he breathed. Murillo folde'
him to his bosom, "Your pencil show
sha. you have talent nt-your request tha
you have heart; You are no longer i
slave, but my son. Happy Murillo; |
have not only painted, but made pain
tar"
There are still to be seen in CLASSIC
I I