The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1864-03-17
Fine Art-.


ray, British Consul. She arrived here last
summer from Europe, where, at the great CEN
tiers of art, she has spent much time in study
ing in the line of her profession, and where
she has won a reputation that has placed her
at the head of one of the chief associations es-
tablished for the promotion OF painting in
London.
Her forte is undoubtedly in painting fig
ures. All her models are taken from life; and
the rounded forms, full eyes, and rich bru-
nette compilations of the daughters of Italy
and Spain, and the swart cavaliers and pic
turesque.old men of those countries, are the
subjects which have most attracted her pen
Gil.
But my object in this communication is
rather to call attention to work which she
recently finished, than to give biographical
notice Of the estimable lady herself. This
painting, which she entities "The Eleventh
Hour" represents swarthy, hard-featured
man, chained in a dungeon, with his hands Sc
cured behind him TO indicate the approach
fng hour of execution, while female figure
kneels at his side imploringly presenting
cruciix, from which he turns sternly away.
The strong relief of the figures, especially of
the man, in contrast with the sepuchral light
of the dungeon with its massy pillars and
mouldy walls dim but definite, the elaborate
does not interfere with effect, and the harmo-
ny of the coloring, are points patent to the
connoiseur, and which even the inexperienced
beholder connot fail to notice.
This painting has been sent to New York
for exhibition, where, if my information be
correct, it has been purchased on English ac-
count; so that the lovers of "the serene and
silent art of our city, may never again have
an opportunity of beholding it. 1t was some
three or four weeks ago that saw it; and in
the following colloquy have endeavored to
call to mind the story which 1t suggested to
me. But let me premise that in my admira-
ton of its general excellence, may not have
paid sufficient attention to its details, TO en-
list intended to convey. 1t may be that in rep
resenting the man as doomed to death for his
heretical opinions, and the female as his daugh-
ter, anxious for his spiritual welfare, have
drawn too largely on my own Imagination;
and that the one was intended Tor a convict of
baser nature, and the other for nun, or pos
sibly the convict's wife. But be this as it may,
it has nothing to do with the merits of the
painting:
The Eleventh Hour.
no
With tears and beseeching; by all you hold dear
On earth or in heaven, o, tnrn not away
lis the cross present you-no time for delay,
The minutes are flying, and soon from the tower
The horoge will number the terrible hour!
The church has its mercy as well as its power
with you girl time hastens; with me it seems
slow;
And what of your symbol of sorrow and woe,
Forever uplifted, in Gods stead adored-
Its hslpme.ts the scafold, the faggot and sword
All, daughter! all vainly the Nalarine died,
II he Lent but that type of oppre.s and pride,
The wrongs of The helpless and sad to deridep'
"Dear father the heaven DER the Arpo is blue
The trees in the sunlight flashing with dew;
The dim, purple App,a sever the sky
AS of old, and the mountain winds carrollingby
Are o'erladen with sweets; let me summons the
priest.
Recanr this dead heresy, and you may feast
On the gores of day from this dungeon released,
Released, gil! released A few moments shall ses
Indeed the lone prisoner forever set free,
Free, free as the winds that sweep the height
OF the Appeaines - free as this, mornings broad
light.
In realm whore no tribune of earth can controll
Ay the death of the clay give:h life to the soul;
And the scafrold bnt leads to this glorious goal'
'our home, dearest father, is smiling with Spring
There the summer birds, come again, lovingly sing
The eysium is browning with purple its eyes, 80
And iss quiet is charmed by the rustic of leaves;
But o, il is lonely since mother lay dead,
In her grief for thy loss her desolate bed.
Its rooms never sound to a visitors treadp'
Poor girl! sweet picture thy fancy recalls;
The Spring never reaches these desoate walls;
But around their grim pillars the rusty chains Irvine,
As if hooking the rose and the csmbering vine;
All else that reminds me of young leaves and bloom,
is painted by mould on these arches of gloom,
Which the brightest of summer suns never iiume
and what should all my convictions repel,
And gain fair home for this wearsome cell
And my sacrificed faith Can my jailors restore
The wife of my bosom from death as beforeg
IAN tnsS WIZ pacA tny sunny slstcr 10 snare
In its quiet and beauty? they repair
The health of my prime, wasted here in despair
NAY, nay! asa hereto doomed will die
Ere title or IT Of my mission deny!
Christ led for the truth-sake, why not as vol.
And, daughter ii chimes with their purposes fell,
Thus 10 send thee TO me with thy girlish belief
The las of my loved ones, to add to my grief;
But adeu! We must part. for my moments are brief
80, Danish me not, dearest father, away
o, Mother of God for the lonely one pray
But list! there are footsteps and bark, the old
tower
Shoulders down TO its base with the stroke of the
hour
y, God send us mercy and how the crowd roars
Far above, on the street! they beeaguer the doors
Like as waves when the tempest is shifting the
shoresr
LET them come. havo waited them long, and
grieve
For noughtI am sundered from, save that 1 leave
The last ofmy line without knsfolk guide,
To wander alone DER this wearisome wide;
But my jaiors are waiting-be faithful, be true,
Whatever the path thou art called to pursue
God bless thee! God keep theel Forever adieu,"
S.B. b.
Vsssf