Civilian & telegraph. [volume] (Cumberland, Md.) 1859-1875, 1864-02-25
MISCELLANEOUS.
The llnkn0Mn Painter

MurlllO, the celebrated aust OF Seville
often found, upon the canvass of some
one of his pupils, sketches or specimens
of drawing, imperfect and unfinished, but
bearing the impress of genius. They
were executed during the night, and he
was utterly unable to conjecture the au-
thor. One morning, the pupils had ar
rived at studio before him, and were
grouped before ali easel, uttering oxcla-
nations of delighted surprise, when Mu-
rillo entered. His astonishment was
equal to their own on finding an unfinish-
ed head Of the Virgin of exquisite out
line, with many touches of surprising
beauty. He applied t" one and then to
another of the young gentleman; to see if
they could lay claim to the choice but
mysterious production, but they returned
sorGowful negative.
"He who has left this tracery will one
day be master of us all. Sebastian -
said he-a youthful slave stood trembling
before him-'.who occupies this studio
at night I"
I" No one but myself senor."
"Well, take your station here to-rig ght
and if you do not inform me of the mys-
tie. ious visitant Of this room, thirty lashes
shall be your reward on the morrow"
He bowed in quiet submission and re-
tired. That night he threw 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" He then seized a pal
lctte, and took his seat at the frame, to
erase the work Of tie proceeding night.
With brush in hand, 20 make The oblvi-
Gus stroke, he paused. Oh, those eyes, F"
said he, " they pierce me through rather
let me finish it."
He went to work and soon the slave
the darkened brow-the child of toll
and sufering-are merged into the youth
full spirit, rising from the impetus of his
own double energies, into gladsome
sphere of liberty and brightest beauty.
A little corloring here, and touch
there-a soft shade here; and thus three
hours rolled unheeded BY.
"Oh, those beaming eyes; those lips
-tACy WILL spCoh DicSo luc NIy
beautiful-oh, 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 un-
extinguished taper burned. Again he
was slave, and the spirits folded wings
scarce seemed to flutter. His eyes fell
beneath their eager gaze.
"Who is your master, Sebastian 2"
You, senor."
"You, senorY'
81 have never given you lessons"
"No; but you gave them to these
young gentleman, and l heard them"
eyes, you have done better-you have
profted by them. Does this boy deserve
punishment or reward, my dear pupils 2"
" Reward, senor-reward," was the
quick response.
"What shall it be Z"
One suggested suit of clothes--anoth-
q sum Of money. but no chord was touch
ed in the captive's bosom. Another said
The master feels kinly to day-ask
your freedom, Sebastian"
He sank on his knees, and groan of
anguish 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 he breathed. Murilla folded
him to his bosom.
Your pencil shows that you have
talent-your request shows that you have
heart; you are no longer slave, but
my son. Happy Murillo! 1 have not
painted, but made painterp'
There are still to seen in classic Italy
many beautiful specimens from the pen
cils Of Murillo and Sebastian.
Is there not voice fraught with sweet
eloquenee from this little story, penetrat-
ing to the sanctuary Of the heart and
awakening its sensibilities Is there not
between the circumstances and trials Of
our little hero and the events that some
times occur in the carer of Christian,
an impressive and truthful analogy?