Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1872-06-04
For the Spectator.

Mr.. Editor-Let me tell you of one of my
purest pleasures during a brief sojourn in Rich
mond, and recall
AN HOUR IN A STUDIO.
A neat inclosure secludes it from the city din.
We ring at the gate and are ushered into an
other and fairer scene than brick walls and
heated pavements. The scent of flowers d.
rects us to mass of bursting buds in nina
ture garden; unique rockery relieves the
centre, and around droop baskets filled with
graceful, fragile vines.
We enter the studio, flooded with sunlight
from skyght above, and as We gaze on its
sculptured treasures it seems like breath of
Italy waited over to practical America. A
strange incongruity of time and men appears.
Here, the old and the new meet Here the
Past and the Present clasp hands. Conspicu-
GUS amid group of busts stands Humboldt,
that intellectual giant who has given to the
world Cosmos. His right hand man is the
flower of cavaliers Stuart; and for nearest
neighbors be has Jackson, Mosby, Wise and
host Of Southern braves and statesmen, calling
up sad memories of that banner furled forev-
er" and the days when Virginia could boast of
aoise men not few. The Nations Ward Ia
brown statuette whose thick lips, woolly head
and cap awry proclaim his African descent)
grins at the ''Penitent Thief '-an exquisite
work whose upraised eyes, so full of agony and
mute entreaty, suggest at once the crucifxion
scene and that dying prayer, Lord, remember
me when Thou CONTEST into Thy kingdom"
Near by stands Christ, the ''holy Jesus,
Lord divine, pure type of the spotless Lamb
of God.
In niche we see an Amazon, with eye of
FIRE and disheveed locks, recalling those gentle
ladies of old who made war upon mankind with
more formidable weapons than smiles and
glances.
From dim, shadowy corners rise represen-
tatives of the dark and middle ages, reminding
us of bow empires rose and fel," how men
have played their parts in Lfe's drama, and
how the great drop curtain, DEATH must close
on ALL Here and there, like stray sunbeams,
little heads and tiny hands and feet softly tell
us of the angels in heaven and on earth.
In the centre of the room stands the master
piece-the great unfinished work-a recumbent
statue of our own matchless Lee-his majestic
figure stretched out to its full length, with N'the
drapery of his couch around him." A perfect
likeness of the warrior, but conquered by mans
''last enemy, Death" Every limb, every fea-
ture embodying perfect rest. No life, no
thought of motion, only death-death chiseled
every where. But here, | pause, for abler pens
than mine will tell of this grand conception,
which though immature, gives an earnest of its
future perfection.
Creator, from His works to the sculptor, whose
skillful hand can thus mould the shapeless clay
in the likeness of man, and breathe into it
Hope, Remorse, Joy. Grief and almost Life
Like Angelo of old, he sees the ''angel in the
stone," and imprisons his beautiful fancies in
the lifeless marble. God speed him in his no.
bic art May his falchion eye never dim, his
ardor never fail, his hand forget not its cum
ming till the work God gives him to do is fin
his fair creations to ennoble purify and cheer
his fellow mortals, so that Americans shall vie
with Virginians in immortalizing the genius of
Valentine. M. G. P.