The weekly democratic statesman. [volume] (Austin, Tex.) 1871-1883, 1877-05-31

lalQln- AT ner lett woman REGIMES
on chair. She has tainted the figure
is limp and lifeless, and gray death
shadows fit over her face. Beside her
stands her husband, who is doomed.
He holds her lifeless hand in his: the
other arm is thrown round his young
daughter, who clings to his breast with
her arms around him, and her piteous
face turned upward to his. On his
other side stands the man he loves best,
q tall man in a colonel's uniform. HIS
face is turned away, but his hand rests
on the doomed mans shoulder with q
firm grasp, that says better than all
words, "they are mine to protect when
you are gone" To the right, in the
background, stands another group
the fathers name is called. He is o d
and silver-haired, with sweet sim
plicity of face and quiet majesty of
mein. His aged wife leans on one
shoulder, a Madonna-faced daughter
on the other. How calmly and quiet
ly that face says, weep not for me
the bitterness of death is past" Be
low them sits young woman, with o
child lying on her lap. She is beauti-
full even in her desthly psllor, and her
whole being is convulsed NOT with
fear of death, but with one wild wall,
"oh, Godl who will care for baby?"
Another group Is sitting near them-a
young husband, wife and babe. She
looks down upon the child, but he
gazes upon her. He holds her hands :;
his face is strong and grand, and he
entrests her to be strong, to live for
their child. Standing in the centre of
these groups is perfect Madame Ro-
land-tall, gueenly and lovely-with a
halo of golden hair, and proud,
scornful, defiant face. She gazes with
devouring intensity upon the man of
doom. She is listening for 4 name
not her own, it would bring no paug tc
hear that but one dearer than her
soul. She is faint with the anguish of
suspense, but yet how grspdly she
filings from those glorious eyes con-
tempt, disdain and proud defiance
upon his murderers. At the extreme
right corner sits man in captains
uniform, with the cold, contemptuous
defiance, the Iiotous passions held hard
in curb, the reckless life and dark his
tory ola Royston Keene written on his
face. Half way across the canvas
stands the woman who loves HIM,
g not wisely, but too we'll" She is an
aristocrat, but not pure woman-the
"trail of the serpent is upon that
darby beautiful face. He looks stead
lily away from her, with dark reck-
hot Aat oil
bis hosts" She is not looking at him,
but clings to pillar, and gazes with
face of mingled rage and terror at
leerng, horrible face, crowned by
Jacobin cap, that is peerlng in at the
grated window, and pointing with the
exultation of devil at his bitter foe,
"the cool captain" whom his evil
dence has doomed. Yet, notwith-
standing its boundless pathos and
tragedy, the picture has not one fea-
ture from which the soul revolts; and
it is even almost redeemed from sad
ness by the lofty enthusiasm, the calm
resignation, the matchless bravery and
total absence of all fear upon every
face. The artist was born arstocrat,
and wrote upon his canvas deathless
tribute to his order. Looking upon
those calm, proud faces, that no tcrrors
could blanch, into those eyes from
whose serene depths no mighty engine
of death could draw tear, the
thought springs involuntarily to the
lips-beside the shining waters of
the other Shore" where factions are
no more forever, where aristocrat and
republican stand side by side, where,
among all "the noble army of mar
tyrs" could be found such meet COM
panions for that sublime company who
sprang to arms in response to the i'm
mortal mandate of Barbaroux, Send
me six hundred men who know how to
die" LIDE.