1831.3 Passages from the Life of Frederick Wellburg. 643 



which seemed to mingle the fondness of a mother's heart with the hal- 

 lowed feeling of a heavenly triumph ; and the child — oh, he was exqui- 

 sitely beautiful ! The painter seemed to have caught an inspiration 

 from some blissful revelation ; and he wrought as if he feared that the 

 light which had shone down upon his spii'it would paes away, and leave 

 him to the darkness of an earthly nature. And the light was passing. 

 Day by day he saw it waning ; and now he only feared that, even 

 before he had imparted its spirit to his work, the last spark would die 

 away ; for he felt that upon its presence was alone depending the impulse 

 which had raised him from the abjectness of mere sensation to the con- 

 sciousness of his invaluable possession — a soul instinct with the creative 

 power of genius. That light was the beauty which had shed its hal- 

 lowing influence around his habitation ; and of which the presence of 

 its destroyer. Death, had first told him the inestimable value — Adeline. 

 He gazed upon her haggard features ; and her frame worn down by 

 weariness, and watching, and soiTow ; and the beauty, which stiU lin- 

 gered round the ruined shrine, was transferred to the glowing canvas, 

 with a feeling which said — " This — this, at least, shall not die \" Yes — 

 she was his IMadonna ; and her child — its livid, wasted featiu*es, and 

 the death-moan, which sounded shrill and harsh upon his ear, seemed 

 to warn him of his passing power ; and he caught a deeper, purer feel- 

 ing of their beauty, as he knew that it must soon be his no more. 



She had laid her child upon his bed, and she now stood by Wellburg's 

 side and watched the progress of his work, A smile beamed upon her 

 features ; and as she laid her thin arm upon his shoulder, and gazed 

 with a look of proud emotion upon the painting, and then upon his face, 

 the expression which beamed from her rich dark eyes was exquisitely 

 touching. " Said I not there was hope ?" she asked, in a low sweet 

 voice — " said I not so, Wellburg }" The painter clasped her slight 

 frame with a fond pressure to his breast ; but he answered not, for he 



felt that to them hope had come too late. 



***** 



He stood and gazed with a mournful pride upon his finished work. 

 He felt that the last triumph of his art was accomplished, and that her 

 light, which had shone down upon his spirit, was now but a feeble 

 ghmmer. One beloved image had passed away from his dwelUng ; and 

 the other — he knew too well that she also was about to depart. A thin 

 damp hand was placed within his own, and drew him gently towards 

 a bed in the corner of the apartment. She lifted up the white coverlet, 

 and, as she held the taper in her trembling grasp, they gazed together — • 

 he and the dying mother — they gazed upon the pale and placid features 

 of their dead child. — "Does he not sleep sweetly, WeUburg — oh, does 

 he not .'' And, now — look upon me — we shall sleep together !" 



G. J. 



