“‘For this poor soul had wandered,
Bleeding and barefooted, over the shards and thorns of existence.’
Her deep repose is not so much slumbering as like one in a trance. In the marble this is shown exactly by her attitude, as though she had dropped from utter weariness; her drapery hangs heavily about her, and still more heavily falls her hand; the whole figure is expressive of deep rest—almost painful it would be but for the beautiful face, lighted up by ‘the thought in her heart’ that her lover is near, and that
“‘Through those shadowy aisles Gabriel had wandered before her,
Every stroke of the oar now brings him nearer and nearer
(Now she slept beneath the cedar-tree).
Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumber’d beneath it;
Fill’d was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven
Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial.’
Very beautiful she is; and, as I gazed upon her, I seemed to hear the dash of Gabriel’s oar, as he glided along behind ‘a screen of palmettos,’ unseeing and unseen, and was ready to exclaim,
“‘Angel of God, is there none to awaken the maiden?’”
Another work by Miss Lander is “Elizabeth, the Exile of Siberia,” a spirited yet feminine figure, “very pretty in its picturesque costume—the short cloak, Russian boots, and closely-fitting cap.”
This gifted young artist has finished a statuette of “Undine.” It is a drooping figure, with expression full of sadness, just rising from the fountain to visit earth for the last time. The base of the fountain is surrounded by shells forming water-jets; Undine is in the central one, and the drapery falls from her hand into water as it drops. She has also finished a “Ceres Mourning for Proserpine.” The goddess is leaning upon a sheaf of wheat; her hands and head are drooping, as if she were planning her daughter’s escape. “A Sylph,” just alighted—an airy, floating figure, her puzzled attention fixed on a butterfly—is another of Miss Lander’s creations.
MARY WESTON.
The history of this lady illustrates the development, amid unfavorable circumstances, of that self-reliant energy which often forms a marked characteristic of the natives of New England. The spirit of independence, when joined, as in her case, to feminine gentleness and grace, is ennobling to any woman, and its working is both interesting and instructive.
Mary Pillsbury was born in Hebron, New Hampshire. Her father was a Baptist clergyman, holding the strictest tenets of Calvinism. In her humble home among the mountains, though surrounded by nature’s wild beauty, the child found nothing to suggest to her an idea of what art could accomplish. Nevertheless, she saw objects with an artistic perception, and loved especially to study faces. When taken to church, she would sit gazing at those around her, and wishing that in some way—of which as yet she had no conception—she could copy their features. One day, when between seven and eight, she noticed a beautiful woman, and, returning home, went quietly to her father’s study—creeping in, as it was locked, through two panes of a window, to which she climbed by a chair on the bed—in search of a slate and pencil. With this she began to make a sketch of the face that had charmed her. She made the oval outline, but could not give the expression about the mouth and eyes. With a keen sense of disappointment she relinquished the hopeless task. But the artist-passion was awakened within her.