Newspaper Page Text
THE SUNNY SOUTH
PAGE THREE
GROVE of FREAK TREES ON
THE JERSEY COAST ^ ^
N Japan large salaries are
/ paid to skilled gardeners
•who can twist and torture
trees from their normal
forms of growth Into the
likeness of animals, boats,
houses and other designs.
Of late years the custom
has been imported to this
country, and with it the
oriental tree twisters. Not
the most skillful of them,
however, can beat nature s
distorters of vegetation, the persistent
winds, and the Japanese experts could
learn lessons in the surprising and fan
tastic from a grove of trees on the Jersey
coast.
The place Is aptly called Wildwood. It
forms part of an island cut off from the
mainland by a narrow arm of the ocean.
For centuries the gales have wrought
their fierce will upon the vegetttion. Al
though the soil seems to be largely com
posed of white sand, it Is fertile, other
wise these would not be on the Island, in
Ihe face of the almost constant winds,
the luxuriant growth, hoth of trees and
lower forms of vegetable life, with which
it is covered.
Wild grapes are abundant and vines are
seen which are fully eight to twelve
inches thick and have in some cases so
completely covered the trees that the
arboreal foliage can scarcely be seen. Ex
tending along the ground and up the
trunks into the branches, some of the
vines look like huge snakes, and many
an unsuspecting visitor has had a shock
by coming into contact with their sway
ing sinuosities In the shady nooks of the
■place.
The trees themselves have assumed
some very old forms. For instance, there
are two which are very similar to the
letter “W," and have been called “W”
trees by the natives. One is a cherry tree
which has taken a fancy to grow in this
way. while the other is a fir, which first
split away at the base, then described
a curve, took hold of the ground and
grew up again, forming a perfect, if
rather widespread, “W.” The “N” tree
Is a curious combination located a few
hundred feet from the “\V” trees. It Is
composed of two separate trees. A por
tion of one trunk, split oft from the
main bole, was probably blown against
the trunk of the other tree and has act
ually grown in this lorm.. although the
end of the trunk branches off to one side.
The bent part, which forms the middle
of the ”N,” has grown into the other
tree a distance of about four inches.
Another curious form of growth is
shown by a holly. From the roots of the
main trunk a smaller one has started,
which is joined to the other in no less
than five different places from the too
branch to the ground. Some of the con
nections are but an inch or so in length
while the others are four or five inches.
In the middle of this curious grove is
a lagoon, or oond. on the banks of which
is one of the oldest foimations of the
grove. This is a pine tree, which is still
ly one can be found which gTows like an
ordinary tree. The various species in
clude holly, birch, pine, cherry, ash and
cedar. Some of the cedars still giving
out leaves have not a particle of bark
upon their trunks from the ground to the
first branches. The winter gales have
stripped the covering. Experts who have
One of the Serpentine Crepe Vines
growing, in spite of disadvantages. Tne
trunk has been twisted around so as to
form the figure eight from one point of
view and the letter "O” looking at it from
another point, while one of the branches
or arms at the left forms tne head of a
snake, including the curve in the neck.
The front view of the snake is startling
ly realistic, the head being of the s true.
fiat-topped, venomous type, and the pos
ture characteristically viperine. The
tree Is evidently very. old. as Indicated
by the trunk, and will probably be dead
In a few' years, as its foliage is scant and
confined to a few small, irregular boughs.
The mystery is why it did not die before,
distorted as it is.
In the center of Wildwood is a pavilion
where refreshments are served to visitors.
The principal support of this pavilion is
formed by a tree, which passes through
the center and out of the roof. Its
branches form an excellent protection
from the sun in summer, while the roof
girders are fastened Into ft in place of i
the usual posts.
All these freak trees aie located about
a mile from the highway on the banks
of what is known as Grassy Sound. They
form a grove about a mile long and half
a mile in width. In the entire lot scarce-
examined them say that many of the
trees are undoubtedly several centuries
old. The action of the wind upon the
branches has twisted them into eveRg
conceivable fashion, so that it is hard
to tell where one branch begins and an
other ends. In several parts of the grove
different kinds of trees have grown to
gether. such as fir and holly and cherry
and ash. The growth Is generally formed
by a limb from one being bent against the
other, as shown in the case of the "N”
tree remaining in that place while it
gradually made a cleft for itself. It Is
quite common for two trees of the same
variety to grow together, but the joining
of the different varieties, as shown here,
is a problem which the experts have not
yet been able to solve, especially where
some of the limbs grow from one tree
directly into the trunk or another and
have not been forced against the outside.
A number of examples of this form of
growth are also to be seen.
The owner of the grove has cut out
some of the most striking distortions of
the trees which have died. One represents
a harn without strings, while another Is
in the form of a triangle, and another
seems to be modeled from a water
pitcher.
like a "dip”—pickpocket—and treat me
as such on the road. Only the other day,
in London, two men asked me in Picca
dilly after they had "flagged" me with
the thief's cough, whether I was after
the same purse of sovereigns that they
wanted. They had seen me and two com
panions "split up” in what was to them
a suspicious manner, and dangerously
near to an old gentleman whom they were
trying to “nick” and one of them said
to me in undisguised yankee tones, re
ferring to the old gentleman:
"He's a mark ail right, but there ain't
dough enough for all of us. Are you af
ter it, or we?”
I merely replied, "Guess again," smiled
and moved on. The old gentleman made
his escape unwittingly in a cab.
There are a few persons among the out
casts. from the upper world's point of
view, that know about my books and have
talked with me concerning them, but I
know of no good "gun” or tramp who i3
personally acquainted with me that con
nects me in any way with the things that
I have said in print in record to him.
Letters come to me every now and then
from tramps and "guns” who say that
they do or do not subscribe to statements
which I have made, but I have never met
any of these correspondents. To show
how well some of them express them
selves, I print here a letter that came to
me not so very long ago from Juneau,
Alaska. It reads as follows:
"October 8, lflOO.—My Dear Sir: Conver
sant as you are with the necessities of the
•powers that prey,' you will understand
by my subscribing to this letter the syn
thetical name which has so often helped
a police officer to evade the law with a
blank warrant. I write merely to extend
to you the congratulations of an experi
enced observer on your story in one of the
recent magazines. Its title I forget for
the moment, but Howard SUfer was, I
remember, the name of the hero. It is, I
think, the first authoritative criticism of
a police system which has, for the cre
ating of a local reputation, sacrificed the
lives and liberties of many, many persons
—most of them, I admit, eminently deserv
ing of such a fate, but nevertheless enti
tled to their freedom for the time being.
I was, at one time, myself desperately
jeopardized by the general animus of a
single police officer followed by the desire
of some other ignorant and lethargic de
tectives to mske a reputation, and the in
explicable willingness on the part. of
otherwise intelligent reporters to accept
as true the startling efforts of the imag
ination supplied them by the police de
partment as the history of the case. Haa
it not been that I was very plentifully sup
plied with money I would have had to
succumb to the mass of plausible evidence
and artificial identification (by outside cit
izens of impressionable character whom
the police had taken into a firm belief
that I was the culprit).
"As It was, I succeeded, after a bitter
legal battle, in which the ordinary crimi
nal practitioner could never have en
gaged—the expenditure of several thou-
sapd dollars and the securing of long
lost witnesses whom the police and Pin
kertons had given up, in demonstrating
to a reluctant prosecutor that I could not
be the man they sought.
"Before and since this personal expe
rience I have so frequently met with
similar cases of such flagrancy that it
seems inconceivable that the newspa
pers, i. e., the saffron press, do not make
a sensation by reversing the present sys
tem of apotheosizing the extremely medi
ocre acumen of a detective. A good
"gun” asks nothing but an even break,
but I wish in all fairness that your
story might be included in the judge's
instructions to every criminal jury. Sin
cerely, John Doe.”
It is a matter of wonder to a number
of persons that a man who does not be
long in a criminal life or profit by crimi
nal practices should be able to pose as
"the genuine article.” When with crimi
nals I make it my business to talk and
act as the criminals do, and practice has
made me moderately sure of myself. It is
impossible for one who is only intermit
tently on the road, as I am, to keep track
of all the latest slang, and it is also diffi
cult to be able to talk intelligently about
the newest tricks and "dodges,” but I
have seldom been called a “gay-cat” by
the hoboes, and the "guns” have never
yet dubbed me a "back number.” Some
men are in doubt for a while whether I
am a detective or one of their own kind,
but it does not take long to quiet their
suspicions. Once convinced that they are
dealing with what they take to be a pal.
they are as entertaining human beings
in their way as any that I happen to
know.
E KIDNEY
AND DON’T
II
Lines on March and
Spring' from Famous Poets
Compiled for EV>« SUNNY SOUTH l»y JOHN COLLIER
ETHICS of THE UNDER WORLD
>!• By Jofiah Flynt
HE under world is hos-
T pitable to a newcomer
if the newcomer is pre
pared to take the place
that the under
world thinks fits
him. There are very
definite social distinc-
t'cns in outcast life and
a man is expected to re
spect them. The "gay
est” in Hoboland—the
man who will work at a
pinch—must knuckle
down to the man who
won't work. Inability
sincerely to struggle for
an existence in a respec
table snd respected way
is the badge of aristocracy in Trampdom.
Willingness to leave money alone that can
he successfully stolen is the sign of the
"tenderfoot" in the professional criminal
environment.
The "newly arrived” in the tramp's, aa
well as the crook's, world are “sized up”
snd socially placet! according to their un
derstanding of these two theories of life-
The man who is prepared to soil ills
hands with toil while he is tramping is
respected by the "perfesh," if he is recog
nized as a genuine workingman looking
for a job. The man who is prepared to
soil his nands with toil merely because
he does not understand how to keep his
hands clean is neither respected nor want
ed on the "road." It Is a common belief
tbat he does more to jeopardize the in
terest of the fraternity than any other
traveler of the "turf.” The man who can
seem and act like a "Mowed in the glass
stiff"—the real thing—is welcome among
1 cth crooks and hoboes. He gets his par
ticular place in the social arrangement
according to his repute tion as a skilled
• operative.” but nis position in general
as an accepted and qualifi*! member of
outcast society is good ns long as he re
mains true to outcast principles, theories
and customs.
The ''professionals'' in both the tramp
cud criminal worlds have generally ac
cepted me into their society with very
few questions ask.d. Inquisitiveness
about a man's private affairs unless he
rotor teera information concerning them
is not popular anywhere in the under
world, and I have made It my rule to say
as little as possible about myself and
boslness. and to stick to what I say no
matter what happens. In Hoboland I am
plain "Cigarette, the tramp,” nothing
piore and nothing less. As a class, the
tramps in this country—and it must be
remembered that a large number of these
men used to be criminals in the strict
sense of the word—have treated me. as
far as it lay in their power, as a pal. and
I have very few criticisms to make of
their “hang-out” hospitality or general
good fellowship.
The professional thief, although nat
urally a much more reserved and un
communicative person than the tramp,
has accorded me practically the same
friendliness that I have found in Hobo
land. He has often been put to it to
make up his mind as to my standing
and position in his class, and there are
a number of his fellow craftsmen who
are still wondering what my particular
“graft" is; but we can get along to
gether socially with very few mean words
exchanged, and, up to date, without any
blows being landed successfully. I have
tried to express my opinion pugilistically
to two thieves of my acquaintance, and
they endeavored to express theirs with
similar force, but on neither occasion was
I able to do ar.v more than feebly indi
cate my meaning, and the same is true
of the two men. If we. should meet again,
the chances are even that we could talk
and discuss without recourse to vio
lence.
There is one professional thief that I
know who has publicly declared that my
“light” is to go .out the next time we
meet in a place where he can get at me
in the way that he wants to. but he is
the onlv man in the under world, so far
as I know, who holds any such grudge
against me. He got anyyry with me be
cause I once turned policeman in order
to see how the under world looks from
that official's point of view, and helped to
land him (the thief) in the penitentiary,
during the process. I was out In Ohio
at the time, following up circusses that
were being transported over a certain
railway company's lines. I carried with
me a little black book of photographs
of notorious pickpockets and general
thieves of the middle west. It was my
duty to commit to memory as many of the
faces in the book as I could, and to look
out for the originals on my route of
travel. One dav I arrived in a town
where "Buffalo Bill's Show” was being
exhibited, and a pickpocket had been cap
tured, and was locked up in the local
‘'calaboose,” so I went to the lock-up to
get a view of him. Unfortunately for
him. it so ha.ppened that it was his “mug”
in my book that I had given considerable
attention to a few days before, and I
recognized him the instant that the of
ficers brought him out for our inspection.
The discovery of his identity pleased me
so much that lothing would do but I
must run to everybody in the room and
show them the man's picture. The thief
watched my movements very closely, and
after he had been unmistakably identi
fied, and was about to be led back to his
cell; he turned on me the most vindictive
looking eyes I have, ever seen, and gave
me the worst "roasting" it has been my
privilege to receive. To the best of my
knowledge I am not afflicted with con
sumption. but thieves pay very little at
tent ion to facts when roasting an enemy
lou mean little consumptive duffer
you.” said the pickpocket, “you're a nfee
one to go around knockin’ against guns
You've only been dead about two week-
yourself. Wait till I g 3t out oTSuTS?
Ill put your light out forever; take mv
tip on that.” He is now doing fi ve vear"s
m a big penitentary. If we should meet
again on a dark night in a secluded spot
my light would doubtless become very
The men who knew nothing about mv
short career In the police business gener-
a.iy take me for a pickpocket or an
outsider' when we meet in the thief's
world. An "outsider” is one who "pipes
Off a Place to be robbed before the men
who are to do the work appear; he also
continues the "piping off"_watching out
for danger-while the men are at wo-k
He Is called an outsider because his du
ties keep him mainly in the open I am
moderately good in keeping my eyes open
and seeing things, and when certain men
have convinced themselves of this fact
they have put me down for one who "rub
bers" and gets the "lay of the land” be
fore the "mob” goes to work I have
also received congratulations as a good
shover of the queer” (counterfeit) but
they were given to the wrong man and
were eventually withdrawn. A few nights
ago a certain party in the Tenderloin dis
trict in New York city picked me out as
a profitable companion for a crusade
against the valuables of men who go to
sleep In Raines law hotels. »nd was su-e
that between us we ought to make both
fortune and fame, but we failed to agree
about" the details, and the certain party
carried his search for a suitable "side
partner” further.
Another set of men think I look more
Sidney Lanier
The divine Cordelia of the year.
E’en pitying Spring.
*
Samuel M intern Pack
Spring on the ocean—spring among the
dunes—
Spring on couch’d marsh and misty moun
tain-top—
Yea, spring, a mighty tide, that thrills
and fills
My broad beloved Southland with its
James Lane Allan
Ah, gentle are the days when the year is
young
And rolling fields with rippling hemp
are green
And from old orchards pipes the
thrush at morn.
No land, no land like this is yet unsung
Where man and maid at twilight meet
unseen.
And Love is born.
Wm Hamilton Hayne
When ice has melted on river and rill
From the talisman touches of mom.
When the sap in the orchard has worked
its will,
The songs of the birds are horn!
When the March winds vanish from
meadow and brake.
Rebuked by the opening bud.
The slumbering songs in my heart awake
To revel in brain and blood!
Henry W Longfellow
Gentle Spring; in sunshine clad,
Well dost thou thy power display!
For winter maketh the light heart sad.
And thou, thou makest the sad heart
gay.
Thou tearest away the mournful shroud,
And the earth looks bright and the
winter surly,
Who has tolled for naught both late
and early,
Is banished afar by the new born year,
When thy merry step draws near.
+
Thomas Buchanan Raada
Yes, surely there's a love abroad.
Through every nerve of nature playing,
And all between the sky and sod,
All, all the world has gone a-Maying!
Oh, ye who toil in living tombs
Of light or dark—no rest receiving,
Far o’er your heads a May-time blooms—
Oh, be ye patient and believing.
Be patient when earth's winter fails.
The weary night which keeps you*_stay-
ing—
Then through the broad celestial vales
Your spirits shall go out a-Maying!
Helen Hunt Jackson
Beneath the sheltering walls the thin
snow clings.
Dead Winter's skeleton, left bleaching
white,
Disjointed, crumbling on unfriendly fields.
The inky pools surrender tardily
At noon to patient herds a frosty drink
From jagged rims of ice; a subtle red
Of life is kindling every twig and stalk
Of lowly meadow growths; the willows
wrap
Their stems in furry white; the pines
grow gray
A little in the biting wind; midday
Brings tiny burrowed creatures, peeping
out,
Alert for sun.
Ah, March! we know thou art
Kind-hearted, 'spite of ugly look and
threats,
And, out of sight, art nursing April's
violets.
Frank L Stanton
Gittin’ close to springtime—know it by
the way
The sun is streamin' gleamin’ in the mid
dle o' the day;
Know it by the river that is lazyin’
along.
An' the mockin birds a-primpin' o’ their
feathers fer a song!
Gittin’ close to springtime—know it by
the signs.
Hear it in the whisper o’ the maples an’
the pines;
Feel it in the Mowin' o' the breezes, sing-
in' sweet;
See it in the daisies Jest a-dreamin' at
my feet!
Gittin' close to springtime, hope she'll
come to stay;
Got a million kisses fer the red lips o’
the May!
Wearyin’ to meet hep—list’nin’ all the
time
Fer the tinkle o’ her footsteps—her roses,
an' her rhyme.
Jamas RumU Lowell
Now, if ever come perfect days;
Now Heaven tries if the earth be in
tune
And over it softly her warm ear lays:
Whether we look or whether we listen
We hear life murmer and see it glisten;
Every clod feels a stir of might,
An instinct within it that reaches and
towers,
And groping blindly above it for light
Climbs to a soul in grass and Bowers;
The flush of life may well be seen
Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green.
The buttercup catches the sun in its
chalice,
And there’s never a leaf nor a a -blade
too mean
To be some happy creature’s palace;
The little bird sits at his door in the
sun.
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o’erruri
With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her
wings,
And Ute heart In her dumb breast flutters
and sings:
He sings to the wide world, and she to
her nest,—
In the nice ear of nature, which song is
the best.
*
William Cullen Bryant
The country ever has a lagging spring.
Waiting for May to call its violets forth,
And June its roses—showers and sunshine
bring
Slowly the deepening verdure o’er the
earth;
To put their foliage out the woods are
slack,
And one by one the singing birds come
back.
Within the city's bounds the time of
flowers
Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny
day,
Such as full often for a few bright hours
Breathes through the skies of March
the airs of a»ay,
Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry
gloom—
And, lo! our borders glow with sudden
bloom;
And they who search the untrodden wood
for flowers
Meet in its depths no lovelier ones than
ours.
For here are eyes that shame the violet,
Or the dark drop that on the pansy lies,
And foreheads, white as when in clusters
set
The anemones by forest fountains rise;
And the spring beauty boasts no tenderer
streak
Then the soft red on many a youthful
cheek.
Henry Timrod
Spring, with that nameless pathos in the
air
Which dwells in all things fair.
Spring, with her golden suns and silver
rain,
Is with us once again.
Out in the. lonely woods the jasmine burns
Its fragrant lamp and turns
Into a royal court with green festoons.
The banks of dark lagoons.
In the deep heart of every forest tree
The blood is all aglee.
And there’s a look about the lifeless
bowers
As if they dreamed of flowers.
As yet the turf Is dark, although you
know
That, not a span below,
A thousand germs are groping through
the gloom,
And soon will burst their tomb.
Already, here and there on frailest stems
Appear some azure gems,
Small as might deck upon a gala day
The forehead of a fay.
In gardens you may note amid the dearth
The crocus breaking earth;
And near the snowdrops tender white and
green
The violet in its L-creen.
But’ many gleams and shadows need
must pass
Along the budding grass,
And weeks go by before the enamoured
South
Shall kiss the rose's mouth.
Still there's a sense of blossoms yet un
born;
In the sweet airs of morn;
One almost looks to see the very street
Grow purple at his feet.
At times a fragrant breeze comes floating
by.
And brings, you know not why,
A feeling as when eager crowds await
Before a palace gate.
Some wondrous pageant; and you scarce
would start
If from a beech's heart
A blue-eyed Dryad, stepping forth, should
say,
"Behold me! I am May!"
SWAMP-ROOT, THE GREAT KIDNEY REMEDY.
Its Marvelous Success in all Kidney, Bladder and
Uric Acid Troubles.
To Prove What Swamp-Root Will Do for YOU, Every Reader
of “The Sunny South” May Have a Sample
Bottle Sent Free by Mail
What your kidneys need is a gentle, healing, tonic influence, that
will soothe their irritability and gently regulate them.
The only thing that will do this is Dr. Kilmer’s Swamp-Boot, the
Great Kidney Bemedy.
It used to he considered that only urinary and bladder troubles
were to be traced to the kidneys, but now modem science proves that
nearly all diseases have their beginning in the disorder of these most
important organs.
The Kidneys filter and purify the blood.
Therefore when your kidneys are weak
or out of order you can understand how
quiakly your entire body is affected, and
how every organ seems to fail to do its
duty.
If you are sick or "feel badly,” begin
taking the famous new discovery. Dr.
Kilmer's Swamp-Root, because as soon
as your kidneys are well they will help
all the other organs to health. A trial
will convince anyone.
Weak and unhealthy kidneys are re
sponsible for more sickness and suffering
than any other disease, and if permitted
to continue fatal results are sure to fol
low. Kidney trouble irritates the nerves,
makes you dizzy, restless, sleepless and
irritable. .Makes you pass water often
during the dayr hnd obliges you to get up
many times during the night. Causes
puffy or dark circles under the eyes, rheu
matism, gravel, catarrh of the blad
der, pain or dull ache in the back, joints
and muscles, makes your head ache and
back . ache, causes indigestion, stomach
and liver trouble; you get a sallow, yel
low complexion; makes you feel as though
you had- Irea-rt trouble; you may have
plenty of ambition, but no strength; get
weak and waste away.
The cure for these troubles is Dr. Kil
mer’s Swamp-Root, the world-famous kid
ney remedy. In taking Swamp-Root you
afford natural help to Nature, for Swamp-
Root is the most perfect healer and gentle
aid to the kidneys that is known to medi
cal science.
If your water, when allowed to remain
undisturbed in a glass or bottle for twen
ty-four hours, forms a sediment or set
tling or has a cloudy appearance, it is evi
dence that your kidneys and bladder need
immediate attention.
The famous new discovery. Swamp-Root,
has been tested in so many ways, in hos
pital work, in private practice, among the
helpless too poor to purchase relief) and
has proved so successful in every case
that a special arrangement has been made
by which all readers of The Sunny Sopth
who have not already tried it may have a
sample bottle sent absolutely free by
mall, also a book telling mega about
Swamp-Root and containing soase.ef ttm
thousands upon thousands of teetbMflM
letters received from men and woman who
owe their good health. In fact their very
lives, to the wonderful curative prop
erties of Swamp-Root. Be sure and men
tion The Sunny South when sending your
address to Dr. Kilmer & Co.. Bingham
ton. N. Y.
If you are already convinced that
Swamp-Root is what you need, you can
purchase the regular flfty-cent and one-
dollar bottles at the drug stores every
where.
A Hopeless Love ^
p: j
*3l
m OMORROW!"
There was so much in
credulous. passionate pain
in the man's voice that
even haughty Lenore Glen-
co turned a little pale; yet
other men—prouder men—
who had conquered for
tune and wrung laurels
from the reluctant hand of
fame, had bent as low be
fore her beauty and her
power as aid this strug
gling artist—this stranger whom her fath
er had employed to paint her in all her
languid loveliness.
"Tomorrow!" he said once more, with
working lips. “I did r.ot know it—I did
not dream it. Tomorrow!”
A haughty anger lighted in her azure
eyes: then the long golden lashes hid
them, and she swept the draperies of vel
vet aside and looked once more at the
portrait on the easel. Her own face,
calm and regal and alluring, her own
lorm, with all its sovereign grace.
"You seem very- much surprised. Herr
Griswold.” she said slowly, in chill, musi
cal accents. “Yet I fancy most of the
people who have heard of me know that
on the morrow I become a br.de, I am
glad the portrait is finished: I could not
give another sitting, and 1 wished my
father to have this reminder of me. You
have made of it a marvelous oneness,
albeit a trifling flattering. I will send my
father to you. and now will bid you fare-
well,”
She allowed the velvet to fall and hide
the portrait, and with a slight inclination
of her stately, sunny head, turned away.
But she had not gone half a dozen steps
when the young man darted oerore her
and flung himself on his knees at her
feet lifting a face as white as sea foam
to the light that came redly in from the
western window.
"Oh do not leave me so! I know my
presumption, my madness, but listen; let
me say it once in words—I have told you
In a hundred ways unreproved—I love
you—I love you!”
The eyes of the beautiful girl fairly
flashed, then grew crueily cola and bard
as blue steel.
“Unreproved?” she said. haughtily.
“Do you know why, sir pa.nter? Because
we do'not reprove what we do not deign
to notice. What madness has made you
forget that I am the daughter of Baron
Glenco. the affianced of tne Marquis
Noir? While you—you nave oe-JU em
ployed bv my father to but paint me. as
you have done. Rise. Herr Griswold. t»
at least suffer me to pass.”
"Oh. for the love of pity, leave with
me but a touch of your hand—but a single
word!” he prayed "I know how true
it all is that you have said: but I am
mad—mad! And tomorrow you become a
bride! Oh. bend to me once; lay your
hand even on my hair, and I will forever
Mess you! I am dying of my love!”
His voice broke into sobs—hoarse,
strained sobs—that lifted his bosom con
vulsively and shook his whole slight,
graceful form: the masses of rich hair
had grown damp on his forehead; his
eyes had such a pain in them as comes to
the eyes of a stricken deer.
But the woman before him. held there
hy the hands fastened in her velvet dress,
did not soften, did not bend; instead, a
slow, angry, haughty color flushed her
fl "You*are < inad!'’ she said, coldly, scorn
fully, drawing her robes from hie tremu
lous hands, and erecting her golden head
with a more than human pride. "I bend
to you! I lay my hand in yourk! Let me
again remind you I am a noble’s daugh
ter. and royal blood is in my veins. You
have surely forgotten that I am not a;
peasant, to whom vour love would be wel
come and your emotion a compliment.”
“Hear me! Say one kindly word, to
prove that you are human and can feel
for me. as even a queen hight feel for one
who loved her without hope! Because the
same God created us! Spare me your
scorn!” h e prayed, agonizedly.
But she drew beyond the reach of his
outstretched hands, turned, in the warm
sunset glow, and went—slowly, languidly,
proudly—leaving him there alone in the
magnificent light of the dying day, prone,
as he had flung himself, face downward
on the polished oaken floor, quivering,
shuddering, stricken unto death almost
by the scorn she had flung from her eyes
upon him.
"Has the brush of the artist done you
justice?” asked the marquis fondly.
"Nay. I know It has not. An Inspiration
would have to come for that—the divine
inspiration of a more than human love."
She paled a Uttle then, but smiled with
ljer old chill disdain. The artist had done
her more than Justice, and love had been
his inspiration—love, perhaps greater
than that of the man beside her, but a
love on which her daintv foot had trod
den as remorselessly, as uncaringly as on
the morrow It would tread on the white
fragrance of the bridal roses which neas-
ant children would strew along her way.
A few moments the lovers paused in the
corridor, hand in hand, whispering softly
of the life before them, with all Its glori
ous promise.
Then, pushing open the heavy door
which had swung to but an hour before
behind the baron’s daughter, they enter
ed the room in which, on its easel, under
concealing folds of rich, ruby-hued vel
vet. stood the portrait of Lenore Glenco.
Was poor Griswold still prone before It.
with his delicate face pressed against
the oaken floor, his sobs still fl’.ling tho
silence?
No; nor was the portrait now shrouded.
With the full, red splendor of the dying
day striking warmly on the canvas It
faced them as they entered.
But what "nrdal hand had so marred
the serene and lofty loveliness, so chilled
and frozen the proud smile on the crim
son lips, so changed the blue of the mar
velous eyes, until their light was but
crueity. their azure but cold, steel-ilke
glitter, that which gleams unon the quar
ry of some merciless lion when the fangs
are In its ffesfi and the life is slowly .go
ing from it?
Aghast, shocked beyond words, with a
growing horror on his face, the marquis
looked, fascinated, yet repelled by that
pictured cruelty.
Then his face flushed and his eyes
flashed.
"Where is the fellow?" he asked be
tween his tee?h. ‘‘His very life shall but
poorly pay the insult given you by his
brush!”
With a hissing cry of angry resentment
the marquis sprang toward that motion
less. crouching figure and laid his patri
cian hand on the drooping shoulder.
“You shall answer for this cowardly
thing to me!” he cried, his face white with
passion, as he swayed the form of Gris
wold in his strong grasp.
But that form, with a helpless, lifeless
lurch, fell at his Feet motionless and
rigid.
"Heavens’, the man is dead!” exclaimed
the youn.2 Frenchman, in quick accents
of horror, looking down on the white, con
torted face, with its staring eyes end
rigid features and a thread of blood wind
ing slowly downward from the ashen
lips. —Chicago Tlmes-Herald.