The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 12, 1899, Page 22

22 THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 12, 1899. T0 BE PLAIN "MRS” OR THE WIFE OF A CENTRAL AMERICAN PREOSIDENT T Mme. Barrios and Mme. Ezeta, From Their Safe Retreats Here, Declare They Would Rather Live in Obscurity in America Than in the Presidential or San Salvador: Their Advice to American Girls. B 1t worth while to be the wife of 8 Central American President? Madame Ezeta arched her heavy black brows over the question. “No,” she said, “no, it is not— Santa Maria, you has better be—" here madame's ‘English failed her, and she filled in the blank with a characteristio glance from her brilliant black eyes. The Ezeta home in Oakland is & very modest -one, filled to overflowing with little ~ Ezetas, “one an olive-skinned, brown-eyed duplicate of the other. On thé walls-are pictures and photographs of celebrities with autograph inscrip- tions. A pair of gorgeous curtains, pure gold embroidered on a fleld of white satin, hang in soft shining folds, thelr magnificerice out of all harmony with their setting. Madame Ezets, in & gown -of some cotton material rather the worge for wear, stood for & moment in thé shadow of their cold magnifi- cence, all unconscious of the contrast r modest gown. w"};'e«iun;ee those. she sald, pointihg to the pictures with a slim dark fingen “Well, what I care for all that—noth- ing!” and madame gnapped her fing- nfi'r‘flnt.h'('m(tfl' examination proved to be very. poor pictures of & very plotar- esque, low, rambling mansion. “The Presidential palace in San BSal- vador,” explained Madame Ezeta. On the opposite wall were views of plantations, palm trees and luxuriant undergrowth suggesting the tropics. “Those ‘aré ‘finc what you call plantat Once my husband own many, many—now all gone. But I no care. My good God knows best. ‘Don’t it- make me sad to think I have lost all that? What for it make me sad? No! I tell you I am glad. You believe it not? Wait—I tell you. You see this little house; you see how plain we live. One servant only and one nurse for the bebitos. You give me all -those-fincas, you let me live in the Presidential = palace—I take it, you think? No! I say muchas gracias, dispense me.” Here Madame Ezeta laughed and stopped long enough to rescue one of her young hopefuls who was balancing himself like any little “‘gringo” on the edge of the window sill ) Madame Ezeta talks fast and furious- but whether you have a nodding intance with the Spanish lan- yvou can understand her. The age of the eye, the play of feat- the key to the Hispanio-Ameri- riddte. c “I tell you why I eay it is better to have quiet .and happiness than to be the I esident’'s wife. You see those and madame pointed to a d -or . two among her raven I get one for each year s President. You notice ikles—one for each month ted until we could leave that v_for peace. For three months bt 'know whether my husband i or alive, or whether I could out of Salvador with my at I suffer in those three months I can not-tell you. You see I did not know how the revolution would turn out. -1 could only pray and try to hope. . Every day I was afraid I would hear that my husband had been killed. Then I did not he n dare to leave the > of my friend to whom I had gone for protection, because I fear the peo- ple would kill me on the streets. “Wh had 1 done? Nothing. I was e sident’s wife! Now you see what means. One day you get salu- tations, the next day you get the ma- ck he men? Well, they like it. They no suffer like thé women. They like to fight, they like to feel power, and if they -lose—well, they no can help it. “When I married my husband, he was not President of Salvador. He was commander in the army, and when he .came to Guatemala—my country— he_ = me. For long time I no meet Him, no speak one word. But he come every night-and stand under my win- dow,” which is a custom in our coun- tries:” Then after awhile we married, and T went to Salvador to live. “First 1 like it very much. I could not.like Salvador as well as Guate- mala, but :I am. verv happy in my home and ' content. Then when my and want to be President, every- thing changed. Trouble, worry, all the time revolution. “When he became President you think my troubles over? No! A]l}the time something: Some revolution, somé trouble always going on. T must do' the honors of the official life. T must_think, think, think all the time, and I no like it. All the time bother. and for what—death or exile. i / er the revolution w! v - band was defeated we flew i3 morb Jove Paris because there for the first time since my husband was President we had a peaceful time. Tt was not the shops and theaters that made me 80 happy. It was because I had my ©o000c0C000O0COO0O00000 Odd Life of the UT 4n Hlinois. the “Immortal J, N.” lies close ta death’s door. He thought to live forever, for in his disordered fancy he was the cen- ter of the universe. At his will the planets moved about a com- mon center, and that center was the brow of the “Im J. N.” He had said many a time, when vexed by the gibes of those who made his long hair and his trailing gray duster the butts of their wit, that he would ‘“release the pressure” and send all creation to original atoms. It was the “Immortal J. N.,” albeit, who year after vear “assumed the pressure’ and thereby “lifted the veil.” In other words, he controlled the almed to free humanity. It all sounds like the whims of a crazy man, say you. Well, the “Immortal J. N.” always sald his mind was affected. Yet he was clever enough to live on noth- ing for nearly forty years and to *ravel over the country and live at good hotels without ever buying a railroad ticket or paying a hotel bill. “It's against my principle to pay inter- est and against my interest to pay pri cipal,” remarked the “Immortal J. N. on more than one occasion, and his phil- osophy of life was a profitable one. Managers of “opera houfes” and the- aters all through the middle West gave the- “Immortal J. N.” the use of thelr buildings free of charge with lights and attendance. Hundreds have listened to his weird talk of “assuming the pressure,” whereby he “lifted the vell,” and gave the Immortal of their weaith. Not that “J. N.” ever needed any money, for he never pald for anything. One_ of the recollections of my boyhood brings back. the figure of the “Immortal 3 standing in the office of a hotel in a little Ohio village and glaring indig- rantly at the proprietor, who had present- ed a bill. He shook his head until the Jong iron gray halr undulated like a mane. His hands were 4n the pockets of his duster. “Sir, you presume,” he thundered. ‘I am the “Immortal J. N.' It i8 such as you who would cause me. to end all by relieving thé pressure and to consign all to universal ruin!” It may have been that the railroad com- panies feared that some desperate a:tion ©of the “Immortal J. N.” with regard to the pressure might cause a general smash universe and husband and my children with me, and I did not have to worry and think of revolutions. “Bver since we come here to Oakland —three years & ‘we live quietly and content._ The ghildren go the good sis- my own gountrys But I do not waat to RO ORE==—rny told. You breathe it in the air all the time. We love our children and our 'hfimn. and we like not political in- B pered the Barrios was accorded all the homage that is given to the wife of an absolute “I would love to live once more in DEED \ These Two Women Were at One Time the First Ladies of Two Central American Republics The Fortunes of War Have Made Them Glad to Find a Quiet Home in California. ters every day at the convent, and I have none of the cares that made me so miserable when my husband was President. . “You ask me whether I no like to go back to my own country to live. I tell you—no! Why? Because if we go back to that country my husband, I'm sure, would not be content unle he was in power. He would not be s fied to live there like here. So I don’t want to go back to my own land be- cause I don’t want to live through the same troubles again. I love my country better, but I love peace more. And I can’t have peace there. “We are not like the women in your country. We care not for power and influence. We no use our position as President’'s wife for politics. We care nothing to mix in with affairs of state. We ask no questions; our husbands tell us nothing of such things. Only revolution—and that we need not be live there as a President’s wife. I think that position would better suit an American girl. Perhaps some day I may see Central America again. Dios sabe!” SR I Mme. Barrios’ Opinion. WOULD rather live in obscurity in America than in the Presidential palace in Guatemala.” Yet in Guatemala she was Senora Algeria de Reyna Barrios, wife of El Presidente, her very word, a law, her slightest wish a fulfilled re- ality. In San Francisco she is simply Mrs. Barrios, with neither more nor less rights and privileges than you or I. In Guatemala she was first lady in the land. There was a palace in the city of Guatemala and summer villas ‘where the cool mountain breezes tem- monarch—and such in reality, if not in name, was Reyna Barrios. In San Francisco she is one of many. The house she has rented on Plerce street is large and comfortabls, but it 18 not a palace. Summer villa has #he none. Mrs. Barrios is accorded all the courtesy due a lady, but she re- celves no more homage or adulation than her neighbor. “Would you not like to have it all heat. Senora de Reyna A A \ 2 A ALGERIA DE REYNA BARRIOS. /"\ back again? live it over?” “I could not live it over i I would,” answers Madame Barrios. ‘“The strain a second, time would prove too much for me. To live in Guatemala as a President's wife is to suffer daily, al- most hourly, martyrdom. That is, for an American girl.” So Mme. Ezeta's theory that an American girl would take more kindly to the Presidential honor i{s thus re- futed by an American girl who has had the actual experience. For Mme. Barrios was not to Guntr. mala born. She met Reyna Barrios in New Orleans, her native city. General Barrios he was then, having earned the shoulder straps under his uncle, President Rufino Barrios. When Presi- dent Barrios was killed on the plains of Salvador, and Barillas gained the Presidency, General Reyna Barrios was exiled from Guatemala. It was during his exile that he met and fell in love with this little New Orleans girl. She did not understand his language, but she could chatter French, and when he left for New York she had promised to marry him. He told her that his prospects were very poor, but she shrugged her shoulders gayly over that. - Reyna Barrios was what his countrymen call “muy sym- patica,” and because he was sympatica, and because his bravado and noncha- lance appealed to her, she went to New York and married him. Reyna Barrios brought his bride to Ban Francisco. They lived quietly in very modest apartments. General Bar- rios never allowed a movement in the ame political of Guatemala to escape is watchful eye. ‘“The Barrioses were born to rule,” and he meant to fulfill his destiny. One day he packed hur- riedly, and General and Mrs. Barrios were noted the next day as among those who had safled for San Salva- dor. “I had no idea of the country I was going to,” sald Mme. Barrios. “I imag- ined it was a sort of Garden of Eden and that I would see birds of paradise, I was very rudely disenchanted the mo- ment I reached San Salvador. It was a most cruel disappointment. Every- thing looked so mean and squalid. I could not understand the language, and the customs of the people seemed most barbarous to me. ' “My husband kept assuring me that as soon as the decree of exile was re- voked he would take me to Guatemala. which was infinitely preferable to Sal- vador. Then General Barrios was stricken with the fever. When he was at the point of death and the doctors Would you not like to Palace in Guatemala insisted that change of climate alone could save him, the order came from Guatemala giving him the right to re- turn to his native land. From the mo- ment the general heard the news he began to recover, and we left immedi- ately for Guatemala. ‘“We were not long In Guatemala when trouble began to brew. There had been an uprising at some fincas just beyond the city and General Ba- rillas put my husband in prison with- out trial on the pretext that he was re- ‘sponslble in some way for the upris- ng. “In Guatemala the will of the Presi- dent is absolute. If he desires a man put out of his way he orders him shot. The people of Guatemala do not say a man has been elected President. ‘They say he has come into power! “General Barrios was given the cell set aside for prisoners of state. I was allowed to send him his meals and to see him for a few moments each day, 8o I was sure that he could prove his innocence when tried and that all would be well. “But one morning some friends in- formed me that all the other prisoners save General Barrios had been shot, and that his turn had come. “ “When were they tried?’ I asked. ““Tried! Not at all. It was the Pres- ident’s order.’ “I was nearly distracted, and my worst fears were confirmed when, early in the evening, I recelved a note from General Barrios, asking me to come and say farewell. He was to be shot at midnight. “I went to the prison and told Gen- eral Barrios that I meant to go to Pres- ident Barillas and plead for his life. He commanded me not to do so, but without waiting to listen to his argu- ments I ran through the streets until I reached the home of Mr. Mizner, the American Consul. ,“Together we hurried to the house of President Barillas. I implored him on my knees, and the President, bid- ding me rise, informed me that Gen- eral Barrios was a free man. An hour later the prison gates shut behind him. “In that moment I realized what it meant to be President of Guatemala. On his aye or nay had depended my husband’s life. “But I did not yet know what it means to be the wife of a President. That came later. Before my husband gained the Presidency there was the usual revolution and all the horrors at. tending it. I had long since learned that in those countries the life of a man is valued s little as that of a worthless cat. But whatever other im- perfections my husband had, during his term of power he certainly never wan- tonly took life. “We entertained elaborately and fre- quently. The decorations and detalls of these affairs were always a pleasure to me. The beautiful tropical plants and flowers lend themselves so grace- fully to decoration, and the pine needles with which the floors of the courts and corridors are strewn have the most dell- cate, subtle fragrance. “But, no matter what you do or how hard you try to please, it is almost im« possible to kindle real friendship or gratitude in a native Guatemalan. Of course there are exceptions, but such 1s the rule. A stab in the dark is the reward for kindness and protection. “In the last revolution, the one just before the assassination of my husband, who do you suppose led the rebels? His own brother and brother-in-law! The ‘war of the family,’ the Guatema- lans call it. It cost President Barrios an immense sum of money, for he was entirely unprepared for it. How could & man suspect that his own family, whom he had raised into power with him, would strike a blow. But that can be taken as the keynote of that country. Friendship is rooted in the shifting quicksands of treachery. “Aside from the revolutions and in- trigues which make the life of a Presi- dent’s wife intolerable, it is impossible for an American woman to find the people ‘sympatica.’ Their manners, customs and morals are of such a low standard. I do not mean that among the best familles there are not some very charming people. But they are decidedly the exceptions. “Among the foreigners at the lega- tions there are alwcys some delightful peovle. An American woman Wving in the city of Guatemala can have a charming coterie of friends. -But the wife of the President must know and entertain many for political or other reasons. And the heartless ingratitude which meets material benefits and fa- vors is a constant -+-ce of wonder- ment to one accustomed to the milk of human kindness. “To understand it one must live through it. It is '~deed not worth while to be the wife of a Guatemalan President. I woul prefer a thousand times that my husband had remained simply General Barrios. My life would have been a far happier one. “And, above all, it is not worth while for an American girl to be the wife of a Central American President. She is gelling her birthright for a mess of pottage.” 0000000000000000000OO0OOD000000OOOOQ000O00OOOOOOOOD0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 Immortal “J. N, up. He had passes over nearly every rail- Toad in the country. Newspapers have devoted columns to the accounts of the “Immortal J. N.” and his vagaries. He religiously kept every clipping, and the pockets of his duster were well filled witn clippings. “J. N.'s"” real name was Jacob Newman Free. He was born in Chambersburg, Pa., on May 28, 1828. His father, the Rev. Dr. John Free, was a_minister of pro found attainment moved from Pennsylv 0., in 1831, and subsequently went to Mc- Cutchenville, in the same State. In early life the “Immortal J. N.” was known for his brilliancy and learning. He was admitted to the I He went West on the wave of the California gold ex- citement, and several vears afterward re- turned shattered in intellect. His story, always told in his compara- tively lucld intervals, and génerally cred- ited, was thaj he had defended a man accused of mufder with such success that he was acquitted. Circumstantial evi- dence was against the prisoner. The tes- timony indicated cold-blooded crime. Ja- cob N. Free believed that his client was innocent. He fought over every shred of evidence, he cross-examined brilliantly and incisively, and then at the last made an appeal to the jury which swept the twelve good men and true away from the realm of reason and cqid facts. The pris- oner was acquitted. BScores crowded around Free to congratulate him. That night, after the trial, the man who had been acquitted came to Free, thanked him for his admirable defense and confessed that he had committed the crime. Jacob N. Free fell from his chair. He was found hours afterward. The hair was whitened about his temples. The man whom he had saved from execution has never been found. Jacob N. Free becamé the “Immortal J. N.”” a wanderer upon the face of the earth, the expositor of a ‘weird philosophy which he never half un- derstood. He first attracted extended public no- tice during the civil war when he an- nounced oracularly that “Viewed from their standpoints Lincoln and Davis were both right.” He made his way to Wash- ington and then through the Confederate lines. He was entertained in the Confed- erate capital. He had a long interview with Jefferson Davis, and returning through the rebel lines called upon Mr. Lincoln, who also accorded him an inter- view. There will soon be a final lifting of the veil for the “Immortal J. N.” e e Sybil Sanderson’s Plight. YBIL SANDERSON] the “California nightingale” and widow of Antonio Terry, is going back to the stage. Contrary to custom, she is not going to wear tinsel and seek applause .from choice. Absolute necessity, it is said, compels her to seek her livelihood. ‘When the beautiful singer fipally mar- ried 'Tonio Terry, the son of ‘the Cuban multi-millionaire, Tomasco Terry, it was said she would never sing in public again. Now that Terry is dead, it seems he and his bride had spent his birthright prodi- gally, and the amount left scarcely equaled the sum expended in training her voice and providing costumes for her while she was on the operatic stage. is an acknowledged fact that her ward- robe was the most lavish of any prima donna. Sybil Sanderson is only 34 to-day, and still ravishingly lovely. Her life has been one continuous romance. She had a won- derful voice, a lovely face and a perfect form to start with. She made a tremen- dous hit on the stage. She became en- gaged to an Italian, to whom she could not speak a word. She went abroad, and was successful everywhere. Compos- ers Massenet and Saint-Saens were her great admirers. In 1895 she appeared at the Metropoll- tan Opera House. She readily reaches the G in alt, a feat never accomplished by Pattl. In “Manon,” “The Enchant- ress’” and “Phryne” she scored wonderful artistic successes, and had all Paris at her loge to congratulate her. She is known in Europe as the “‘American Song- bird Sorceress.” At the wedding anniversary of a rafl- way magnate, one of the guests noticing a somewhat lonely looking and rather shabbily attired man in one corner of the g::rlar, walked over and sat down near m. “I was introduced to you,” “but I did not catch your name. “My name,” replied the of ‘o Swaddieford." e e en you Aare Ve honts you are a relative of our he sald, “Yes,” rejoined the ‘poor relation,’ with a grin, “I am lis cousin, ,000 & —Youtl's Companion. g e 0000000000000 0000000000000000000000000000000000000 Forza del Destino. Continued from Page Nineteen. epired its stops with fugitive refrains that measured upon its little length a lifetime’s fleeting emotion. The air she played was unfamiliar, yet seemed some voluptuous caprice he had met years before and had longed r_since to meet again. Through her dainty phrases there trembled a sense akin to those whisperings distinguishable in breaking waves and rustling treetops, which men like Almodoro note and understand.' And hence it was that the day before the persuasive rapture of her music had unfolded to the magician some witchery of an incomparable meaning, through which he had detected the musician’s secret. Of a sudden, as-though some intuitive sense made her conscious of an undiscovered presence, she turned and faced Antonio. She knew him not, never having seen him before, but rising composedly, confronted him with a keen glance. He began speaking abruptly, as men impatient of the cir- cumlocution of the feminine mind are apt to do, addressing her rather as some bird of {ll-omen which haunts people’s wedding night on equivocal adventures. He told me that, as might have been expected, she answered pretty tartly, but that when they had made an end of angry words he ap- Dealed to her to remove her presence from Bassanio’s life, insisting upon the blemish it must otherwise cast and the danger that would ensue to herself. So, as she seemed not-to comprehend this last allusion, he de- scribed the plight of Jessica and Gratlano, which could have been intend- ed for no other but herself. Then perceived he the red oleander bush be- hind her move as though some one lurked unseen behind its cover. But Pipistrello answered: “It is the lot of many, and Bassanio and I are of them, to be duped and misled and feel their hearts poisoned with an anguish they dare not whisper. Diana yonder, could she turn toward us the wistful pathos of her scarred visage, would tell you that the gods divert themselves with the writhings of our little despair.” Then Antonio pursued his argument exceeding earnestly, albeit, despite himself, sometning disarmed, as many a man might be, by the light in her eyes and the flush that mantled her handsome face and the intense feeling that thrilled in her voice, til: she added very softly; “Can I forget, or he cease to remember, what we have been and what we are to one another? If either were forever gone, could the other bury out of sight the sweetness of the love that has united us against you all? Not long ago I almost ceased to think upon the future that seemed a place of danger and unrest, but now I hasten to it as to some fair garden whose fragrant paths I know, and its bower where together we shall pluck oblivion of this hateful place, and where perhaps the fabled buds ang&lauor&s that were the promise of Diana in her woodland youth shall whiten again.” At which words Antonio heard a slight movement behind the oleander, like the start or spasm of one stung to the quick. So, being not a little foiled, he bowed as one who salutes the enemy and walked away out of sight. Nevertheless he smiled at the glibness of a Venelan girl talkin thus of gardens and woodlands and fragrant paths. We of Venice are use to find inspiration on the sea, amid its circling birds.’ Our sonnets smell of the salt-breathed horizon. I myself love equally to spend my time in the woods or on the sea, because in each I find an inexhaustible storehouse of the things humanity has forgotten. But commonly the voices that we hear speak ever from the islands—be they Calypso or Hesperus—where the immortal amaranths bloom. Our songs are those of sirens rather than of sylvan nymphs, and the thread the moon lays on the Adriatic lifts us from earthly scenes to a mystical and transfigured imagery. The very bubbles, drifting by our windows, reflect in opalescent tints ‘such way- ward and fantastic silhouettes, such palaces set with gems and towering spires, *such fairy balconies with sky-swung flowers, that when life's journey draws to an end we instinctively shake off the dust of earth and turn, as to a better world, to bathe our feet in the sea. Then remembering what Basssanio had said, that at sunset, now not an hour distant, he would join his first love and forever leave Belmonte, he murmured aloud, ““And then, with the guslonnte blood of her ances- tress "llthler velns, wtha.:hvldll thle Jealous an vzns‘e-l:"ul ‘Po;ga do?” 8 n answer to this ominous query came faintly m the s had quitted a wild cry of angyish and affright. Antonio hutensdpg:chk: only to find where Pipistrello had been the red oleander had been bleeding. And amid many speculations as to what may have happened, all of Fa are likely to remain idle gossip, there comes to which till Diana speal me the repetition of a thought that will chance, Almodoro’s stealthy whisper to Portia—a thrust have The manuscript breaks off as abruptly as it began, nor has an ex- haustive search among_the catalogues to the millions of musty documents at the Biblioteca San Marco and the Archivio di Venezia been rewarded by the slightest clew to the ultimate fate of Portia and Bassanio. If those vast collections are ever thoroughly examined some further particulars of them may be recovered; but now they disappear into the oblivion from which this narrative summoned them, and the identity of Portia’s rival s left to conecture. My emplify the taste of modern Italy. ly, and gl and the ancient nificance. of the Doge's narrative amid the fleet! of Leonardo Loredan, which has left so curious a memorial. of intrigue, of refinement, of Near by in the same room, and Early Sixteenth Century. The eyes are ered cap is a mass of curly black hair, lurks an expression of sensuous resolve. of Almodoro’s portrait, which there is himself. On each, in a corner of bis extraordinary life, .and Whereof the life,” and w ch to the wise man with outstretched wings in a ‘was {ntende: ' a striking confirmation of Snd T-fated Piptstretio. . study of the manuscript filled me with a desire to visit the site ot Portia’s villa. Of the house no vestige remains, and the dimensions of the park have been largely reduced. But its name, Villa Belmonte, survives, and its position in the outskirts of Padua is easily ascertained. it on foot, conducted by two brown-faced urchins who pointed out the modern dwelling which occupies the place of the ancient edifice and stands in the midst of half a dozen pink and yellow stucco casinos, such as ex- A suave mannered and philosophic minded custods laid aside his tobacco pipe and pruning knife to accompany me throufh the historic llex groves, answering my questions good natured- ving me leave to wander to the terrace, where I found the long walks between cligped hedges flanked by weather stained granite benches alustrade which marks the spot where the narrative reached its climax—where Antonio talked with the being whose misfor- tunes had borne such bitter fruit, where her despairing outery was fol- lowed by so sinister a token of the Venetian Cinque-cento. that faint, fine line of shining peaks—in aspect so masterful, so self-con- tained, so far removed from the dust and dross of earth—whose contem- plation to the Doges of heroic centuries must have held no ordinary sig- Before me spread the Italian pianura, its olive and emerald seamed with yellow beneath the midday heat. the spire of the Paduan Cathedral rose a copper vane, in semblance of the argosy of bygone times whose antique image, glistening above the cypresses, reflects the prosaic sunshine of to-day. Greclan Diana has disappeared, but the dim vistas remain, beautiful as of old in their repose; and in Diana’s ?lflce broods the haunting memory ng _shapes one’s fancy co s. In the upper hall of the Scuola di San Roccp may be seen the Horiralt went repeatedly_to seeki stand thus as nearly as may be f%(‘;e KB Tage with him lv?g‘r(» e e Doge’s face is famillarly known, and his life has been minutely traced. Even witho: (t mi recognize the face as that of an Ttalian, Syt Lenus ons Gught the original lived in the age of the despots. study of human nature, a lifetime spent in that atmo: graceful compani. and subterfuge of Venetian statecraft, are ghal?ar:-st‘:rll’i surroundings wrote year by year upon his features. close to the f: - doro, hangs the picture of a_handsome, girlish ynuatr)l:ocu;ts?vglutt‘\ggl'o;k:nlgg; and beneath its meditative calm The workmanship resembles that Teason to belleve was painted by th : Can it be that the astrologer painted both ipsse promuras ao hCCmblem, may this geometric anuuflgt speaks as “curiously applied to the concerns of thote lines of the head, the heart and thy e ol e ere, Sympolized But more significant than this is the figure of corner of the youth's picture. no meaning to it, treating it as an it It may, howev. 3 a ‘grafito T mnhemmd"ers.-!b: ;Y;mlsed that this odd graffito whose face he was depicting from memory, story In this literal symbol of the forgotten standing a crimson splash as if not be silenced, how deeply, per- at the heart—may I went to Here I beheld Almost motionless above The statue of the resumptively, and read in its expression that Self-command, profound sphere of mysticism, and of the audacity tics which the man's brilliant hazel; under the feath- J)lctures as souvenirs of gure typify those lines almistry professes? a tiny, odd-shaped bird It is to all y upon the sobriquet of her and which as such presents O_O0OQ0OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO000000000000000000090000 IAM WALDORF ASTOR.