The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1894-07-02
BAR HARBoR's CHARMS.
The Summer Resort Suggests Certain
Type of Handsome Woman.

In the July mum Der of the Century
Marion Crawford begins new serial,
" Love in Idleness," which contains some
of the characters who were met in "Ka-
Bar Harbor, and Mr.. Crawford gives the
following description of the place:
Bar Harbor, in common speech, in
Guides Frenchman's Ra1, the Island of
Mount Desert, nand the other small is
land lying near it-an extensive tract of
land and sea. AS a matter of fact, the
name belongs to the little harbor be-
tween Boar Island and Mount Desert, to-
gether with the village, which has grown
to be the center of civilization since
the whole place has become fasbionabl
Earth, sky and water are of the north
hard, bright and cold. In artist slang,
there is no atmosphere. The dark green
islands, as one looks at them, seem to
be almost before the foreground. The
picture is beautiful, and some people
call 1t grand, but it lacks depth. There
is something fiercely successful about
the color of it, something brilliantly self
reliant. 1t suggests ceIain type OF
handsome woman-of the kind that need
neither repentance nor cosmetics, and
are perfectly sure of the fact; whose
virtue is too cold to be kind, and whose
complexion is not Swallowed by passion
nor softened by suffering, nor even
washed pale with tears. Only the sea is
eloquent. The breathing tide runs
forward to the feet of the over perfect,
heartless earth, to linger and plead
loves story while he may; then, signing
sadly, sweeps back unsatisfied, barring
his desolate bosom to her loveless scorn.
The village, the chief center, lies by the
VI 10 n6r fooi ic1nn dc ynrhi 0o
inclose the natural harbor. It was and
is fishing village, like many another
on the coast. In the midst of it, vast
wooden hotels, four times as high as the
houses nearest to them, have sprung up
to lodge fashion in six-storied discom-
fort. The effect is astonishing; for the
architect, gesticulating in soft wood and
rantlng in paint, as it were, has sketched
an evil dream of medievalism, incoherent
with itself and with the very common
place facts of the village street. There,
also, in Mr.. Bees shop window, are plain
ly visible the more or less startling
covers of the newest books, while from
on high frowns down the counterfeit
presentment of battlements and turrets,
and of such terrors as lent life interest
when novels were not, neither was the
slightest idea of the short story yet con-
ceived.
But behind all and above all rise the
wooded hills, which are neither modern
or ancient, but eternal. And in them and
through them there are secret sweetness
and fragrance, and much that is gentle
and lovely-in the heart of the defantly
beautiful earth-woman with her cold
face, far beyond the reach of her tide
lover, and altogether out of hearing of
his signs and complaining speeches.
There grow in endless greenness the white
pines and the pitch pines, the black
spruce and the white; there droops the
feathery larch by the creeping yew, and
there CLEAN the birches, yellow, white
and gray; the sturdy red oak spreads it's
arms to the scarlet maple, and the witch
hazel rustles softly in the mysterious
forest breeze. There, buried in the
woods BOSOM, bloom and blossom the
wild flower, and redden the blushing
berries in unseen succession, from mid
die June to late Septem ber-violets first,
and wild iric, straw berries and raspber-
ries. blueberries and black berries; short
lived wild roses and tender little blue
bells, red lilies, goldenrod and elematis,
in the confusion OF natures loveliest
order.