Iowa County democrat. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1877-1938, 1909-11-11
CHAPTER 1T.

the cOWardice OF dishonesty.
CHAPTER Ill.
The ScuIptor's Den.
Oh love is, painted as a boy,
With wicked bow and arrow,
And whose feels that pretty toy,
Sure, his escapes most narrow!
The Iamplighters fitting from Hyde
Park Corner carried their ministra-
tons to humber streets and poorer
abodes.
One of them lighted & dingy lamp,
in a street near Soho Square, and so
threw a garish CLEAN into the window
of frst-foor room, which over
Iooked-not the pleasant freshness of
the park-but a row of other rooms in
houses dingy and ugly as its own.
Let US ascend the narrow, ill-lighted
stairs, and enter that room.
A strange room to one entering as
a stranger, an astonishing one.
The four walls are painted black,
and devoid of ornament.
A few articles of furniture, all plain
and well worn, are crowded to one
corner to make room for some other
articles which evidently to the owner
of the apartment are of greater i'm
portance.
These are life-sized statues, busts,
and wood carvings in all stages of
progress from rough hewn to exQuis-
tie finish.
One, beautiful nynlpb, rising from
a crested wave, stands on a raised
dias in the center of the room, and
so arranged that the light falls full
upon that portion Of the marble where
the face will be when its creator shall
cut it.
Before the unfinished statue stands
youth whose form might have
caught it's grace from the 1ifeless fig
ures around it.
The face is turned from the light,
the hands Hong, thin and womanly
white ones-are hard at work; the
sculptor is lost in his dreamland
Suddenly the chisel faItered in the
practiced hand, the mallet was poised
with indecision and doubt.
The next instant the tools dropped
from the masters hands, and he
turned, revealing the same face which
had turned inquiringly to the gaze of
beautiful Stella Newton.
He pushed his soft, silky hair from
his forehead, and looked up at his IN
finished work.
mo use, can do no more tonight,
fair nymph your face must wait,
must wait until NV disordered and
has happened to me Today? I, Louis
FELTON,, am usually as calm and i'm
passable as my own cold marbles; in
fact. | am not we'll fed enough to have
hot blood, and feverish pulse, but
tonight, I can feel the life's fluid
tearing through my veins at race
horse speed, making my hand IN
steady and my fancy but tickle jade
that jigs to the pipe of my magma
ton! And wherefore?? Oh, fie up
on me for an cratic idiot! All for a
passing glimpse of a girls beautiful
face. Tell me, ye gods of my own ere
alton, have I not seen many? Do not
live in the atmosphere of grace and
beauty?
And he turned with mock homage
to his statues, who seemed possessed
of Iife's reason and appeared to lis
ten with calm interest.
"Ah, but what beauty it was; Not
like yours, imperial Juno, though me-
thinks there was a touch of your
prides fire in her eyes; not yours,
wood nympn, Phyllis, though
the freshness of forest violet lowered
on her cheek; nor yours oh, Galatea,
sea maiden, though the mystic
brine of natures freedom rustled the
tresses of her hair and Swallowed the
glory of her sweet, soft brow!
ooh, Louis! shame on thee for an
idiot to rave in the presence of yon
dead ideals of one living girl, beauti-
full though she be. What is she to
thee? A vision only, in fashionable
window of a fashionable house;
note of angelic harmony resounding
amid the clink of gold; gem set in
it's fitting of precious silver; a rich
young lady, doubtless the daughter of
rich parents, who would shudder in
their shoes if they knew that their
IDOLS charms were being extolled,
even to dead, deaf marble, by The
homeless, hungry, out-at-eIbows
Felton,"
He took up his chisel again, but
left the hammer where it was. He
could not work; fancy was truant
still, and as he stood looking at his
nymph, with its uncaryed face, he
rambled on:
"Penniless? Scarcely that. have
SCI estate! Ha! hal And he laughed
ironical laugh. IAN estate of
phantom acres, with an old house
that would tumble about my ears, so
they tell me, if l called my name
aloud in it. The sole remnant of a
great house ard an old name. By
Heavenl I am not penniless. I am
Louis FELTON,, Esq, of Hawthorne, |
squire Of half county which knows |
nothing of him and cares less. Oh, |
am great man-if I but knew it
though l earn my living by carving |
rom pitiless marble such poor mock
cries of my daydreams that they but |
yield me enough bread and water to |
sustain this thin and unsubstantial |
BODY on
He struck himself on the chest as |
lie spoke and laughed again, and |
though it was a trife sad it was a /
pleasant laugh TO hear.