There is a sketch in charcoal which represents the Bartholdi colossus as the artist has seen it in his mind’s eye, standing high above the waters of the beautiful harbor at twilight, when the lights are just beginning to twinkle in the distant cities and when darkness is softly stealing over the service of the busy earth and sea.  The mystery of evening enwraps the huge form of the statue, which looms vaster than by day, and takes on an aspect of strange majesty, augmented by the background of hurrying clouds which fill the upper portion of the sky.  So seen, the immense Liberty appears what the sculptor wishes and intends it to be, what we Americans sincerely hope it may be,—­a fitting memorial of an inspiring episode in history, and a great work of modern art.

[Footnote A:  Vide papers by Clarence Cook in The Studio, and by Professor D. Cady Eaton of Yale College in the New York Tribune.]

* * * * *

ELIZABETH.[A]

A ROMANCE OF COLONIAL DAYS.

BY FRANCES C. SPARHAWK, Author of “A Lazy Man’s Work.”

[Footnote A:  Copyright, 1884, by Frances C. Sparhawk.  All rights reserved.]

CHAPTER III.

IDLESSE.

“Don’t move your head, Elizabeth, keep it in that position a little longer,” said Katie Archdale, as she and her friend sat together the morning after the sail.  “I wish an artist were here to paint you so; you’ve no idea how striking you are.”

“No, I have not,” laughed the other, forgetting to keep still as she spoke, and turning the face that had been toward the window full upon her companion.  The scene that Elizabeth’s eyes had been dwelling upon was worthy of admiration; her enthusiasm had not escaped her in any word, but her eyes were enraptured with it, and her whole face, warmed with faint reflection of the inward glow, was beautiful with youth, and thought, and feeling.

“Now you’ve spoilt it,” cried Katie, “now you are merely a nice-looking young lady; you were beautiful before, perfectly beautiful, like a picture that one can look at, and look at, and go away filled with, and come back to, and never tire of.  The people that see you so worship you, but then, nobody has a chance to do it.  You just sit and don’t say much except once in a while when you wake up, then you are brilliant, but never tender, as you know how to be.  You give people an impression that you are hard.  Sometimes I should like to shake you.”

Elizabeth laughed.

“That’s the way you worship me,” she answered.  “I suspected it was a strange kind of adoration, largely made up of snubbing.”

“It’s not snubbing,” retorted Katie, “it is trying to rouse you to what you you might be.  But I am wasting my breath; you don’t believe a word I say.”

“I should like to believe it,” returned the girl, smiling a little sadly.  “But even if I did believe every word of it, it would seem to me a great deal nicer to be like you, beautiful all the time, and one whom everybody loves.  But there’s one thing to be said, if it were I who were beautiful, I could’nt have the pleasure I do in looking at you, and perhaps, after all, I shouldn’t get any more enjoyment out of it.”