Page:Maud Howe - Atlanta in the South.djvu/66

nevertheless executed it with his never-failing skill. I have never known, but have always wondered what subject the sculptor chose to typify in the fleeting marble of the snowdrift. May he not have moulded an image of the god Eros, youngest, fairest, most remorseless of the Olympians, whose touch, like that of the snow, at once burns and freezes?

Margaret was commissioned to summon forth from the depths of a salt-mine its tutelary deity; and having once seen its face, to sculpture it on the living wall of its invaded domain. She visited the mine; and what she saw and learned there can be best told in her own words. We take the liberty of making an extract from Miss Ruysdale's private journal:—

PAGES FROM THE DIARY OF MARGARET RUYSDALE.

"The order is now given to make ready the lift, and in a twinkling we find ourselves dropping out of the light of day, below the surface of the earth. Swiftly but steadily the small square platform drops down, down, into the bosom of the earth. The motion is so rapid that we seem to be flying from the daylight. At the bottom of the shaft we alight, to find ourselves in the upper gallery of the salt-mine. It is Sunday, and the great shining corridor, hewn out of the pure crystal, is silent and without sign of life. A group of