People's Pilot, Volume 5, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 September 1895 — A LOCK OF HAIR. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A LOCK OF HAIR.

mmh' HE city of Megara lay smiling in the summer sun. Its marble palaces, its tall columns, its . a towers and turrets M were gay with flowing plume and flag; ''W for was feast-day. ’The sun had been up only an hour, but already the streets

were swarming with children, who had risen early to gather flowers to decorate the temples. Soft laughter rose on the t agrant air, and looks at trouble were for the time cast aside. Could one conceive of a more peaceful and contented people? Yet sincere as their happiness was now, it was only as a ray of broken light streaming through a rift in the dark clouds. For Megara was besieged, and the camp of the enemy lay just outside the walls of the city. A truce had been declared that the people might celebrate their holy rites to the gods. And so, grateful for the lull of the strife which for six months had borne heavily upon them, the people threw care to the winds and put all their hearts and souls into the pure pleasure of this one blessed day. They heeded not that this reprieve was but the false hope sent by a cruel fate, and that the darkest hour of their trial was coming swiftly on silent wings. The people now passed in throngs, all gaily attired in their holiday clothes which for months had been put aside. It was time for the ceremony of sacrifice, and the young maidens, dressed in spotless white, with white flowers entwined in their locks, and trailing over their flowing robes, looked like seraphs, with their young faces all aglow with holy enthusiasm. On a smooth, rolling plain, covered with its natural carpet of green, and dotted with flowers, which seemed like a sprinkling of sunbeams, the altar had been erected. The procession formed slowly, the white-robed maidens coming first, chanting, and swaying slightly to an easy dancing step. Then followed the youths of the kingdom, their boyish voices taking up the strain of the maidens, swelling it louder and rolling it over the long ranks. When these had formed a circle about the altar, a long avenue was left clear, and then the glory of the procession came into view. Six tiny maidens, clad’ in rainbow hue, held in their hands masses of flowers entwined about ribbons, and leading by them a snowwhite bull. Its horns were like ivory and shone in the sunlight. No flower or ornament was needed to add a charm to the perfect animal. Walking beside it, her arms thrown caressingly around its neck, was the pride of the kingdom, Scylla, the king’s daughter. She was tall and slight, and as graceful as a reed. Her dark hair hung about her in lustrous coils, and swept over the back of the bull. Her robe was of cloth of gold, and deep purple amethysts fastened its folds and glistened from her black hair. Other ornaments, she had none. Closely following her was Nisus, the king, surrounded by his guards. He, like his daughter, was tall and dark,

with the same kind of hair, except that one lock, falling over his shoulder, shone purple, like the light from her amethysts. No wonder the daughter loved the purple stone, even as Nisus treasured the purple lock for it reflected the light from that lock on which depended the safety of the country. The children led the bull to the altar. Scylla stood beside it, till the king approached with a gleaming knife. Then with a low cry, she threw her arms about the creature’s neck, and pressed a kiss on its white face. But her grief did not interrupt the ceremony and the sacrifice was made. When Scylla reached home she went up into the high tower of the palace, from which she could look down over the whole city and beyond it. Outside the walls she saw, as she had seen for the last six months, the camp of King Minos of Crete, and beyond the white plain the ocean stretching out, out, to liberty. For though she was a princess, Scylla felt like a bird in a golden cage. As she looked down over the camp and watched the tents a figure issued from one of them. During the w;hole time of the siege she had watched the enemy from the tower, and had learned to distinguish the officers by name. And he, who but now emerged from his tent, was no other than King Minos himself. It was easy to know him from the others, for as they were, he over-topped them all, as a great oak in the midst of a beech grove. Then, too, his bearing was that of a king. That noble brow revealed a character grand, good and just. In fact, the king was what a king should be. and when, dressed in his flowing purp’<*. he rode his white

horse, he had all the charms that a knight could wish to win a fair lady’s heart. And Scylla looked till he passed from her view, as she had done every time she had seen him. Then wild thoughts coursed through her excited brain. How cruel a war was, yet she blessed this war that brought Minos to her sight. But how terrible if he should be killed. Oh, if only peace might be had, she would have offered herself as a hostage. Then came the wild thought of delivering the city up. She could easily do it, but one obstacle was in her way. The Fates had decreed that so long as the purple lock remained on her father’s head, the city should stand. It needed but that she should remove it and all would be well; for surely Minos ■would be grateful to her and she would be happy. And then came the thought of that father’s shame and degradation, but only for a moment, as one thought after another coursed through her mind. She felt that she could could pass through fire and water to serve Minos, yet that was not needed. Another woman would dare as much, and could any one dare more than she? Then the victory was won, but not on the side of duty. And only then, when she had fully determined on her plan, did she find peace or rest. That night she arrayed herself in her richest robes. Never had she looked more beautiful. The Graces themselves might have envied her. And Nisus smiled a welcome to his daughter, as she entered the banqueting hall. All traces of her grief at the sacrifice had disappeared and the king was glad. Scylla suffered all his attention and endearments, but hurried to her apartments as soon as she could. She feared lest her resolution might weaken and so her happiness be forever lost. How may of us have stood in a like position, with all the reasons for and against our actions crushing us down, our life and death in the balance, which a breath could give or take! It was after the midnight watch had been called, and the palace was sunk in slumber, that a figure, enveloped in a dark cloak, glided through the wide corridor to the king’s apartments. At the door a challenge rung out, but a moment later the sentinel knelt and the princess passed in to her father. Nisus slept, and the daughter slowly approached his couch. How noble he looked, but the girl steeled her heart against him! A moment later the dark figure fled down the corridors as it had come, but a gleam of triumph shone from the eyes, and love and victory struggled for mastery in the countenance. And the king slept on, but the purple lock had left his head forever! So Scylla went through the dark city and left it behind her as she passed the wall through a secret gate. Swiftly she entered the camp of the enemy and demanded to see’ King Minos. When the king beheld her he thought so lovely a woman had never before walked the earth, but when, holding out the purple lock, she said that she gave up her city, her father, herself, he spurned her from him. “Shall Crete,’’ he cried, “wTiere Jove himself was cradled, be polluted by this monster? Infamous woman, begone, and may neither land nor sea afford thee a resting place!” “Alas!” cried Scylla, “for thee have I given up everything! Ay, I am deserving of death, but thy hand should not be the one to deal the blow!” But Minos would have nothing to do with her, and, the next morning, giving orders that suitable terms should be allowed to the vanquished city, he sailed away with his fleet. As the ships were departing Scylla jumped into the sea, and, grasping the rudder of the vessel that conveyed Minos, was carried along with it till an eagle, into which her father had been changed, darted down and pecked at her with its beak and claws. Scylla cried for mercy, and some pitying deity changed her into a bird. And to this day the eagle ’ pounces upon the gull, ever seeking vengeance for the old crime.

“INFAMOUS WOMAN, BEGONE!”