Met a group of solemn judges, their faces reflective of the well-nigh sinister gravity of their office. They were the Hanging Committee. All week they labored, considering case after case, ever and again despaching small dockets which prescribed the action of certain hirelings who, with hammer, rope, wire, went about their business in the Anderson Galleries, Manhattan. They were preparing for the exhibition of the New Society of Artists. The doors of the gallery opened, the judgments of the committee and the consequent hangings stood patent to oglers.
Hung, elegant among the rabble, were two women. They did not twist in grisly...
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