The morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, June 19, 1887, Image 1

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( EfiTADLISHEI) ISSO. ) (J. H. EsTILL Editor and Proprietor, f PRIORITY. From the Fit If burg Bulletin. in her copy, little chamber, with her feet upon the fender, She wap reading Walter Scott, the while her husband, young and tender, Wore a smile upon his lips that neither tongue nor pen could render. “Not one person out of twenty with the first fond lover marries,” Bo sbe reads, and o’er the sentence fora passing moment tarries. While her question, with a subtle subterfuge, he quickly parries. “Was vour ardent protestation unto me your fii-st confession ?” And, “Was your beloved admission your initial concession?" “Well: I married my first loro, providing you did,” she said faintly. “If you didn't—why J didn't,”—with a smile so rene and saintly. Thus, by woman's wit, the nuarrel was averted, very quaintly. NORA OF THE ADIRONDACK. BY ANNE E. ELLIS. authoii ok “them women,” etc. CHAPTER I. •‘Gee! ha! g'lang, ye lazy brutes!” said Timothy Tideout, as he goaded on the sleepy oxen that tugged and pulled the wagon load of lumber along the dusty roads. Now almost stopping as if indisposed to go further—then starting forward with a rush, while Timmy urged and lashed, then wiped the perspiration from his taco and neck with his huge handkerchief. “Whew! This here's the hottest day I ever did see! I’ll be glad when these dog days be over. It it wasn't fur Nora I’d give up and rest a spell, but she’s tuck sich a powerful notion of lamin’ that I hain't got the heart to disappoint her.” So saying, Timmy urged on the steers, whistling a merry tune and between whiles putting an immense quid of tobacco in his month by way of comfort. How he managed to get the huge piece in his mouth was a mystery. That cavity did not look so large, but it certainly did hold an enormous quantity of “pig tail,” and Timmy evidently found an enormous amount of solace therein. A man on horseback was now seen in the distance, and Timniv stopped his whistling and looked up in wonder as he saw he was a stranger in those parts. The equestrian approached and his whole tearing gave evidence of a gentleman of education and apparent wealth, while his hands, which were ungloved, were white and delicate as if unused to labor. The stranger rode up to Timmy and, lift ing his hat and with smiling countenance, said: “Friend, will you be kind enough, to tell me how far it is to the nearest inn t ” “Wall, it be a. matter of twenty mile ter one as is wuth goin’ ter. There be a place in the woods as keeps travelers sometimes, but it do be said folks as goes there sometimes don’t come away. Barney as keeps it is a strange, sneekin’ sort of a fellow, and folks is keerful not to go through the woods arter nightfall,” replied Timmy. “Is there any place near where I could get n night’s lodging ? My horse is too tired to go much further,” queried the stranger. “You might stop with us. stranger. We hain’t no great ’conuuodations fur big bugs like you, but I guess ye'll And things clean and wholesome, and ve needn’t be afeerd to take out that there watch of vour'n fur fear yer brains ’ll be dashed out ter git it.” “Thanks, stranger. I will accept your kind offer and be grateful for it,” replied the gentleman. The traveler turned his horse and rode on by the side of Timmy, with difficulty keep ing his mettlesome horse to the pace of the slow oxen. The stranger was a tall, well-built yoifng man, with black hair and dark gray eyes, which orbs, shaded by their biack lashes and overhunk with the tinely-arehed black brows, looked at times as if they were dark hued also. While the broad, open brow mid finely-cut mouth, uncovered by moustache, betokened gentle breeding and honesty. His dress was soiled with heat and travel, but was put on with care and neatness. The two traveled on in silence until Tim my’s curiosity overcame him. ’’Traveled much in these here parts, stranger/” “Not muMi,” was the reply. “Purty country, I oalkelate.” “Yes, very beautiful I bad no idea America could boast of such scenery. 1 think it wonld lie to my advantage to stop awhile and take sonie views,” responded the stranger, gating around him admir ingly. “You be one of them picter takers, lie ye, that we trails about;”queried Timmy, look ing at the stranger in astonishment. “Yes, Ido something in that line," an swered the stranger with an amused smile. “Wall, I reckon ye kin find somethin' purty among these Adyromlneks. lam of the opinion tljat there hain’t no punier country in these here States,” exclaimed Timmy, with a burst of enthusiasm. “Grand 1 , sublime!” echoed the young man as a magnificent landscape presented itself to bis artist’s eyes from a gap in the shrub bery of the mout .iu road which they were traversing.* “Nora ’ll he sot up now! She hoz a fancy fur picter paintin’ tool” cried Timmy, joy fully. “ And who is Nora, n*ny I ask’” “Nora' mv dartovj. The old woman and mo never hed'no time fur nuthin’hut hard ■work; but. Norn, the only child ns lived, she took to book lamin’ and music. Ye knight tor hear her sing, stranger! Him do sing more like a bird nor anything 1 ever did hear!” cried Timmy, with a burst of enthu siasm, the love light shining in his honest eyes ns he recounted the accomplishments of he darling. The stranger smil'd pleasantly, and the strong, handsome, aristocratic face showed the interest,'Hie felt in this flower of the wilderness. * “You say your daughter draws?” asked he. “Yes, she makes some party picter* for one ns iiez never been larut. It frets the old woman because sire don't keel* to work. Hlio ilrAry to help, but it don’t coma nat oral, so I tells ma’am to let her alone; fur I’m afeerd she don’t lielong to us; she Ins too like a picter herself, and ma’am and me never was hnn’some.” Tlie stranger’s interest grew ns he heard the proud father’s account of his daughter, and lie could scarcely wait to see what, man ner of prodigy this wild mountain country could contain" He fully expected to nee .a large buxom lass with a kiud voice singing love ditties and wild songs, and whose liter iiturc consists of unimaginable love stories and romances. They now approached the house, and as the stronger surveyed the old ruiu with its If I jt' Horning W cto& dilapidated surroundings he became still more dubious of anything like a being of re finement being found within its walls. As he neared the edifice he saw two female figures, one of which disappeared into the house, while the other shaded her eyes with her hand and stared at the unwonted sight of such a fine-looking individual approach ing. She was a hard, grim-visaged woman of about five and fifty, with an eye that looked as if such a thing as tenderness had never gleamed from it. Her very appearance threw a chill over one, and made him feel that it was better to get as far away as pos sible from her. Yet still, there was no choice but this, or a ride of twenty miles and the doubtful house in the woods, so the stranger decided to remain. Timmy took the stranger’s horse after he had dismounted and gave the animal into file charge of a large, freckled face, shock headed boy, who answered to the euphonious name of Sampson, which individual led the horse to the dilapidated building that was called the stable, while Timmy conducted the stranger to the presence of his wife. “Ma’am, this yer stranger wants lodgin’ for to-night. I guess you kin put him some where.” The old woman stared hard, and at last replied gruffly: “I don’t know where ye kin nut grand quality folks like him.” “I reckon ye kin store him away some where for the night. You know tho tav ern’s twenty miles or more, and it beeut safe ter go to Barney’s,” replied Timmy. “I think, madam, I could manage for one night if you will bo kind enough to take me. My horse is tired, and I will gladly pay for accommodations,” said the traveler, anxious lest ho should fail to secure even the haven of refuge for himself and weary steed. “Well, I guess we kin store ye away somewhere,” replied “ma’am,” not over graciously. The word “pay” liad influenced her decis ion mightily. “Walk in, stranger! walk in!” said Tim my, ushering the stranger into the living room—which room was kitchen, sitting room and parlor, all in one. In the meanwhile the old woman bustled away to prepare a room for him. In a few minutes she returned and ushered him into a large, unplastered room, roughly furnished, but with an evident ap pearance of refinement and taste. A few prints and drawing in rustic frames graced the wall, while the bed was dressed in showy white, and curtains of the same pure hue gracefully festooned the windows. A vase of flowers stood on the little home made shelf, and little articles of female handiwork were strewn about. Evidently it was the room of a woman, but not of the old woman who had first brought him there. Who was she? The stranger’s curiosity was now thor oughly aroused. His desire to see this mountain lassie was great. He hastened to refresh himself by a plenti ful ablution in water so he could go down to the room to investigate. But bafore he was quite ready a heavy knock at the door and a summons to supper came. He hastened into the kitchen, and as he entered the door he just caught a glimpse of a white dress disappearing out of the door on the other side, but nothing more. “Draw up, stranger, and make yourself at home,” said Timmy, his honest face gleaming with pleasure at this unusual presence of a guest. The table had a coarse but snowy white cloth upon it, and an abundance of coaree, pfciin food, and, to the stranger’s surprise, the bunch of flowers so welcome to the eye of the lover of the beautiful, and so seldom found even on the tables of the rich much less on those of moderate circumstances. “Flowers, beautiful flowers. Thy language is innocence.” But let us descend from heuven to earth. Coarse though the fare was, it disappeared rapidly. But the daughter—where was she? Every sound and the stranger turned anxiously ex pecting to see her enter. But she came not. She evidently was trying to evade notice. “Who be ye. stranger?” asked the old woman, curiously. “My name is Beaconsfield,” responded the stranger, not without some hesitation and a feeling of disgust as the coarseness of his in terrogator grated on his sensibilities. “Come from these parts?” again asked she. “No,” responded he again. “I reckon ye lie Engiish, stranger?” said Timmy, nervously, fearful of offending by asking unnecessary questions. “Yes, 1 am from England.” “Been in these parts long?” again ques tioned the wife. “Only a short time,” responded the now almost exasperated stranger. ••On business?” persistently inquired the dame, unmindful of the annoyance of her guest. , . ~ . “No, for pleasure, i nni traveling for pleasure." . . As he replied the stranger s voice evinced so much impatience that even the blunt sen i-ihilities of the old woman prompted her to desist from questioning. . “He’s one of them chaps as pamts pieters, explained Timmy. “Umph!” granted the old woman, as if she didn't think that of much moment. “I tel led trim our Nora could make pic ters. too,” said Timmy. "She’d a heap better lain to wash and scrub. Yer can’t eat pieters!” growled Mag as the stranger found the old woman was called. “I never seed no good in ’em,” continued she. “The.y’s han’soine, mother. “Good 'nuff fur them as likes 'em! As fur my part, I never had no time to look at ’em.” continued Mag. ••I should like to see some of your daughter’s drawings,” said Mr. Beaconsfield to Timmy. , ~ . , “I’ll try ami git some fur ye. Mr. Jackons field But Nora's might}' shy of strangers - she aliens runs as ef she was skew ed when any one comes,” replied the old man, pleased at the notice taken of the one evident idol of his heart. , “DeekenhoM’is tho stranger’s name, dad, corrected Mag. “No— Dcfti-oiwflelll," replied the young stranger with a shade of annoyance at the mil-c alling of his aristocratic name. “Well well, stranger! it's all one—nothin but ft name. Fur my part, I'm ji*t as well pleased with l’ideout as one more high-fer lutin’,” replied Timmy, laughing. “Urnph!” exclaimed Mag, mid she gave a chuckle that was evidently intended tor a risible effort. Huriper over. Timmy and the young guest walked out to view the wild mountain scenery, and as he gazed on the overhanging rocks and down into the deen ravines with the mountain forests on either side, young Reaconstteld did not wonder that this might be the birth place of romance. The air was redolent with flowers, the birds sung their evening song, thrilling the whole being with joy and nonce. The two returned to the nouse, but no ap pearance of Nora. Had it not been for tf.e glimpse he had liad of the white drew, the young Englishman would have thought this '''overcome bv*fatigue he retired early aoa. to he well rested and refreshed for the mor row’s journey, and slept the sleep o f an ewy conscious and tirtxi txxiy, )ued by t > sweet, refreshing mountain atr. SAVANNAH, GA., SUNDAY, JUNE 1!*, 1887—TWELVE PAGES. CHAPTER 11. “Now I lay me down to Bleep. And the blue eyes dark and deep, I cl their snowy curtains down, Edged with fringes golden brown; All day long the angels fair. l‘ve been watching over there; Heaven's not far, tis just in sight. Now they're calling me. goodnight! Kiss me, mot her, do not ween, Now I lay me down to sleep." Arthur Beaconsfield slowly opened his eyes, his dreamy thoughts shaping them selves to heavenly visions as the sweet voice ended the song. “Over there, just over there. List the angels' morning prayer; Lisping* low. t Urn' fancy creep, Now I lay me down to sleep.” “ ’List the angel’s morning prayer, ” he repeated, over and over again, trying to collect lus thoughts so as to realize where he was. And then us he awoke more fully he remembered the adventure of the night be fore. “But who was the owner of the voice? It certainly was most bird-like; it could not belongtoacoar.se person!” he thought to himseJf. His faculties now thoroughly awakened young Beaconsfield hastened to attire him self read}' for his morning ride to Danforth, whither he Liad been bound the day be fore. His toilet arranged ho opened the case ment and inhaled a long whiff of the sweet, pure mountain air, thereby gaining renewed strength. The wild American mountain scenery was grand. The house was built upon a bluff over looking tho valley beneath with its ravines, locks, streams, waterfalls and houses, the latter dotting the ground below, looking in the distance like play houses. Arthur stood enraptured, his artist’s eye taking in the whole magnificent landscape. “I must have that picture! There never was one so lovely!” exclaimed he in ecstatic delight. In the midst of his rapture a vigorous knocking at tho door recalled him to earth. And a loud voice calling, “Stranger! breakfast!” reminded him that he was hun- gry. He entered the large kitchen and enjoyed his breakfast of brown bread, bacon, eggs and black coffee immensely. “Sleep sound, stranger: 1 ’ asked Timmy. “Splendidly! I was quite wearied after my ride, and your bracing mountain air quieted my nerves sufficiently to cause me to sleep soundly,” answered the young Eng lishman. “Goin’ on?” grunted Mag. “Yes, I must lie on my journey after breakfast so I can have the coolest part of the day for the longest part of my jour ney.” “Can’t stay longer, stranger? \\ e hain’t got much to offer ye, but I think ye might find somethin’ to make pieters of around here; there hain’t a purtier piece of moun tain country any whar,” said Timmy, look ing disappointed. He had taken a notion to young Beacons field; his education and refinement suiting his American taste. “I cannot possibly stay now; but perhaps I may come back again. I should like very much to see some of your daughter’s draw ings and perhaps I can assist her.” “Come on, come on! yer weleome stranger!” so saying, Timmy called the shock-headed boy: “Samp, go out and sad dle the stranger's horse, and, mind ye, give him a good feed.” Sampson departed, and as Arther found the time for leaving nearly at hand his dis appointment at not seeing Nora was keen indeed. The sweet voice he had heard in the morn ing haunted him continually, and he was anxious to see the face of the sweet song stress of this mountain home. He answered abstractedly Timmy's and Mag's questions, trying to persuade himself that his anxiety was foolish. Sampson put his head into the door. “The stranger’s horse be lame, sir, so he can’t put his foot to the ground.” Beaconsfield looked aghast at the hews, and he ami Timmy hastened out to see the extent of the injury. When they arrived at the stable the horse was led out for their inspection, and sure enough lie was beyond a doubt lame. The animal whmueyed and rubbed him self against Arthur as if to ask for relief. Arthur patted and rubbed him, looking into the. horse’s eyes with pity. “Poor Romeo!”said he, patting him fond ly on the neck. The young man knew that travel was now out of the question. His horse was a valua ble one ami almost as intelligent as a hu man ticing. Beaconsfield had brought him from his English home, and he would rather endure pain himself tiian see his beautiful favorite suffer. Tiie foot was duly bathed and bandaged, and Timmy and the young Englishman re turned to the house—Beaconsfield resigned to his fate of several days incarceration in his mountain prison. But little did he think that the days would be prolonged into months. Fortunately he had brought drawing ma terials in Ins'portmanteau, and he resolved to make good use of his time in copying the beauties of the mountain scenery of the Adiroudacks. The young Englishman's desire to see Nora became stronger. The sweet voice rang in his ears and tie resolved to he more vigilant and catch the sly bird unawares. With imrtfolio in hand he sauntered out along tho mountain side, each view as it hurst upon ha- gaze from the openings in the thickets filling him with rapture. At last lie selected a spot where he had a clear view ofjthe lovely valley beneath, and clambering down the rocks he found a sheltered niche where a good view could be had and, as he thought, away from all in trusion. He sketched lazily on until, tiring of his occupation, lie st rapped Ids |K>rtfolio to his side and crept along the ledge until lie reached a perfect Is over of trailing arbutus, columbine and wild honeysuckle, while tho ledge was carpeted with rich, Alvety mow. And what else ? A beautiful maiden sleeping wweptly in this lovely bower. She was half reclining on a mossy seat with her head on her arm, wlihni was thrown carelessly oil a slight cmba*nnit. Such Iwuuty Arthur >n never beheld. • Hurelv the good 1 tropic of Erin's gWen isle were not mistaken in their belief in fairies, and this must Is- one of their wood land nymphs which he had taken unaware*. The'lovely waxen skin with it* peachy bloom; the hair like spun gold and hanging in graceful ringlets; tlm beautiful outlines of the perfect face with the closed eyes, shallowed by their dark lashes and the tmy, penciled brows, while the foot, from which the slipper had fallen, was small and beauti fully arched. The delicate hand and taper-, ing fingers with their almond-shajmd nails showed aristocratic breeding ahd ignorance of toil. Beautiful as an hour! was she. As young Bea<stnsfield gazed on this pic ture of rare loveliness, hardly crediting the beautiful vision with earth, he gave an ex clamation of surprise which awoke the, stopper. Hue uncovered eyes of heaven’s own blue, from out whose depths the beautiful sogi shone with all its innocence. The maiden was start lisi as she lieheld t.he intruder, and arose hastily to flee from the spot, like a startled fawn •‘Pardon, fair lady!” said the young man. ,“I did not mean to Intrude. I ouly came to sketch some views of this lovely country and discovered unexpectedly your bower.” The maiden blushed, and with down-oast eyes bid him “welcome!” He seated himself on the mossy ground, for the first time in his life abashed by the presence of a woman. To his great astonishment he discovered that this lovely, fairy-like creature was the daughter of Timmy and Mag. As Arthur overcame bis shyness the young girl conversed freely, and' he drew her out. to speak of herself, her plans, her aspirations and disappointments, and lie found her—notwithstanding her rough, iso lated surroundings—a person of culture and refinement. She hail early learned to read and write, and liemga favorite of the kind old gentle man who had taught school in the neighbor hood for many years, she had received such instruction as enablod her to continue Iter studies, and through his assistance had se cured a fe-.v valuable books, such as were instructive and improving. Arthur was surnrisesd to find the degree of culture to which this rustic mind had at tained with the few facilities at hand. Her sketches were entirely from nature, and, for one altogether untutored, showed a natural talent for art. Arthur picked a book from off the green moss at his side, expecting to find an un imaginable romance, but nis astonishment was great upon finding it a Volume of Long fellow-. Upon opening it there was every evidence of its having bean well studied and read. The choicest passages were marked. To the Englishman who had been accus tomed only to fair dames in baronical halls, and who had been taught that women born beneath their rank were ignorant and un tutored, this beautiful young girl with tier cultured tastes was a mystery. He congratulated himself upon his dis covery, for now liis stay at the old home would not be so tedious. It would be a posi tive delight to train this rich mind and en joy this sweet companionship. Ah, my young friend! Fly while you have time, for you are in danger—you are too near the fire to escape with your wings unsinged. CHAPTER 111. Earl Beaconsfield was one of the proudest lords of the realm. Descended in an almost unbroken line from royalty, he was haughty and austere. A1 though kind and condescending t* his infe riors, his dignity and hauteur showed them that no familiarity was allowed. He had. early in life, brought to his an cestral halls bis voung bride—Anne, only daughter of Lord Hapsburg—a lady famous for her beauty and accomplishments. She had early been left motherless and her girlhood’s years were mostly spent in the companionship of her easy, indulgent father, who made her his heart's idol and would allow none of her wishes to be thwarted. She had one other devoted at tendant —Margaret, the faithful and affec tionate servant of her sainted mother Margaret w-as, fortunately for Lady Anne, a woman of good, sound sense—and, al though she loved her little lady devotedly, strove to train her so as to become an upright Christian woman. Anne was naturally of a gentle, yielding disposition and she grew up as lovely in character as she was m person. Lord Hapsburg, knowing that his years foretold speedy dissolution, although dread ingsorely to part with his idolized daughter, yielded to t.lia request of the then young Karl Beaconsfield for his daughter’s hand knowing that she would lie well guarded from harm by such an honorable man as Arthur Dugan, Earl Beaconsfield. Anne was by no means averse. Hbo had known the young Earl from childhood Rnd hail grown to love him, almost impercepti bly—and she was happy indeed when she had his manly strqpgtn and sheltering love for protection. And fondly indeed the Earl loved his sweet wife. Her disposition was one that looked to a stronger for protection and shrank with timidity from harshness. Several children had 1 teen born to the Earl and Countess, but thesp young buds had only blossomed to fade and wither, until the birth of young Arthur—who, although delicate at birth, grew into a sturdy, romping boy, quick and apt and honorable. Arthur cared for no companions more than his mother and Margaret, for although they ruled him with firmness, there was a gentleness and affection that w on his heart’s sincere devotion. The young lord loved his father, also, dearly. But the haughty dignity of tho Earl forbade his approach with any degre • of familiarity—and his love was more that of fear than pure affection. Arthur loved his father and felt proud of him. but it was into the car of his gentle mother that he poured his youthful trouble and pleasures. “Remember that you are a Beaconsfield, my son,” from the Earl repelled the young boy but quelled any youthful folly in his father’s presence. “My dear son,” and the tender look of love from his mother drew him constantly to her side to lay his head on her shoulder and caress and lie caressed in turn. “My bontiic boy,” from Margaret, brought him bounding to her side, his bright eyes gleaming with boyish fun. As Arthur grew in years and too large for the training of home,’ he was placed under the tutorage of the neighboring vicar, a man noted for his learning and piety, who sought not only to train the youthful mind for Oxford but for the higher duties of life. Tile boy had but few playmates but the one lie loved most was the little Lady Betty, the only daughter and heiress of their near neighbor, a wealthy lord. Tlie little lady was much younger than Arthur, a little brown thing with blue, black hair, and great eyes like midnight- who, although homely as a child, was one uf those who develop into that rich, warm beauty of the South as they grow in yea re. She was a mischievous sprite and dearly loved to tense the groat boy who was so de voted to his tormentor. The parents of both looked upon the youthful friendship with great delight, ns the 1 >eglnning of n older and a stronger affection, which was to terminate in an nlli ance which would I# most desirable and of interest to lmth houses. But the young l*y soon outgrew his tutor and entered Oxford. The parting from his mother and litllo playmate was sad, but his fat, hop’s— “ Remember you are a Beaconsfield.” fill ing him with the pride of his noble birth* IDs mother’s—“ God bless you. my son! Remember your mother's teachings.” Margarets last greeting over her “bonnio foOy** And the last words of his much loved tutor— “ Remember, Hir Arthur, there are two kinds of manhood, therefore let it be your aim to strive for the nobler .” These spurred him on to the highest aim, together with hie natural nobility of char arter. • He loft Oxford, having done honor to him self and friends. The pride of the Beaoons flelds was never once outraged by any dis graceful srrajjes, and the Earl gazed upon him with proud satisfaction as he welcomed his son back to his paternal home. \joAy Anne’s eyes were filled with team of joy, as she was folded with unchanged affoc tlon in the arms of her son. now grown to manhood. But with Margaret he wu# still—“her bounie boy,” Lady Bet ty was in her sweet girlhood and was fast fulfilling the promise of her earlier years by becoming a beauty. The face was growing exquisite in its out lines and rosy bloom, while her form, yet undeveloped ns it was, gave promise of rare loveliness. She stood somewhat in awe of the fine, manly friend of her childhood a. I there Was a restraint in their bearing towards each other. But that soon wore off and they were re-established on their old friendly foot ing. Their friendship was that of brother and sister, and a warmer feeling never once entered their hearts. Young Beaconsfield was allowed to remain at home for a few months and was then sent away again, to spend a few years in travel, ns a finishing touch to his education. When we met him in New York he had traveled over the greater part of Europe and Asia, and was finishing with the United States, where he wished to obtain some sketches of the romantic scenery of which he had heard so much. Sir Arthur had early shown a taste for art,; and as lie grew in years it had become a passion with him. In search of subjects for his much loved study he had met his fate and the cause— and innocent cause—of much sorrow and tribulation. Arthur liad spent much time in Italy, perfecting himself in painting and sculpture and he little Know that what he deemed a mere pastime was to be the means of earn ing the daily bread of himself and one much dearer than self to him. For although the Earldom and estates were entailed upon him, Sir Arthur lind nothing during lfis father’s lifetime hut what ins father chose to give him, which which was most liberal. Young as he was lfis pictures and one gem of sculpture had received much praise—and lie was already classed among the leading artists of the day—and had he have chosen to part with lfis artistic productions his in come would have been ample. Well for him that it was so. He would have fared badly should he offend his proud father and lose nis support while that father was living. [TO 11E CONTINUED.] WHITHER ARE WE DRIFTING ? BY GAGE HAMPSTEAD. The setting apart of the seventh day for rest never sprang from human intellect. So grand, so wise and heneficent a law must emanate from the mind of Deity alone. Heathen nations of the past and to-day, though attaining a high degree of civiliza tion, are still a worn, a weary people. In cessant toil, treading the tread mill on, till death castejipon life the gloom that yearns for rest in the grave. No Monday finds the people of China refreshed, ready for the new week of work. How blessed that laud that possesses this invaluable, loving law! where it is kept, not as man perverts it, but. simply, purely, as the Great Law-Giver knows it will conduce to the welfare of humanity. To deviate in*the slightest degree from heaven's commands is to burn strange fire, to invite death. Holy, hallowed, the day of rest! No mortal of any intelligence can misconstrue this command. The |>ea ce and sanctity of the blessed day affects even the wicked, the very atmosphere that pervades him seems to invite him to a “land of rest.” In no land was the Sabbath more correctly observed than in our own South and her cities. Blit to-day we behold anew innova tion. What jar upon the holy day is the rush of the feverish throng to go on an ex cursion! is the grinding toil of men wh" lielong to a “soulless incoi-poration!" By their wear and tear of muscle, by their sigh . for the lowly home and the dear inmates on this day of rest, is the cry of the witnesses of this sin gone forth. Yet the fallacious argument is boldly made that this pleasure of Sunday excursions is given in view of lienefit to the poor. What of benefit to the prior Inlsir outside? Only on thisdny, is it claimed, that the poor workingman finds time for such recreation. This should be a keen blade piercing into our legislation, our Christianity, to admit that no means can be devised so t hat the poor can have a pleasant recreation, with out being driven to violate the Kabbath day! Each patriot heart must throb in sympathy over our toiling bread-winners. Over their lives let strong hearts unite to cast every possible ray of sunshine. But after all, do the poor avail themselves more than others of the Bunday excursion? The day of l ost, the only day they can sjiend at home, is to ninny most. gladly passed with their families. For many such the Kabbath affords tho many sacred recreations and pleasures, for the thought to intrude of join ing that which, to say the least, is question able pleasure. 11l fact, what classes compose the ordi nary Sunday excursion party? The man about town, the heedless girl, families who can afford to go in the week, but who are willing to break the Sabbath to save a lew dimes. Dove-coted among these are the ]oor, who could never go unless the terms were so low and the day Kabbath! Where is the statesman whose heart burns with love to his fellow-man who will devise a plan >o that some week day the poor laborer can take a whiff of salt air, or dash through den and dingle on the iron horse? Kogrand a work is worthy the brain of some t rue man. With paw, sail faces, the poor, shut in their lowly homes, appeal to us as a Chi istian people to remove from them the temptation to break this law. Will their voices he heard? Bum one barrier, break down one rain part, and another is quickly demolished. Those who look in dismay on this first great, public violation of God's day may witness, in another decade, other strides toward the breaking of the fourth command. Why Is* amazed to wake up ten years hence and find tin* theatres open, the ball room alluring in the throng oh Sundays? One step only means another. Now in time, lei our Christian and jotriotic people read their danger. On each of these is laid the finger of (led. as In voice of love and command He cries from Klnai’s burning mount: "Uemcmlier my Kabbath day to keep it holy.” An Unexpected Suggestion. From the Merchant Tea crier. “Hay. Gaddemby," said Mr. Smith, as he came into the flnh store with a lot of tackle in his hand, “I want, you to give me some fish to take home with me. Kind o’ fix ’em up so that they'll look ns if they've I wen caught today', will you?” “Certainly, sir,” said tho grocer. “How many.” “Oh, you'd t>ert**r give me three o four bass. Make it look decent, in quantity without appearing to exaggerate, you know.” “Yes, sir, but you’d 1 wtter take white fish, hadn’t you?" • •‘Why, what makes you think tor "Oh, nothing, except that your wife wus flown bore early this afternoon and said if you dropped ui with a tlsh-pole over yoiu' shoulder and a generally woe-be-g<uie look to have you trtkw whito if powHibto as she liked that kind better than any other.” Mr. Smith took white fish. Thikus One WmVd Hather Have Left Unsaid --Bhe~ No, I cannot give you another dance. Hiu i ii introduce you to the prettiest girl in the room He- 3ut I don’t wan t to deuce with the r#vui*f>t xirl iu the fount. I want to dance with 1 ypu.—Ek/icA. ST ROLL IN'CENTRAL PARK EARLY VISITORS AND HOW THEY AMUSE THEMSELVES. Business Men, Loafers and Angloma niacs Who Love the Cool Mornlhg Breezes A Visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art -Beautiful Creations and Extraordinary Daubs. New Yoke, June 18. —There are a good many surprises in Now York even for the most knowing of the natives. Yesterday morning I arrived from Boston on an early train. I had not been able to sleep well on the cars coming over, and had risen at (5 o’clock and watched the green fields and wooded slopes of Connecticut as we whiz zed through at the rate Of fifty miles an hour. Perhaps it was this that gave me a desire fora bit of the (country, for, when I arrived in New York at 8 o’clock, I found that 1 could not get the green hills and wooded slopes quite out of my mind. So I turned around on my way down town to breakfast nnd drove up to Central Park. I had vyith me n man of distinction in the political world who had quite as restless a night as I hail suffered from. But he protested at first ugainst the trip to the park. “ Who ever heard," he said with the fine contempt of a man who invariably does the proper tiling, “of going to Central Park in the morning f" A ride before, breakfast. I had never heard of it , but I insisted and wo droVe through the Fifty ninth street gate, and ambled gently northward with the steady and jerky but sincere enthusiasm which a New York cab horse is apt to im part to an excursion of this sort. A little wav from the entrance we alighted, sent the call back with our hags awl strolled gently up the mall. I eould not avoid a feeling of gentle exhilaration. It was partly due to the lovely scenery, the freshness of the verdure and the mngnif cent banks of bloom ing flowers and floweiing vines on every side, but candor compels me to admit that it was also due to the presence of about 1 i>,- 000 people who were enjoying the park pre eisely os wo wore. They were not the poorer classes, by any means. At, one point we came to a bridge wldeh crossed the bridle path and we leaned over the parapet for half an hour and watched the stream of thoroughbred horses and stunning women taken a morning gallop through the park. Most of the women sat their horses like centaurs. Their close habits, bright eyes and red cheeks as they dashed along, followed in many instances by groonnt and nccnnuwnied occasionally by escorts, made a picture [ shall never forget I have been a firm believer in the beauty of New York women for many years, hut, I do not think that, I ever be fore saw so many undeniably handsome and spirited beauties as 1 did yesterday morn ing during that half hour’s loih*ing on the bridge. (Jceasionally, stout old gentlemen on sub stantial horses cantered by, and there were many elaborately attired Anglomaniacs on English looking steeds. What, surprised n both was the number of business men with whom we were acquainted who passed be neatli the bridge. There woreniglit editors, lawyers and Wall street, men whom nobody over suspected of riding, but who were evidently taking a half hour’s dash lief ore breakfast. They did not seem at all sur prised to see us—which shows how much more they knew than we did. We pushed on along to the lake front here, and finally reached one of the pretty resturants with which the park is supplied. It is a low gabled roof cottage, where I have occasion ally seen people lounging at 3 or and o’clock in the afternoon without their husband's knowledge. The place is renowned for its cuisine, and is cozy and comfortable. We saw the roof from afar, and the man with me sighed gently, as he said: “1 would give a good deal if that place was open, but, of course, it isn’t as early as as this. It, strikes me that, planked shad, boiled potatoes and a roasted chicken would just, about start me even with the day. There’s no better place to get them either than over there”—with another wistful glance at the roof—“but, ofjfourae, liter* is no use going at this uneartb™hottr.” '', ■ ■ - An early promenade. fn spit*' of tliis. morose <#nviction we push odour way toward the hogse The main door* were open. Wo went up the step* softly and looked in, expecting to see tlio porters cleaning outthopie Instead, we saw that every table was occupied, and most of them by'people whom one would not for a moment suspect of going to Oen tral Park for breakfast,. For instance, at, one table I saw a prominent theatrical manager, who never goes to lied before 8 o'clock, sitting with two of his pretty sisters and innaling the fragrant air from across the meadows with expanded chest. He was ait Imppv as a main at high tide. At another table was a broker, his wife and four chil dren. And so on all through the room we saw people breakfasting ’sociably near win dows that commanded a magnificent pros pect. VVe ordeitsd our breakfast. atul went back to the lake, where w e watched some children in a rowlxiat. ]jter we went back ami lin ukfasted and wei-e about to start down town, when tny companion suggested another walk. By this time myriads of beautifully dressed children, in charge of snowy-capped, red-cheeked nurse* were romping through the park, and t.rimlv clad young girls in charge of governesses were reading as they sat under the spreading trees, The walk, which we had taken at i PRICE AlO A YEAR. I 5 CENTS A COPY, f random, skirted the drive, and we amused ourselves by watching the endless stream of private carriages carrying people of all Rorts nnd conditions at a brisk pace along the drive. In some of the carnages were old ladies and older men Others were filled by groups of laughing children ana many of tne lighter phaetons and carta were driven by ladies tvho bold the ribbons over spank* ing teams of well-groomed horses. Before we knew it we had arrived at the Metro* politan Museum of Art, and as we both felt that there was no cuance of either one of til getting there again for a year or two, w® hurried up the steps and went into the big building. The collection of modern paint ings, it will lie remembered, has recently taw-ii added to by the gifts of Cornelius Vanderbilt, Judge Hilton and the late Catherine Wolfe. The centre of attraction, of course, was the magnificent Meissonier, "IViedlmi I l-itT.’’ The picfuc\, which, by the way, has !-en disci- . and u-'death of late b> tin- papers, has the place of honor in the gallery, while opposite it hangs Dotal lie’s masterpiece, “The Defense of Charnpigny •” Tin r - were la-sides many magnificent speci mens ' f modern masters in the gallery, and it if- evident that at last New York is to have a collection of painting* which will compare decently with those of the great European cities. The special gallery which is being built under the legacy of the late Catharine Wolfe is already up to a height of one story. The addition, which will cost 8350,000, seems as large as the original building, aud will probably li finished within a year. There is no room for the Wolfe collection now, nnd the pictures are stored pending the completion of the annex. It seems to me, though, that it would be a good idea for the Trustees at the present time to remove some of the less meritori ous pictures—and this is an exceed ingly mild and amiable way of speaking of some of tho extraordinary dauhe in the room which is honored by Meiasonier's great hattlo piece—and place a few of the late Miss Wolfe’s pictures in their places. It would add greatly to the tone of the present exhibition, and there is no reason why the lovers of art should he debarred from seeing tbe Wolfe pictures during the construction of the addition. We wandered around the gallery for a* much time as we could spare and then crossed the roadway for the return walk through the nark. It was as pleasant, an ex rursion as I have oyer made, and one that has been at my doors for many years, but which I have never even thought, of. If the tired business men of New York who hurry from theirstuffy lodging, 'loae flats or small hotel apartments to their closer office® down town, could be prevailed upon to follow the example of the many men whom I saw that morning taking a spin through, the pirk, it would Improve their health and spirits immensely. We were down town in our offices by the time the rush began, but the walk through the park that morn ing was os refreshing as a cold shower Isith on a muggy August day. Blakely Hall. A PROGRESSIVE DINNER PARTY. The Latest Thing That 1* Popular with Y'oung People. New York, June 18.—Ladies with endlee® obligation* of hospitality to cancel are al ways yearning for some new form of enter tainment to present to their guests. Pro gressive euchre parties, as a mild recreation, wore in high favor last year; but, the gilt edge of novelty has worn off of this specie® of entertainments, and after many frantic efforts and dismal failures, some brilliant genius has devised the scheme of a progres sive luncheon or dinner party. This is absolutely the latest thing, and promises to be very popnlar among young people. Considerable skill must be exer cised in selecting the guests, and lazy people, above all, must lie omitted. A good sizer! room is cleared of unneces sary furniture, and small tables (each ac commodating four people) are placed along the room a* for progressive euchre, or in horseshoe shujie, according to the size of the room. The number of tables and course® must be regulated by the number of guest*. We will suppose that fort y young people are to be invited, making twenty couples, in which ease ton tables will be required and ten courses served. Ten of the twenty ladies present are (•bo on by the hostess to lud, os hostess for each table, and they r*inain sea tod in th® same place during the entire meal. When dinner or lunch las the case maybe) is an nounced, music is played in an adjoining room, and these ton ladies take their plaoo at each.table and receive the other lady and! two gent lemen who are to sit with her dur ing the first course. By this time each guest understand* what* is expected of them, nnd when the Bin® Points have disappeared and the plate* re moved tiie head waiter rings a gong and. the Indy and two gentlemen at each table rise and go to tho next in suev'eesion, leav ing the hostess to entertain the newcomers. The gong is rung and music played between, each course during the progression from tin* first to the tenth table, thus giving eri guest an opportunity to converse with the other. A pile of small finger napkins ar® placed at each table and the soiled ones re moved with the plafee, or they can be car ried front table to table by the user. Favor® are served with the last course, and with % little taste in decorating the table* the effect is charming. This progressive meal hna many advantages. First, and foremost, it is a whole evening's entertainment, and. then it does away with the usual conven tionality and stiffness of an ordinary dinner, and bv the constant change of partner* in t reduces a newelement into conversation, so that there is no excuse for any one getting “talked out." , The number of guests invited mult b® divided into four, and the result* will give the number of tables and course* fob* served, but fit a thing of this kind forty is a gfod number. The menu need not be so elaborate or extravagant as that everything should lie daintily served by good waiter® and no confusion in changing tne tables. Mrs. Allan Forman. Things', One Doesn't Like to Hear. From Tui-Pif*. “No, Mr. Smith; but I will be a sister to you.” •Gdod morning. 1 am introducing m work which should be in every library.” "Sorry, dear boy, but I can’t let you have tiie amount, for I’m dead broke myself.” “Charles, it is 8 >SO o'clock. Where have you Ix-eu until this hour!” “Mr. t)e Browne, your services will not be reuniml after Saturday night.” “YOu want to marry my daughter, eh I Well, young man, what are your expectac tiowr .... , “Here is the milliner’s bill, Algy—only $?.V’ “1 soy, Jenkins. 1 heard a good story to day ana 1 must tell it to you. “Oh, Alfred, what do you think! I re ceived a letter from dear miunma this morning, and she’s coming to spend a month with us.” “When will you lie ready to return that #lO, Robinson! This is the fifth time I've asked you for it.” “If ye plane, soor, Miss Heavy*well touUJ me ter tell ye she's not at home. “And fifthly, dear brethren ” “You are a moderate drinker, eh! Now, my dear sir, let me direct your ta a few statistics.”