Their Pilgrimage.................................................................................................................................................1

Charles Dudley Warner ............................................................................................................................1

I. FORTRESS MONROE .......................................................................................................................1

II. CAPE MAY, ATLANTIC CITY .......................................................................................................9

III. THE CATSKILLS ..........................................................................................................................18

IV. NEWPORT .....................................................................................................................................27

PLYMOUTH ........................................................................................................................................40

VI. MANCHESTERBYTHESEA, ISLES OF SHOALS ..............................................................50

VII. BAR HARBOR .............................................................................................................................55

VIII. NATURAL BRIDGE, WHITE SULFUR ...................................................................................66

IX. OLD SWEET AND WHITE SULFUR ..........................................................................................73

X. LONG BRANCH, OCEAN GROVE ..............................................................................................77

XI. SARATOGA ...................................................................................................................................80

XII. LAKE GEORGE, AND SARATOGA AGAIN ............................................................................86

XIII. RICHFIELD SPRINGS, COOPERSTOWN ...............................................................................89

XIV. NIAGARA ...................................................................................................................................94

XV. THE THOUSAND ISLES ............................................................................................................99

XVI. WHITE MOUNTAINS, LENNOX ...........................................................................................106

When Irene looked out of her stateroom window early in the morning of the twentieth of March, there was a

softness and luminous quality in the horizon clouds that prophesied spring. The steamboat, which had left

Baltimore and an arctic temperature the night before, was drawing near the wharf at Fortress Monroe, and the

passengers, most of whom were seeking a mild climate, were crowding the guards, eagerly scanning the long

"It looks more like a conservatory than a hotel," said Irene to her father, as she joined him.

"I expect that's about what it is. All those long corridors above and below enclosed in glass are to protect the

hothouse plants of New York and Boston, who call it a Winter Resort, and I guess there's considerable winter

"But how charming it isthe soft sea air, the low capes yonder, the sails in the opening shining in the haze,

"I suppose it is. Get a thousand people crowded into one hotel under glass, and let 'em buzz aroundthat

And she did. Mrs. Benson, who appeared at the moment, a little flurried with her hasty toilet, a stout,

matronly person, rather overdressed for traveling, exclaimed: "What a homelike looking place! I do hope the

"No doubt the Stimpsons are on hand," said Mr. Benson. "Catch them not knowing what's the right thing to

do in March! They know just as well as you do that the Reynoldses and the Van Peagrims are here."

The crowd of passengers, alert to register and secure rooms, hurried up the windy wharf. The interior of the

hotel kept the promise of the outside for comfort. Behind the glassdefended verandas, in the spacious office

and general loungingroom, seacoal fires glowed in the wide grates, tables were heaped with newspapers

and the illustrated pamphlets in which railways and hotels set forth the advantages of leaving home; luxurious

chairs invited the lazy and the tired, and the hotelbureau, telegraphoffice, railwayoffice, and postoffice

showed the newcomer that even in this resort he was still in the centre of activity and uneasiness. The

Bensons, who had fortunately secured rooms a month in advance, sat quietly waiting while the crowd filed

before the register, and took its fate from the courteous autocrat behind the counter. "No room," was the

nearly uniform answer, and the travelers had the satisfaction of writing their names and going their way in

search of entertainment. "We've eight hundred people stowed away," said the clerk, "and not a spot left for a

At the end of the file Irene noticed a gentleman, clad in a perfectly fitting rough traveling suit, with the

inevitable crocodile handbag and tightlyrolled umbrella, who made no effort to enroll ahead of any one

else, but having procured some letters from the postoffice clerk, patiently waited till the rest were turned

away, and then put down his name. He might as well have written it in his hat. The deliberation of the man,

who appeared to be an old traveler, though probably not more than thirty years of age, attracted Irene's

"Can't you stow me away anywhere? It is Saturday, and very inconvenient for me to go any farther."

"You can go to Baltimore. You can go to Washington; or you can go to Richmond this afternoon. You can go

"Couldn't I," said the stranger, with the same deliberation"wouldn't you let me go to Charleston?"

"Why," said the clerk, a little surprised, but disposed to accommodate "why, yes, you can go to Charleston.

If you take at once the boat you have just left, I guess you can catch the train at Norfolk."

As the traveler turned and called a porter to reship his baggage, he was met by a lady, who greeted him with

"Why, Mr. King, this is good luck. When did you come? have you a good room? What, no, not going?"

Mr. King explained that he had been a resident of Hampton Roads just fifteen minutes, and that, having had a

pretty good view of the place, he was then making his way out of the door to Charleston, without any

"Oh, that never'll do. That cannot be permitted," said his engaging friend, with an air of determination.

"Besides, I want you to go with us on an excursion today up the James and help me chaperon a lot of young

And before Mr. Stanhope Kingfor that was the name the traveler had inscribed on the registerknew

exactly what had happened, by some mysterious power which women can exercise even in a hotel, when they

choose, he found himself in possession of a room, and was gayly breakfasting with a merry party at a little

"He appears to know everybody," was Mrs. Benson's comment to Irene, as she observed his greeting of one

and another as the guests tardily came down to breakfast. "Anyway, he's a genteellooking party. I wonder if

"Oh, mother," began Irene, with a quick glance at the people at the next table; and then, "if he is a genteel

And Irene confined her attention strictly to her breakfast, and never looked up, although Mrs. Benson kept

prattling away about the young man's appearance, wondering if his eyes were dark blue or only dark gray,

and why he didn't part his hair exactly in the middle and done with it, and a full, close beard was becoming,

and he had a good, frank face anyway, and why didn't the Stimpsons come down; and, "Oh, there's the Van

Peagrims," and Mrs. Benson bowed sweetly and repeatedly to somebody across the room.

To an angel, or even to that approach to an angel in this world, a person who has satisfied his appetite, the

spectacle of a crowd of people feeding together in a large room must be a little humiliating. The fact is that

no animal appears at its best in this necessary occupation. But a hotel breakfastroom is not without interest.

The very way in which people enter the room is a revelation of character. Mr. King, who was put in good

humor by falling on his feet, as it were, in such agreeable company, amused himself by studying the guests as

they entered. There was the portly, florid man, who "swelled" in, patronizing the entire room, followed by a

meek little wife and three timid children. There was the broad, dowager woman, preceded by a meek,

shrinking little man, whose whole appearance was an apology. There was a modest young couple who looked

exceedingly selfconscious and happy, and another couple, not quite so young, who were not conscious of

anybody, the gentleman giving a curt order to the waiter, and falling at once to reading a newspaper, while

his wife took a listless attitude, which seemed to have become second nature. There were two very tall, very

graceful, very highbred girls in semimourning, accompanied by a nice lad in tight clothes, a model of

propriety and slender physical resources, who perfectly reflected the gracious elevation of his sisters. There

was a preponderance of women, as is apt to be the case in such resorts. A fact explicable not on the theory

that women are more delicate than men, but that American men are too busy to take this sort of relaxation,

and that the care of an establishment, with the demands of society and the worry of servants, so draw upon

the nervous energy of women that they are glad to escape occasionally to the irresponsibility of hotel life. Mr.

King noticed that many of the women had the unmistakable air of familiarity with this sort of life, both in the

diningroom and at the office, and were not nearly so timid as some of the men. And this was very

observable in the case of the girls, who were chaperoning their mothers shrinking women who seemed a

little confused by the bustle, and a little awed by the machinery of the great caravansary.

At length Mr. King's eye fell upon the Benson group. Usually it is unfortunate that a young lady should be

observed for the first time at table. The act of eating is apt to be disenchanting. It needs considerable

infatuation and perhaps true love on the part of a young man to make him see anything agreeable in this

performance. However attractive a girl may be, the man may be sure that he is not in love if his admiration

cannot stand this test. It is saying a great deal for Irene that she did stand this test even under the observation

of a stranger, and that she handled her fork, not to put too fine a point upon it, in a manner to make the

fastidious Mr. King desirous to see more of her. I am aware that this is a very unromantic view to take of one

of the sweetest subjects in life, and I am free to confess that I should prefer that Mr. King should first have

seen Irene leaning on the balustrade of the gallery, with a rose in her hand, gazing out over the sea with "that

faraway look in her eyes." It would have made it much easier for all of us. But it is better to tell the truth,

and let the girl appear in the heroic attitude of being superior to her circumstances.

Presently Mr. King said to his friend, Mrs. Cortlandt, "Who is that cleverlooking, graceful girl over there?"

"That," said Mrs. Cortlandt, looking intently in the direction indicated "why, so it is; that's just the thing,"

and without another word she darted across the room, and Mr. King saw her in animated conversation with

the young lady. Returning with satisfaction expressed in her face, she continued, "Yes, she'll join our

"Oh, I forgot you were not in Washington last winter. That's Miss Benson; just charming; you'll see. Family

came from Ohio somewhere. You'll see what they arebut Irene! Yes, you needn't ask; they've got money,

made it honestly. Began at the bottomas if they were in training for the presidency, you knowthe mother

hasn't got used to it as much as the father. You know how it is. But Irene has had every advantagethe best

schools, masters, foreign travel, everything. Poor girl! I'm sorry for her. Sometimes I wish there wasn't any

such thing as education in this country, except for the educated. She never shows it; but of course she must

The Hotel Hygeia has this advantage, which is appreciated, at least by the young ladies. The United States

fort is close at hand, with its quota of young officers, who have the leisure in times of peace to prepare for

war, domestic or foreign; and there is a naval station across the bay, with vessels that need fashionable

inspection. Considering the acknowledged scarcity of young men at wateringplaces, it is the duty of a

paternal government to place its military and naval stations close to the fashionable resorts, so that the young

women who are studying the german [(dance) D.W.] and other branches of the life of the period can have

agreeable assistants. It is the charm of Fortress Monroe that its heroes are kept from ennui by the company

When Mrs. Cortlandt assembled her party on the steamtug chartered by her for the excursion, the army was

very well represented. With the exception of the chaperons and a bronzed veteran, who was inclined to direct

the conversation to his Indian campaigns in the Black Hills, the company was young, and of the age and

temper in which everything seems fair in love and war, and one that gave Mr. King, if he desired it, an

opportunity of studying the girl of the periodthe girl who impresses the foreigner with her extensive

knowledge of life, her fearless freedom of manner, and about whom he is apt to make the mistake of

supposing that this freedom has not perfectly welldefined limits. It was a delightful day, such as often

comes, even in winter, within the Capes of Virginia; the sun was genial, the bay was smooth, with only a

light breeze that kept the water sparkling brilliantly, and just enough tonic in the air to excite the spirits. The

little tug, which was pretty well packed with the merry company, was swift, and danced along in an

exhilarating manner. The bay, as everybody knows, is one of the most commodious in the world, and would

be one of the most beautiful if it had hills to overlook it. There is, to be sure, a tranquil beauty in its wooded

headlands and long capes, and it is no wonder that the early explorers were charmed with it, or that they lost

their way in its inlets, rivers, and bays. The company at first made a pretense of trying to understand its

geography, and asked a hundred questions about the batteries, and whence the Merrimac appeared, and where

the Congress was sunk, and from what place the Monitor darted out upon its big antagonist. But everything

was on a scale so vast that it was difficult to localize these petty incidents (big as they were in consequences),

and the party soon abandoned history and geography for the enjoyment of the moment. Song began to take

the place of conversation. A couple of banjos were produced, and both the facility and the repertoire of the

young ladies who handled them astonished Irene. The songs were of love and summer seas, chansons in

French, minor melodies in Spanish, plain declarations of affection in distinct English, flung abroad with

classic abandon, and caught up by the chorus in lilting strains that partook of the bounding, exhilarating

motion of the little steamer. Why, here is material, thought King, for a troupe of bacchantes, lighthearted

leaders of a summer festival. What charming girls, quick of wit, dashing in repartee, who can pick the strings,

"It's like sailing over the Bay of Naples," Irene was saying to Mr. King, who had found a seat beside her in

the little cabin; "the guitar strumming and the impassioned songs, only that always seems to me a

manufactured gayety, an attempt to cheat the traveler into the belief that all life is a holiday. This is

"Yes, and I suppose the ancient Roman gayety, of which the Neapolitan is an echo, was spontaneous once. I

wonder if our society is getting to dance and frolic along like that of old at Baiae!"

"Oh, Mr. King, this is an excursion. I assure you the American girl is a serious and practical person most of

the time. You've been away so long that your standards are wrong. She's not nearly so knowing as she seems

The boat was preparing to land at Newport Newsa sand bank, with a railway terminus, a big elevator, and

a hotel. The party streamed along in laughing and chatting groups, through the warehouse and over the tracks

and the sandy hillocks to the hotel. On the way they captured a novel conveyance, a cart with an ox harnessed

in the shafts, the property of an aged negro, whose white hair and variegated raiment proclaimed him an

ancient Virginian, a survival of the war. The company chartered this establishment, and swarmed upon it till

it looked like a Neapolitan 'calesso', and the procession might have been mistaken for a harvest homethe

harvest of beauty and fashion. The hotel was captured without a struggle on the part of the regular occupants,

a dance extemporized in the diningroom, and before the magnitude of the invasion was realized by the

garrison, the dancing feet and the laughing girls were away again, and the little boat was leaping along in the

It isn't a model war establishment this Portsmouth yard, but it is a pleasant resort, with its stately barracks and

open square and occasional trees. In nothing does the American woman better show her patriotism than in her

desire to inspect naval vessels and understand drydocks under the guidance of naval officers. Besides some

old war hulks at the station, there were a couple of trainingships getting ready for a cruise, and it made one

proud of his country to see the interest shown by our party in everything on board of them, patiently listening

to the explanation of the breechloading guns, diving down into the between decks, crowded with the

schoolboys, where it is impossible for a man to stand upright and difficult to avoid the stain of paint and tar,

or swarming in the cabin, eager to know the mode of the officers' life at sea. So these are the little places

where they sleep? and here is where they dine, and here is a librarya haphazard case of books in the

It was in running her eyes over these that a young lady discovered that the novels of Zola were among the

On the returnand the twenty miles seemed short enoughlunch was served, and was the occasion of a

good deal of hilarity and innocent badinage. There were those who still sang, and insisted on sipping the

heeltaps of the morning gayety; but was King mistaken in supposing that a little seriousness had stolen upon

the partya serious intention, namely, between one and another couple? The wind had risen, for one thing,

and the little boat was so tossed about by the vigorous waves that the skipper declared it would be imprudent

to attempt to land on the Rip Raps. Was it the thought that the day was over, and that underneath all chaff

and hilarity there was the question of settling in life to be met some time, which subdued a little the high

spirits, and gave an air of protection and of tenderness to a couple here and there? Consciously, perhaps, this

entered into the thought of nobody; but still the old story will go on, and perhaps all the more rapidly under a

There was great bustling about, hunting up wraps and lost parasols and mislaid gloves, and a chorus of

agreement on the delight of the day, upon going ashore, and Mrs. Cortlandt, who looked the youngest and

most animated of the flock, was quite overwhelmed with thanks and congratulations upon the success of her

"Yes, it was perfect; you've given us all a great deal of pleasure, Mrs. Cortlandt," Mr. King was saying, as he

Perhaps Mrs. Cortlandt fancied his eyes were following a particular figure, for she responded, "And how did

"Like herMiss Benson? Why, I didn't see much of her. I thought she was very intelligentseemed very

much interested when Lieutenant Green was explaining to her what made the drydock drybut they were all

that. Did you say her eyes were gray? I couldn't make out if they were not rather blue after alllarge,

changeable sort of eyes, long lashes; eyes that look at you seriously and steadily, without the least bit of

coquetry or worldliness; eyes expressing simplicity and interest in what you are sayingnot in you, but in

what you are saying. So few women know how to listen; most women appear to be thinking of themselves

Mrs. Cortlandt laughed. "Ah; I see. And a little 'sadness' in them, wasn't there? Those are the most dangerous

eyes. The sort that follow you, that you see in the dark at night after the gas is turned off."

"I haven't the faculty of seeing things in the dark, Mrs. Cortlandt. Oh, there's the mother!" And the shrill

voice of Mrs. Benson was heard, "We was getting uneasy about you. Pa says a storm's coming, and that you'd

The weather was changing. But that evening the spacious hotel, luxurious, perfectly warmed, and well

lighted, crowded with an agreeable if not a brilliant companyfor Mr. King noted the fact that none of the

gentlemen dressed for dinnerseemed all the more pleasant for the contrast with the weather outside. Thus

housed, it was pleasant to hear the waves dashing against the breakwater. Just by chance, in the ballroom, Mr.

King found himself seated by Mrs. Benson and a group of elderly ladies, who had the perfunctory air of

liking the mild gayety of the place. To one of them Mr. King was presented, Mrs. Stimpsona stout woman

with a broad red face and fishy eyes, wearing an elaborate head dress with purple flowers, and attired as if

she were expecting to take a prize. Mrs. Stimpson was loftily condescending, and asked Mr. King if this was

his first visit. She'd been coming here years and years; never could get through the spring without a few

weeks at the Hygeia. Mr. King saw a good many people at this hotel who seemed to regard it as a home.

"I hope your daughter, Mrs. Benson, was not tired out with the rather long voyage today."

"Not a mite. I guess she enjoyed it. She don't seem to enjoy most things. She's got everything heart can wish

at home. I don't know how it is. I was tellin' pa, Mr. Benson, today that girls ain't what they used to be in my

time. Takes more to satisfy 'em. Now my daughter, if I say it as shouldn't, Mr. King, there ain't a better

appearin,' nor smarter, nor more dutiful girl anywherewell, I just couldn't live without her; and she's had

the best schools in the East and Europe; done all Europe and Rome and Italy; and after all, somehow, she

don't seem contented in Cyrusvillethat's where we live in Ohioone of the smartest places in the state;

grown right up to be a city since we was married. She never says anything, but I can see. And we haven't

spared anything on our house. And societythere's a great deal more society than I ever had."

Mr. King might have been astonished at this outpouring if he had not observed that it is precisely in hotels

and to entire strangers that some people are apt to talk with less reserve than to intimate friends.

"Well, I guess it's got all the improvements. Pa, Mr. Benson, said that he didn't know of anything that had

been left out, and we had a man up from Cincinnati, who did all the furnishing before Irene came home."

"Mebbe so. She said it was splendid, but it looked like somebody else's house. She says the queerest things

sometimes. I told Mr. Benson that I thought it would be a good thing to go away from home a little while and

travel round. I've never been away much except in New York, where Mr. Benson has business a good deal.

"Yes ; we calculate to go down to the New Orleans Centennial. Pa wants to see the Exposition, and Irene

wants to see what the South looks like, and so do I. I suppose it's perfectly safe now, so long after the war?"

"That's what Mr. Benson says. He says it's all nonsense the talk about what the South 'll do now the

Democrats are in. He says the South wants to make money, and wants the country prosperous as much as

anybody. Yes, we are going to take a regular tour all summer round to the different places where people go.

Irene calls it a pilgrimage to the holy places of America. Pa thinks we'll get enough of it, and he's determined

we shall have enough of it for once. I suppose we shall. I like to travel, but I haven't seen any place better

As Irene did not make her appearance, Mr. King tore himself away from this interesting conversation and

strolled about the parlors, made engagements to take early coffee at the fort, to go to church with Mrs.

Cortlandt and her friends, and afterwards to drive over to Hampton and see the copper and other colored

schools, talked a little politics over a late cigar, and then went to bed, rather curious to see if the eyes that

When he awoke, his first faint impressions were that the Hygeia had drifted out to sea, and then that a dense

fog had drifted in and enveloped it. But this illusion was speedily dispelled. The window ledge was piled

high with snow. Snow filled the air, whirled about by a gale that was banging the windowshutters and

It swirled the snow about in waves and dark masses interspersed with rifts of light, dark here and luminous

there. The RipRaps were lost to view. Out at sea black clouds hung in the horizon, heavy reinforcements for

the attacking storm. The ground was heaped with the still fast falling snowten inches deep he heard it

said when he descended. The Baltimore boat had not arrived, and could not get in. The waves at the wharf

rolled in, black and heavy, with a sullen beat, and the sky shut down close to the water, except when a sudden

stronger gust of wind cleared a luminous space for an instant. Stormbound: that is what the Hygeia wasa

The hotel was put to a test of its qualities. There was no getting abroad in such a storm. But the Hygeia

appeared at its best in this emergency. The long glass corridors, where no one could venture in the arctic

temperature, gave, nevertheless, an air of brightness and cheerfulness to the interior, where big fires blazed,

and the company were exalted into goodfellowship and gayetya decorous Sunday gayety by the

If the defenders of their country in the fortress mounted guard that morning, the guests at the Hygeia did not

see them, but a good many of them mounted guard later at the hotel, and offered to the young ladies there that

protection which the brave like to give the fair. Notwithstanding this, Mr. Stanhope King could not say the

day was dull. After a morning presumably spent over works of a religious character, some of the young

ladies, who had been the life of the excursion the day before, showed their versatility by devising serious

amusements befitting the day, such as twenty questions on Scriptural subjects, palmistry, which on another

day is an aid to mild flirtation, and an exhibition of mindreading, not publicoh, dear, nobut with a

favored group in a private parlor. In none of these groups, however, did Mr. King find Miss Benson, and

when he encountered her after dinner in the readingroom, she confessed that she had declined an invitation

to assist at the mind reading, partly from a lack of interest, and partly from a reluctance to dabble in such

"Surely you are not uninterested in what is now called psychical research?" he asked.

"That depends," said Irene. "If I were a physician, I should like to watch the operation of the minds of

'sensitives' as a pathological study. But the experiments I have seen are merely exciting and unsettling,

without the least good result, with a haunting notion that you are being tricked or deluded. It is as much as I

"But you cannot help the endeavor to read the mind of a person with whom you are talking."

"Oh, that is different. That is really an encounter of wits, for you know that the best part of a conversation is

the things not said. What they call mindreading is a vulgar business compared to this. Don't you think so, Mr.

What Mr. King was actually thinking was that Irene's eyes were the most unfathomable blue he ever looked

into, as they met his with perfect frankness, and he was wondering if she were reading his present state of

mind; but what he said was, "I think your sort of mindreading is a good deal more interesting than the

other," and he might have added, dangerous. For a man cannot attempt to find out what is in a woman's heart

without a certain disturbance of his own. He added, "So you think our society is getting too sensitive and

"I'm afraid I do not think much about such things," Irene replied, looking out of the window into the storm.

Mr. King was thinking, as he watched the clear, spirited profile of the girl shown against the white tumult in

the air, that he should like to belong to the party of ignorance himself, and he thought so long about it that the

subject dropped, and the conversation fell into ordinary channels, and Mrs. Benson appeared. She thought

they would move on as soon as the storm was over. Mr. King himself was going south in the morning, if

travel were possible. When he said goodby, Mrs. Benson expressed the pleasure his acquaintance had given

them, and hoped they should see him in Cyrusville. Mr. King looked to see if this invitation was seconded in

Irene's eyes; but they made no sign, although she gave him her hand frankly, and wished him a good journey.

The next morning he crossed to Norfolk, was transported through the snow covered streets on a sledge, and

took his seat in the cars for the most monotonous ride in the country, that down the coastline.

When next Stanhope King saw Fortress Monroe it was in the first days of June. The summer which he had

left in the interior of the Hygeia was now outofdoors. The winter birds had gone north; the summer birds

had not yet come. It was the interregnum, for the Hygeia, like Venice, has two seasons, one for the

inhabitants of colder climes, and the other for natives of the country. No spot, thought our traveler, could be

more lovely. Perhaps certain memories gave it a charm, not well defined, but still gracious. If the house had

been empty, which it was far from being, it would still have been peopled for him. Were they all such

agreeable people whom he had seen there in March, or has one girl the power to throw a charm over a whole

wateringplace? At any rate, the place was full of delightful repose. There was movement enough upon the

water to satisfy one's lazy longing for life, the waves lapped soothingly along the shore, and the broad bay,

sparkling in the sun, was animated with boats, which all had a holiday air. Was it not enough to come down

to breakfast and sit at the low, broad windows and watch the shifting panorama? All about the harbor slanted

the white sails; at intervals a steamer was landing at the wharf or backing away from it; on the wharf itself

there was always a little bustle, but no noise, some pretense of business, and much actual transaction in the

way of idle attitudinizing, the colored man in castoff clothes, and the colored sister in sunbonnet or turban,

lending themselves readily to the picturesque; the scene changed every minute, the sail of a tiny boat was

hoisted or lowered under the window, a dashing cutter with its uniformed crew was pulling off to the German

manofwar, a puffing little tug dragged along a line of barges in the distance, and on the horizon a fleet of

coasters was working out between the capes to sea. In the open window came the fresh morning breeze, and

only the softened sounds of the life outside. The ladies came down in cool muslin dresses, and added the

needed grace to the picture as they sat breakfasting by the windows, their figures in silhouette against the blue

No wonder our traveler lingered there a little! Humanity called him, for one thing, to drive often with

humanely disposed young ladies round the beautiful shore curve to visit the schools for various colors at

Hampton. Then there was the evening promenading on the broad verandas and out upon the miniature pier, or

at sunset by the waterbatteries of the old fort such a peaceful old fortress as it is. All the morning there

were "inspections" to be attended, and nowhere could there be seen a more agreeable mingling of war and

love than the spacious, treeplanted interior of the fort presented on such occasions. The shifting figures of

the troops on parade; the martial and daring manoeuvres of the regimental band; the groups of ladies seated

on benches under the trees, attended by gallants in uniform, momentarily off duty and full of information, and

by gallants not in uniform and never off duty and desirous to learn; the ancient guns with French arms and

English arms, reminiscences of Yorktown, on one of which a pretty girl was apt to be perched in the act of

being photographedall this was enough to inspire any man to be a countryman and a lover. It is beautiful to

see how fearless the gentle sex is in the presence of actual war; the prettiest girls occupied the front and most

exposed seats; and never flinched when the determined columns marched down on them with drums beating

and colors flying, nor showed much relief when they suddenly wheeled and marched to another part of the

parade in search of glory. And the officers' quarters in the casemateswhat will not women endure to serve

their country! These quarters are mere tunnels under a dozen feet of earth, with a door on the parade side and

a casement window on the outsidea damp cellar, said to be cool in the height of summer. The only excuse

for such quarters is that the women and children will be comparatively safe in case the fortress is bombarded.

The hotel and the fortress at this enchanting season, to say nothing of other attractions, with laughing eyes

and slender figures, might well have detained Mr. Stanhope King, but he had determined upon a sort of

roving summer among the resorts of fashion and pleasure. After a long sojourn abroad, it seemed becoming

that he should know something of the floating life of his own country. His determination may have been

strengthened by the confession of Mrs. Benson that her family were intending an extensive summer tour. It

gives a zest to pleasure to have even an indefinite object, and though the prospect of meeting Irene again was

not definite, it was nevertheless alluring. There was something about her, he could not tell what, different

from the women he had met in France. Indeed, he went so far as to make a general formula as to the

impression the American women made on him at Fortress Monroethey all appeared to be innocent.

Of course you will not go to Cape May till the season opens. You might as well go to a racetrack the day

there is no race." It was Mrs. Cortlandt who was speaking, and the remonstrance was addressed to Mr.

Stanhope King, and a young gentleman, Mr. Graham Forbes, who had just been presented to her as an artist,

in the railway station at Philadelphia, that comfortable home of the tired and bewildered traveler. Mr. Forbes,

with his fresh complexion, closely cropped hair, and London clothes, did not look at all like the traditional

artist, although the sharp eyes of Mrs. Cortlandt detected a small sketchbook peeping out of his side pocket.

"On the contrary, that is why we go," said Mr. King. "I've a fancy that I should like to open a season once

"Besides," added Mr. Forbes, "we want to see nature unadorned. You know, Mrs. Cortlandt, how people

"I'm not sure," answered the lady, laughing, "that people have not spoiled you two and you need a rest.

"Well, I thought," replied Mr. King, "from what I heard, that Atlantic City might appear best with nobody

"Oh, there's always some one there. You know, it is a winter resort now. And, by the way But there's my

train, and the young ladies are beckoning to me." (Mrs. Cortlandt was never seen anywhere without a party of

young ladies.) "Yes, the Bensons passed through Washington the other day from the South, and spoke of

going to Atlantic City to tone up a little before the season, and perhaps you know that Mrs. Benson took a

great fancy to you, Mr. King. Goodby, au revoir," and the lady was gone with her bevy of girls, struggling

"I didn't think of it, but, hang it all, my dear fellow, duty is duty. There are some places you must see in order

to be well informed. Atlantic City is an important place; a great many of its inhabitants spend their winters in

Expectancy was the word when our travelers stepped out of the car at Cape May station. Except for some

people who seemed to have business there, they were the only passengers. It was the ninth of June.

Everything was readythe sea, the sky, the delicious air, the long line of graycolored coast, the omnibuses,

the array of hotel tooters. As they stood waiting in irresolution a grave man of middle age and a disinterested

manner sauntered up to the travelers, and slipped into friendly relations with them. It was impossible not to

incline to a person so obliging and well stocked with local information. Yes, there were several good hotels

open. It didn't make much difference; there was one near at hand, not pretentious, but probably as

comfortable as any. People liked the table; last summer used to come there from other hotels to get a meal.

He was going that way, and would walk along with them. He did, and conversed most interestingly on the

way. Our travelers felicitated themselves upon falling into such good hands, but when they reached the hotel

designated it had such a gloomy and in fact boardinghouse air that they hesitated, and thought they would

like to walk on a little farther and see the town before settling. And their friend appeared to feel rather grieved

about it, not for himself, but for them. He had moreover, the expression of a fisherman who has lost a fish

after he supposed it was securely hooked. But our young friends had been angled for in a good many waters,

and they told the landlord, for it was the landlord, that while they had no doubt his was the best hotel in the

place, they would like to look at some not so good. The one that attracted them, though they could not see in

what the attraction lay, was a tall building gay with fresh paint in many colors, some pretty window

balconies, and a portico supported by high striped columns that rose to the fourth story. They were fond of

color, and were taken by six little geraniums planted in a circle amid the sand in front of the house, which

were waiting for the season to open before they began to grow. With hesitation they stepped upon the newly

varnished piazza and the newly varnished office floor, for every step left a footprint. The chairs, disposed in a

long line on the piazza, waiting for guests, were also varnished, as the artist discovered when he sat in one of

them and was held fast. It was all fresh and delightful. The landlord and the clerks had smiles as wide as the

open doors; the waiters exhibited in their eagerness a good imitation of unselfish service.

It was very pleasant to be alone in the house, and to be the firstfruits of such great expectations. The first

man of the season is in such a different position from the last. He is like the King of Bavaria alone in his

royal theatre. The ushers give him the best seat in the house, he hears the tuning of the instruments, the

curtain is about to rise, and all for him. It is a very cheerful desolation, for it has a future, and everything

quivers with the expectation of life and gayety. Whereas the last man is like one who stumbles out among the

empty benches when the curtain has fallen and the play is done. Nothing is so melancholy as the shabbiness

of a wateringplace at the end of the season, where is left only the echo of past gayety, the last guests are

scurrying away like leaves before the cold, rising wind, the varnish has worn off, shutters are put up, booths

are dismantled, the shows are packing up their tawdry ornaments, and the autumn leaves collect in the corners

Could this be the Cape May about which hung so many traditions of summer romance? Where were those

crowds of Southerners, with slaves and chariots, and the haughtiness of a caste civilization, and the belles

from Baltimore and Philadelphia and Charleston and Richmond, whose smiles turned the heads of the last

generation? Had that gay society danced itself off into the sea, and left not even a phantom of itself behind?

As he sat upon the veranda, King could not rid himself of the impression that this must be a mocking dream,

this appearance of emptiness and solitude. Why, yes, he was certainly in a delusion, at least in a reverie. The

place was alive. An omnibus drove to the door (though no sound of wheels was heard); the waiters rushed

out, a fat man descended, a little girl was lifted down, a pretty woman jumped from the steps with that little

extra bound on the ground which all women confessedly under forty always give when they alight from a

vehicle, a large woman lowered herself cautiously out, with an anxious look, and a file of men stooped and

emerged, poking their umbrellas and canes in each other's backs. Mr. King plainly saw the whole party hurry

into the office and register their names, and saw the clerk repeatedly touch a bell and throw back his head and

extend his hand to a servant. Curious to see who the arrivals were, he went to the register. No names were

written there. But there were other carriages at the door, there was a pile of trunks on the veranda, which he

nearly stumbled over, although his foot struck nothing, and the chairs were full, and people were strolling up

and down the piazza. He noticed particularly one couple promenadinga slender brunette, with a brilliant

complexion; large dark eyes that made constant playcould it be the belle of Macon?and a gentleman of

thirtyfive, in black frockcoat, unbuttoned, with a widebrimmed soft hatclothes not quite the latest

stylewho had a good deal of manner, and walked apart from the young lady, bending towards her with an

air of devotion. Mr. King stood one side and watched the endless procession up and down, up and down, the

strollers, the mincers, the languid, the nervous steppers; noted the eyeshots, the flashing or the languishing

look that kills, and never can be called to account for the mischief it does; but not a sound did he hear of the

repartee and the laughter. The place certainly was thronged. The avenue in front was crowded with vehicles

of all sorts; there were groups strolling on the broad beachchildren with their tiny pails and shovels digging

pits close to the advancing tide, nurserymaids in fast colors, boys in knickerbockers racing on the beach,

people lying on the sand, resolute walkers, whose figures loomed tall in the evening light, doing their

constitutional. People were passing to and fro on the long iron pier that spiderlegged itself out into the sea;

the two rooms midway were filled with sitters taking the evening breeze; and the large ball and music room at

the end, with its spacious outside promenadeyes, there were dancers there, and the band was playing. Mr.

King could see the fiddlers draw their bows, and the corneters lift up their horns and get red in the face, and

the lean man slide his trombone, and the drummer flourish his sticks, but not a note of music reached him. It

might have been a performance of ghosts for all the effect at this distance. Mr. King remarked upon this

dumbshow to a gentleman in a blue coat and white vest and gray hat, leaning against a column near him.

The gentleman made no response. It was most singular. Mr. King stepped back to be out of the way of some

children racing down the piazza, and, half stumbling, sat down in the lap of a dowagerno, not quite; the

chair was empty, and he sat down in the fresh varnish, to which his clothes stuck fast. Was this a delusion?

No. The tables were filled in the diningroom, the waiters were scurrying about, there were ladies on the

balconies looking dreamily down upon the animated scene below; all the movements of gayety and hilarity in

the height of a season. Mr. King approached a group who were standing waiting for a carriage, but they did

not see him, and did not respond to his trumpedup question about the next train. Were these, then, shadows,

or was he a spirit himself? Were these empty omnibuses and carriages that discharged ghostly passengers?

And all this promenading and flirting and languishing and lovemaking, would it come to nothingnothing

more than usual? There was a charm about it allthe movement, the color, the gray sand, and the rosy blush

on the seaa lovely place, an enchanted place. Were these throngs the guests that were to come, or those

that had been herein other seasons? Why could not the former "materialize" as well as the latter? Is it not as

easy to make nothing out of what never yet existed as out of what has ceased to exist? The landlord, by faith,

sees all this array which is prefigured so strangely to Mr. King; and his comely young wife sees it and is

ready for it; and the fat son at the supper tablea living example of the good eating to be had hereis

serene, and has the air of being polite and knowing to a houseful. This scrap of a child, with the aplomb of a

man of fifty, wise beyond his fatness, imparts information to the travelers about the wine, speaks to the waiter

with quiet authority, and makes these mature men feel like boys before the gravity of our perfect flower of

American youth who has known no childhood. This boy at least is no phantom; the landlord is real, and the

"I suppose," said Mr. King to his friend, "that we are opening the season. Did you see anything outdoors?"

"Yes; a horseshoecrab about a mile below here on the smooth sand, with a long dotted trail behind him, a

couple of girls in a ponycart who nearly drove over me, and a tall young lady with a red parasol,

accompanied by a big blackandwhite dog, walking rapidly, close to the edge of the sea, towards the sunset.

"It seems a refined sort of place in its outlines, and quietly respectable. They tell me here that they don't want

the excursion crowds that overrun Atlantic City, but an Atlantic City man, whom I met at the pier, said that

Cape May used to be the boss, but that Atlantic City had got the bulge on it nowhad thousands to the

hundreds here. To get the bulge seems a desirable thing in America, and I think we'd better see what a place

The place lost nothing in the morning light, and it was a sparkling morning with a fresh breeze. Nature, with

its love of simple, sweeping lines, and its feeling for atmospheric effect, has done everything for the place,

and bad taste has not quite spoiled it. There is a sloping, shallow beach, very broad, of fine, hard sand,

excellent for driving or for walking, extending unbroken three miles down to Cape May Point, which has

hotels and cottages of its own, and lifesaving and signal stations. Off to the west from this point is the long

sand line to Cape Henlopen, fourteen miles away, and the Delaware shore. At Cape May Point there is a little

village of painted wood houses, mostly cottages to let, and a permanent population of a few hundred

inhabitants. From the pier one sees a mile and a half of hotels and cottages, fronting south, all flaming,

tasteless, carpenter's architecture, gay with paint. The sea expanse is magnificent, and the sweep of beach is

fortunately unencumbered, and vulgarized by no bathhouses or showshanties. The bathhouses are in front

of the hotels and in their enclosures; then come the broad drive, and the sand beach, and the sea. The line is

broken below by the lighthouse and a point of land, whereon stands the elephant. This elephant is not

indigenous, and he stands alone in the sand, a wooden sham without an explanation. Why the hotelkeeper's

mind along the coast regards this grotesque structure as a summer attraction it is difficult to see. But when

one resort had him, he became a necessity everywhere. The travelers walked down to this monster, climbed

the stairs in one of his legs, explored the rooms, looked out from the saddle, and pondered on the problem.

This beast was unfinished within and unpainted without, and already falling into decay. An elephant on the

desert, fronting the Atlantic Ocean, had, after all, a picturesque aspect, and all the more so because he was a

The elephant was, however, no emptier than the cottages about which our friends strolled. But the cottages

were all ready, the rows of new chairs stood on the fresh piazzas, the windows were invitingly open, the

pathetic little patches of flowers in front tried hard to look festive in the dry sands, and the stout landladies in

their rockingchairs calmly knitted and endeavored to appear as if they expected nobody, but had almost a

Yes, the place was undeniably attractive. The sea had the blue of Nice; why must we always go to the

Mediterranean for an aqua marina, for poetic lines, for delicate shades? What charming gradations had this

picture gray sand, blue waves, a line of white sails against the pale blue sky! By the pier railing is a bevy of

little girls grouped about an ancient colored man, the very ideal old Uncle Ned, in ragged, baggy, and

disreputable clothes, lazy goodnature oozing out of every pore of him, kneeling by a telescope pointed to a

bunch of white sails on the horizon; a dainty little maiden, in a stiff white skirt and golden hair, leans against

him and tiptoes up to the objectglass, shutting first one eye and then the other, and making nothing out of it

all. " Why, ov co'se you can't see nuffln, honey," said Uncle Ned, taking a peep, "wid the 'scope p'inted up in

In order to pass from Cape May to Atlantic City one takes a long circuit by rail through the Jersey sands.

Jersey is a very prolific State, but the railway traveler by this route is excellently prepared for Atlantic City,

for he sees little but sand, stunted pines, scrub oaks, small frame houses, sometimes trying to hide in the

clumps of scrub oaks, and the villages are just collections of the same small frame houses hopelessly

decorated with scrollwork and obtrusively painted, standing in lines on sandy streets, adorned with lean

shadetrees. The handsome Jersey people were not traveling that daythe two friends had a theory about the

relation of a sandy soil to female beautyand when the artist got out his pencil to catch the types of the

country, he was well rewarded. There were the fat old women in holiday market costumes, strongfeatured,

positive, who shook their heads at each other and nodded violently and incessantly, and all talked at once; the

old men in rusty suits, thin, with a deprecatory manner, as if they had heard that clatter for fifty years, and

perky, sharpfaced girls in vegetable hats, all longnosed and thinlipped. And though the day was cool,

mosquitoes had the bad taste to invade the train. At the junction, a small collection of wooden shanties, where

the travelers waited an hour, they heard much of the glories of Atlantic City from the postmistress, who was

waiting for an excursion some time to go there (the passion for excursions seems to be a growing one), and

they made the acquaintance of a cow tied in the room next the ticketoffice, probably also waiting for a

And a city it is. If many houses, endless avenues, sand, paint, make a city, the artist confessed that this was

one. Everything is on a large scale. It covers a large territory, the streets run at right angles, the avenues to the

ocean take the names of the states. If the town had been made to order and sawed out by one man, it could not

be more beautifully regular and more satisfactorily monotonous. There is nothing about it to give the most

commonplace mind in the world a throb of disturbance. The hotels, the cheap shops, the cottages, are all of

wood, and, with three or four exceptions in the thousands, they are all practically alike, all ornamented with

scrollwork, as if cut out by the jigsaw, all vividly painted, all appealing to a primitive taste just awakening

to the appreciation of the gaudy chromo and the illuminated and consoling household motto. Most of the

hotels are in the town, at considerable distance from the ocean, and the majestic old sea, which can be

monotonous but never vulgar, is barricaded from the town by five or six miles of starknaked plank walk,

rows on rows of bath closets, leagues of flimsy carpentrywork, in the way of cheapJohn shops, tintype

booths, peepshows, gorounds, shootinggalleries, popbeer and cigar shops, restaurants, barber shops,

photograph galleries, summer theatres. Sometimes the plank walk runs for a mile or two, on its piles, between

rows of these shops and booths, and again it drops off down by the waves. Here and there is a gaylypainted

wooden canopy by the shore, with chairs where idlers can sit and watch the frolicking in the water, or a space

railed off, where the select of the hotels lie or lounge in the sand under red umbrellas. The calculating mind

wonders how many million feet of lumber there are in this unpicturesque barricade, and what gigantic forests

have fallen to make this timber front to the sea. But there is one thing man cannot do. He has made this show

to suit himself, he has pushed out several iron piers into the sea, and erected, of course, a skating rink on the

end of one of them. But the sea itself, untamed, restless, shining, dancing, raging, rolls in from the southward,

tossing the white sails on its vast expanse, green, blue, leaden, whitecapped, manycolored, never two

minutes the same, sounding with its eternal voice I knew not what rebuke to man.

When Mr. King wrote his and his friend's name in the book at the Mansion House, he had the curiosity to

turn over the leaves, and it was not with much surprise that he read there the names of A. J. Benson, wife, and

That gentleman was presently discovered tilted back in a chair on the piazza, gazing vacantly into the vacant

street with that air of endurance that fathers of families put on at such resorts. But he brightened up when Mr.

"I'm right glad to see you, sir. And my wife and daughter will be. I was saying to my wife yesterday that I

"Well, the livelier it is the less I shall like it, I reckon. The town is well enough. It's one of the smartest places

on the coast. I should like to have owned the ground and sold out and retired. This sand is all gold. They say

they sell the lots by the bushel and count every sand. You can see what it is, boards and paint and sand. Fine

"Oh, they say there's plenty to do. You can ride around in the sand; you can wade in it if you want to, and go

down to the beach and walk up and down the plank walkwalk up and downwalk up and down. They

like it. You can't bathe yet without getting pneumonia. They have gone there now. Irene goes because she

From the parlor came the sound of music. A young girl who had the air of not being afraid of a public parlor

was drumming out waltzes on the piano, more for the entertainment of herself than of the halfdozen ladies

who yawned over their worstedwork. As she brought her piece to an end with a bang, a pretty, sentimental

miss with a novel in her hand, who may not have seen Mr. King looking in at the door, ran over to the player

and gave her a hug. "That's beautiful! that's perfectly lovely, Mamie!" " This," said the player, taking up

another sheet, "has not been played much in New York." Probably not, in that style, thought Mr. King, as the

There was no lack of people on the promenade, tramping the boards, or hanging about the booths where the

carpenters and painters were at work, and the shop men and women were unpacking the corals and the

seashells, and the cheap jewelry, and the Swiss woodcarving, the toys, the tinsel brooches, and agate

ornaments, and arranging the soda fountains, and putting up the shelves for the permanent pie. The sort of

preparation going on indicated the kind of crowd expected. If everything had a cheap and vulgar look, our

wandering critics remembered that it is never fair to look behind the scenes of a show, and that things would

wear a braver appearance by and by. And if the women on the promenade were homely and illdressed, even

the bonnes in unpicturesque costumes, and all the men were slouchy and stolid, how could any one tell what

an effect of gayety and enjoyment there might be when there were thousands of such people, and the sea was

full of bathers, and the flags were flying, and the bands were tooting, and all the theatres were opened, and

acrobats and spangled women and painted redmen offered those attractions which, like government, are for

the good of the greatest number? What will you have? Shall vulgarity be left just vulgar, and have no

apotheosis and glorification? This is very fine of its kind, and a resort for the million. The million come here

to enjoy themselves. Would you have an artgallery here, and highpriced New York and Paris shops lining

"Look at the town," exclaimed the artist, "and see what money can do, and satisfy the average taste without

the least aid from art. It's just wonderful. I've tramped round the place, and, taking out a cottage or two, there

isn't a picturesque or pleasing view anywhere. I tell you people know what they want, and enjoy it when they

"You needn't get excited about it," said Mr. King. "Nobody said it wasn't commonplace, and glaringly vulgar

if you like, and if you like to consider it representative of a certain stage in national culture, I hope it is not

necessary to remind you that the United States can beat any other people in any direction they choose to

After this defense of the place, Mr. King owned it might be difficult for Mr. Forbes to find anything

picturesque to sketch. What figures, to be sure! As if people were obliged to be shapely or picturesque for the

sake of a wandering artist! "I could do a tree," growled Mr. Forbes, "or a pile of boards; but these shanties!"

When they were well away from the booths and bathhouses, Mr. King saw in the distance two ladies. There

was no mistaking one of themthe easy carriage, the grace of movement. No such figure had been afield all

day. The artist was quick to see that. Presently they came up with them, and found them seated on a bench,

looking off upon Brigantine Island, a low sand dune with some houses and a few trees against the sky, the

Mrs. Benson did not conceal the pleasure she felt in seeing Mr. King again, and was delighted to know his

"I'm 'most tired to death," said Mrs. Benson, when they were all seated. "But this air does me good. Don't you

"I like it better than I did at first." If the remark was intended for Irene, she paid no attention to it, being

absorbed in explaining to Mr. Forbes why she preferred the deserted end of the promenade.

"It's a place that grows on you. I guess it's grown the wrong way on Irene and father; but I like the airafter

the South. They say we ought to see it in August, when all Philadelphia is here."

"Yes; but the promiscuous bathing. I don't think I should like that. We are not brought up to that sort of thing

"Like France!" exclaimed the old lady, looking at him in amazement"like France! Why, France is the

"No doubt it is, Mrs. Benson. But at the sea resorts the sexes bathe separately."

"I don't believe, for all you say, Mr. King, the French have any more conscience than we have."

"Nor do I, Mrs. Benson. I was only trying to say that they pay more attention to appearances."

"Well, I was brought up to think it's one thing to appear, and another thing to be," said Mrs. Benson, as

dismissing the subject. "So your friend's an artist? Does he paint? Does he take portraits? There was an artist

at Cyrusville last winter who painted portraits, but Irene wouldn't let him do hers. I'm glad we've met Mr.

"Oh, mother," exclaimed Irene, who always appeared to keep one ear for her mother's conversation, "I was

just saying to Mr. Forbes that he ought to see the art exhibitions down at the other end of the promenade, and

The party moved along, and Mr. King, by a movement that seemed to him more natural than it did to Mr.

Forbes, walked with Irene, and the two fell to talking about the last spring's trip in the South.

"Yes, we enjoyed the exhibition, but I am not sure but I should have enjoyed New Orleans more without the

exhibition. That took so much time. There is nothing so wearisome as an exhibition. But New Orleans was

charming. I don't know why, for it's the flattest, dirtiest, dampest city in the world; but it is charming. Perhaps

it's the people, or the Frenchiness of it, or the tumbledown, picturesque old creole quarter, or the roses; I

didn't suppose there were in the world so many roses; the town was just wreathed and smothered with them.

"No; I have been to exhibitions, and I thought I should prefer to take New Orleans by itself some other time.

"Well, they were not simply hospitable; they were that, to be sure, for father had letters to some of the leading

men; but it was the general air of friendliness and goodnature everywhere, of agreeablenessit went along

with the roses and the easygoing life. You didn't feel all the time on a strain. I don't suppose they are any

better than our people, and I've no doubt I should miss a good deal there after a while a certain tonic and

purpose in life. But, do you know, it is pleasant sometimes to be with people who haven't so many corners as

"Yes, it's a very delightful land, or will be when it is finished. It needs advertising now. It needs somebody to

call attention to it. The modest Northerners who have got hold of it, and staked it all out into city lots, seem to

"Why, the State is big enough, and a considerable portion of it has a good foundation. What it wants is

building up. There's plenty of water and sand, and palmetto roots and palmetto trees, and swamps, and a

perfectly wonderful vegetation of vines and plants and flowers. What it needs is landat least what the

Yankees call land. But it is coming on. A good deal of the State below Jacksonville is already ten to fifteen

"Yes, it is a place for invalids. There are two kinds of people there invalids and speculators. Thousands of

people in the bleak North, and especially in the Northwest, cannot live in the winter anywhere else than in

Florida. It's a great blessing to this country to have such a sanitarium. As I said, all it needs is building up,

"Well, your idea is probably right. You cannot do justice to a place by describing it literally. Most people are

fascinated by Florida: the fact is that anything is preferable to our Northern climate from February to May."

"No; I was discouraged. Almost any one can have a town who will take a boat and go off somewhere with a

The truth isthe present writer had it from Major Blifill, who runs a little steamboat upon one of the inland

creeks where the alligator is still numerous enough to be an entertainmentthat Mr. King was no doubt

malarious himself when he sailed over Florida. Blifill says he offended a whole boatful one day when they

were sailing up the St. John's. Probably he was tired of water, and swamp and water, and scraggy trees and

water. The captain was on the bow, expatiating to a crowd of listeners on the fertility of the soil and the

salubrity of the climate. He had himself bought a piece of ground away up there somewhere for two hundred

dollars, cleared it up, and put in orangetrees, and thousands wouldn't buy it now. And Mr. King, who

listened attentively, finally joined in with the questioners, and said, "Captain, what is the average price of

They had come down to the booths, and Mrs. Benson was showing the artist the shells, piles of conchs, and

other outlandish seafabrications in which it is said the roar of the ocean can be heard when they are

hundreds of miles away from the sea. It was a pretty thought, Mr. Forbes said, and he admired the open shells

that were painted on the inside painted in bright blues and greens, with dabs of white sails and a lighthouse,

or a boat with a barearmed, resolute young woman in it, sending her bark spinning over waves

Yes," said the artist, "what cheerfulness those works of art will give to the little parlors up in the country,

when they are set up with other shells on the whatnot in the corner! These shells always used to remind me

of missionaries and the cause of the heathen; but when I see them now I shall think of Atlantic City."

"But the representative things here," interrupted Irene, "are the photographs, the tintypes. To see them is just

"Yes," responded Mr. King, "I think art cannot go much further in this direction."

If there were not miles of these showcases of tintypes, there were at least acres of them. Occasionally an

instantaneous photograph gave a lively picture of the beach, when the water was full of bathersmen,

women, children, in the most extraordinary costumes for revealing or deforming the human figureall

tossing about in the surf. But most of the pictures were taken on dry land, of single persons, couples, and

groups in their bathing suits. Perhaps such an extraordinary collection of humanity cannot be seen elsewhere

in the world, such a uniformity of one depressing type reduced to its last analysis by the seatoilet.

Sometimes it was a young man and a maiden, handed down to posterity in dresses that would have caused

their arrest in the street, sentimentally reclining on a canvas rock. Again it was a maiden with flowing hair,

raised hands clasped, eyes upturned, on top of a crag, at the base of which the waves were breaking in foam.

Or it was the same stalwart maiden, or another as good, in a boat which stood on end, pulling through the surf

with one oar, and dragging a drowning man (in a bathing suit also) into the boat with her free hand. The

legend was, "Saved." There never was such heroism exhibited by young women before, with such raiment, as

As they walked back to the hotel through a sandy avenue lined with jig saw architecture, Miss Benson

pointed out to them some things that she said had touched her a good deal. In the patches of sand before each

house there was generally an oblong little mound set about with a rim of stones, or, when something more

artistic could be afforded, with shells. On each of these little graves was a flower, a sickly geranium, or a

Mr. Forbes said he never was at a wateringplace before where they buried the summer boarders in the front

yard. Mrs. Benson didn't like joking on such subjects, and Mr. King turned the direction of the conversation

by remarking that these seeming trifles were really of much account in these days, and he took from his

pocket a copy of the city newspaper, 'The Summer SeaSong,' and read some of the leading items: "S., our

eye is on you." "The Slopers have come to their cottage on Q Street, and come to stay." "Mr. E. P. Borum has

painted his front steps." "Mr. Diffendorfer's marigold is on the blow." And so on, and so on. This was

The most vivid impression, however, made upon the visitor in this walk was that of paint. It seemed unreal

that there could be so much paint in the world and so many swearing colors. But it ceased to be a dream, and

they were taken back into the hard, practical world, when, as they turned the corner, Irene pointed out her

The artist said, a couple of days after this morning, that he had enough of it. "Of course," he added, "it is a

great pleasure to me to sit and talk with Mrs. Benson, while you and that pretty girl walk up and down the

So that, much as Mr. King was charmed with Atlantic City, and much as he regretted not awaiting the arrival

of the originals of the tintypes, he gave in to the restlessness of the artist for other scenes; but not before he

The view of the Catskills from a certain hospitable mansion on the east side of the Hudson is better than any

mew from those delectable hills. The artist said so one morning late in June, and Mr. King agreed with him,

as a matter of fact, but would have no philosophizing about it, as that anticipation is always better than

realization; and when Mr. Forbes went on to say that climbing a mountain was a good deal like marriage

the world was likely to look a little flat once that cerulean height was attainedMr. King only remarked that

that was a low view to take of the subject, but he would confess that it was unreasonable to expect that any

rational object could fulfill, or even approach, the promise held out by such an exquisite prospect as that

The friends were standing where the Catskill hills lay before them in echelon towards the river, the ridges

lapping over each other and receding in the distance, a gradation of lines most artistically drawn, still further

refined by shades of violet, which always have the effect upon the contemplative mind of either religious

exaltation or the kindling of a sentiment which is in the young akin to the emotion of love. While the artist

was making some memoranda of these outlines, and Mr. King was drawing I know not what auguries of hope

from these purple heights, a young lady seated upon a rock near bya young lady just stepping over the

borderline of womanhoodhad her eyes also fixed upon those dreamy distances, with that look we all

know so well, betraying that shy expectancy of life which is unconfessed, that tendency to maidenly reverie

which it were cruel to interpret literally. At the moment she is more interesting than the Catskillsthe brown

hair, the large eyes unconscious of anything but the most natural emotion, the shapely waist just beginning to

respond to the call of the futureit is a pity that we shall never see her again, and that she has nothing

whatever to do with our journey. She also will have her romance; fate will meet her in the way some day, and

set her pure heart wildly beating, and she will know what those purple distances mean. Happiness, tragedy,

anguishwho can tell what is in store for her? I cannot but feel profound sadness at meeting her in this

casual way and never seeing her again. Who says that the world is not full of romance and pathos and regret

as we go our daily way in it? You meet her at a railway station; there is the flutter of a veil, the gleam of a

scarlet bird, the lifting of a pair of eyesshe is gone; she is entering a drawingroom, and stops a moment

and turns away; she is looking from a window as you passit is only a glance out of eternity; she stands for

a second upon a rock looking seaward; she passes you at the church dooris that all? It is discovered that

instantaneous photographs can be taken. They are taken all the time; some of them are never developed, but I

suppose these impressions are all there on the sensitive plate, and that the plate is permanently affected by the

impressions. The pity of it is that the world is so full of these undeveloped knowledges of people worth

The comfort of leaving same things to the imagination was impressed upon our travelers when they left the

narrowgauge railway at the mountain station, and identified themselves with other tourists by entering a

two horse wagon to be dragged wearily up the hill through the woods. The ascent would be more tolerable if

any vistas were cut in the forest to give views by the way; as it was, the monotony of the pull upward was

only relieved by the society of the passengers. There were two bright little girls off for a holiday with their

Western uncle, a big, good natured man with a diamond breastpin, and his voluble son, a lad about the age

of his little cousins, whom he constantly pestered by his rude and dominating behavior. The boy was a

product which it is the despair of all Europe to produce, and our travelers had great delight in him as an

epitome of American "smartness." He led all the conversation, had confident opinions about everything,

easily put down his deferential papa, and pleased the other passengers by his selfsufficient, knowit all air.

To a boy who had traveled in California and seen the Alps it was not to be expected that this humble

mountain could afford much entertainment, and he did not attempt to conceal his contempt for it. When the

stage reached the Rip Van Winkle House, halfway, the shy schoolgirls were for indulging a little sentiment

over the old legend, but the boy, who concealed his ignorance of the Irving romance until his cousins had

prattled the outlines of it, was not to be taken in by any such chaff, and though he was a little staggered by

Rip's own cottage, and by the sight of the cave above it which is labeled as the very spot where the vagabond

took his long nap, he attempted to bully the attendant and drinkmixer in the hut, and openly flaunted his

incredulity until the bartender showed him a long bunch of Rip's hair, which hung like a scalp on a nail, and

the rusty barrel and stock of the musket. The cabin is, indeed, full of old guns, pistols, locks of hair, buttons,

cartridge boxes, bullets, knives, and other undoubted relics of Rip and the Revolution. This cabin, with its

facilities for slaking thirst on a hot day, which Rip would have appreciated, over a hundred years old

according to information to be obtained on the spot, is really of unknown antiquity, the old boards and timber

of which it is constructed having been brought down from the Mountain House some forty years ago.

The old Mountain House, standing upon its ledge of rock, from which one looks down upon a map of a

considerable portion of New York and New England, with the lake in the rear, and heights on each side that

offer charming walks to those who have in contemplation views of nature or of matrimony, has somewhat

lost its importance since the vast Catskill region has come to the knowledge of the world. A generation ago it

was the centre of attraction, and it was understood that going to the Catskills was going there. Generations of

searchers after immortality have chiseled their names in the rock platform, and one who sits there now falls to

musing on the vanity of human nature and the transitoriness of fashion. Now New York has found that it has

very convenient to it a great mountain pleasureground; railways and excellent roads have pierced it, the

varied beauties of rocks, ravines, and charming retreats are revealed, excellent hotels capable of entertaining

a thousand guests are planted on heights and slopes commanding mountain as well as lowland prospects,

great and small boardinghouses cluster in the high valleys and on the hillsides, and cottages more thickly

every year dot the wild region. Year by year these accommodations will increase, new roads around the

gorges will open more enchanting views, and it is not improbable that the species of American known as the

"summer boarder" will have his highest development and apotheosis in these mountains.

Nevertheless Mr. King was not uninterested in renewing his memories of the old house. He could recall

without difficulty, and also without emotion now, a scene on this upper veranda and a moonlight night long

ago, and he had no doubt he could find her name carved on a beechtree in the wood near by; but it was

useless to look for it, for her name had been changed. The place was, indeed, full of memories, but all

chastened and subdued by the indoor atmosphere, which impressed him as that of a faded Sunday. He was

very careful not to disturb the decorum by any frivolity of demeanor, and he cautioned the artist on this point;

but Mr. Forbes declared that the diningroom fare kept his spirits at a proper level. There was an oldtime

satisfaction in wandering into the parlor, and resting on the haircloth sofa, and looking at the haircloth

chairs, and pensively imagining a meeting there, with songs out of the Moody and Sankey book; and he did

not tire of dropping into the reposeful receptionroom, where he never by any chance met anybody, and

sitting with the melodeon and big Bible Society edition of the Scriptures, and a chance copy of the Christian

at Play. These amusements were varied by sympathetic listening to the complaints of the proprietor about the

vandalism of visitors who wrote with diamonds on the windowpanes, so that the glass had to be renewed, or

scratched their names on the pillars of the piazza, so that the whole front had to be repainted, or broke off the

azalea blossoms, or in other ways desecrated the premises. In order to fit himself for a sojourn here, Mr. King

tried to commit to memory a placard that was neatly framed and hung on the veranda, wherein it was stated

that the owner cheerfully submits to all necessary use of the premises, "but will not permit any unnecessary

use, or the exercise of a depraved taste or vandalism." There were not as yet many guests, and those who

were there seemed to have conned this placard to their improvement, for there was not much exercise of any

sort of taste. Of course there were two or three brides, and there was the inevitable English nice middleclass

tourist with his wife, the latter ramroddy and uncompromising, in big boots and botanical, who, in response

to a gentleman who was giving her information about travel, constantly ejaculated, in broad English, "Yas,

And there was the young bride from Kankazoo, who frightened Mr. King back into his chamber one morning

when he opened his door and beheld the vision of a woman going towards the breakfastroom in what he

took to be a robe de nuit, but which turned out to be one of the "MotherHubbards" which have had a certain

celebrity as street dresses in some parts of the West. But these gayeties palled after a time, and one afternoon

our travelers, with their vandalism all subdued, walked a mile over the rocks to the Kaaterskill House, and

took up their abode there to watch the opening of the season. Naturally they expected some difficulty in

transferring their two trunks round by the road, where there had been nothing but a wilderness forty years

ago; but their change of base was facilitated by the obliging hotelkeeper in the most friendly manner, and

when he insisted on charging only four dollars for moving the trunks, the two friends said that, considering

the wear and tear of the mountain involved, they did not see how he could afford to do it for such a sum, and

It happened to be at the Kaaterskill Houseit might have been at the Grand, or the Overlookthat the

young gentlemen in search of information saw the Catskill season get under way. The phase of American life

is much the same at all these great caravansaries. It seems to the writer, who has the greatest admiration for

the military genius that can feed and fight an army in the field, that not enough account is made of the greater

genius that can organize and carry on a great American hotel, with a thousand or fifteen hundred guests, in a

short, sharp, and decisive campaign of two months, at the end of which the substantial fruits of victory are in

the hands of the landlord, and the guests are allowed to depart with only their personal baggage and

sidearms, but so well pleased that they are inclined to renew the contest next year. This is a triumph of mind

over mind. It is not merely the organization and the management of the army under the immediate command

of the landlord, the accumulation and distribution of supplies upon this mountaintop, in the uncertainty

whether the garrison on a given day will be one hundred or one thousand, not merely the lodging, rationing

and amusing of this shifting host, but the satisfying of as many whims and prejudices as there are people who

leave home on purpose to grumble and enjoy themselves in the exercise of a criticism they dare not indulge in

their own houses. Our friends had an opportunity of seeing the machinery set in motion in one of these great

establishments. Here was a vast balloon structure, founded on a rock, but built in the air, and anchored with

cables, with towers and a high pillared veranda, capable, with its annex, of lodging fifteen hundred people.

The army of waiters and chambermaids, of bellboys, and scullions and porters and laundryfolk, was

arriving; the stalwart scrubbers were at work, the storerooms were filled, the big kitchen shone with its

burnished coppers, and an array of whitecapped and aproned cooks stood in line under their chef; the

telegraph operator was waiting at her desk, the drug clerk was arranging his bottles, the newspaper stand was

furnished, the postoffice was open for letters. It needed but the arrival of a guest to set the machinery in

motion. And as soon as the guest came the band would be there to launch him into the maddening gayety of

the season. It would welcome his arrival in triumphant strains; it would pursue him at dinner, and drown his

conversation; it will fill his siesta with martial dreams, and it would seize his legs in the evening, and entreat

him to caper in the parlor. Everything was ready. And this was what happened. It was the evening of the

opening day. The train wagons might be expected any moment. The electric lights were blazing. All the

clerks stood expectant, the porters were by the door, the trim, uniformed bellboys were all in waiting line,

the register clerk stood fingering the leaves of the register with a gracious air. A noise is heard outside, the

big door opens, there is a rush forward, and four people flock in a man in a linen duster, a stout woman, a lad

of ten, a smartly dressed young lady, and a dog. Movement, welcome, ringing of bells, tramping of feetthe

whole machinery has started. It was adjusted to crack an eggshell or smash an ironbound trunk. The few

drops presaged a shower. The next day there were a hundred on the register; the day after, two hundred; and

With increasing arrivals opportunity was offered for the study of character. Away from his occupation, away

from the cares of the household and the demands of society, what is the selfsustaining capacity of the

ordinary American man or woman? It was interesting to note the enthusiasm of the first arrival, the delight in

the viewRound Top, the deep gorges, the charming vista of the lowlands, a world and wilderness of

beauty; the inspiration of the air, the alertness to explore in all directions, to see the lake, the falls, the

mountain paths. But is a mountain sooner found out than a valley, or is there a want of internal resources,

away from business, that the men presently become rather listless, take perfunctory walks for exercise, and

are so eager for mealtime and mailtime? Why do they depend so much upon the newspapers, when they all

despise the newspapers? Mr. King used to listen of an evening to the commonplace talk about the fire, all of

which was a dilution of what they had just got out of the newspapers, but what a lively assent there was to a

glib talker who wound up his remarks with a denunciation of the newspapers! The man was no doubt quite

right, but did he reflect on the public loss of his valuable conversation the next night if his newspaper should

chance to fail? And the women, after their first feeling of relief, did they fall presently into petty gossip,

complaints about the table, criticisms of each other's dress, small discontents with nearly everything? Not all

An excursion is always resented by the regular occupants of a summer resort, who look down upon the

excursionists, while they condescend to be amused by them. It is perhaps only the common attitude of the

wholesale to the retail dealer, although it is undeniable that a person seems temporarily to change his nature

when he becomes part of an excursion; whether it is from the elation at the purchase of a day of gayety below

the market price, or the escape from personal responsibility under a conductor, or the love of being

conspicuous as a part of a sort of organization, the excursionist is not on his ordinary behavior.

An excursion numbering several hundreds, gathered along the river towns by the benevolent enterprise of

railway officials, came up to the mountain one day. The officials seemed to have run a dragnet through

factories, workshops, Sundayschools, and churches, and scooped in the weary workers at homes and in

shops unaccustomed to a holiday. Our friends formed a part of a group on the hotel piazza who watched the

straggling arrival of this band of pleasure. For by this time our two friends had found a circle of

acquaintances, with the facility of wateringplace life, which in its way represented certain phases of

American life as well as the excursion. A great many writers have sought to classify and label and put into a

paragraph a description of the American girl. She is not to be disposed of by any such easy process.

Undoubtedly she has some common marks of nationality that distinguish her from the English girl, but in

variety she is practically infinite, and likely to assume almost any form, and the characteristics of a dozen

nationalities. No one type represents her. What, indeed, would one say of this little group on the hotel piazza,

making its comments upon the excursionists? Here is a young lady of, say, twentythree years, inclining

already to stoutness, domestic, placid, with matron written on every line of her unselfish face, capable of

being, if necessity were, a notable housekeeper, learned in preserves and jellies and cordials, sure to have her

closets in order, and a place for every remnant, piece of twine, and all odds and ends. Not a person to read

Browning with, but to call on if one needed a nurse, or a good dinner, or a charitable deed. Beside her, in an

invalid's chair, a young girl, scarcely eighteen, of quite another sort, pale, slight, delicate, with a lovely face

and large sentimental eyes, all nerves, the product, perhaps, of a fashionable school, who in one season in

New York, her first, had utterly broken down into what is called nervous prostration. In striking contrast was

Miss Nettie Sumner, perhaps twentyone, who corresponded more nearly to what the internationalists call the

American type; had evidently taken school education as a duck takes water, and danced along in society into

apparent robustness of person and knowledge of the world. A handsome girl, she would be a comely woman,

goodnatured, quick at repartee, confining her knowledge of books to popular novels, too natural and frank

to be a flirt, an adept in all the nice slang current in fashionable life, caught up from collegians and brokers,

accustomed to meet men in public life, in hotels, a very "jolly" companion, with a fund of good sense that

made her entirely capable of managing her own affairs. Mr. King was at the moment conversing with still

another young lady, who had more years than the lastnamedshort, compact figure, round girlish face, good,

strong, dark eyes, modest in bearing, selfpossessed in manner, sensiblewho made ready and incisive

comments, and seemed to have thought deeply on a large range of topics, but had a sort of downright

practicality and cool independence, with all her femininity of bearing, that rather, puzzled her interlocutor. It

occurred to Mr. King to guess that Miss Selina Morton might be from Boston, which she was not, but it was

with a sort of shock of surprise that he learned later that this young girl, moving about in society in the

innocent panoply of girlhood, was a young doctor, who had no doubt looked through and through him with

her keen eyes, studied him in the light of heredity, constitutional tendencies, habits, and environment, as a

possible patient. It almost made him ill to think of it. Here were types enough for one morning; but there was

The artist had seated himself on a rock a little distance from the house, and was trying to catch some of the

figures as they appeared up the path, and a young girl was looking over his shoulder with an amused face,

just as he was getting an elderly man in a long flowing duster, straggling gray hair, hat on the back of his

head, large ironrimmed spectacles, with a baggy umbrella, who stopped breathless at the summit, with a

wild glare of astonishment at the view. This young girl, whom the careless observer might pass without a

second glance, was discovered on better acquaintance to express in her face and the lines of her figure some

subtle intellectual quality not easily interpreted. Marion Lamont, let us say at once, was of Southern origin,

born in London during the temporary residence of her parents there, and while very young deprived by death

of her natural protectors. She had a small, low voice, fine hair of a light color, which contrasted with dark

eyes, waved back from her forehead, delicate, sensitive featuresindeed, her face, especially in conversation

with any one, almost always had a wistful, appealing look; in figure short and very slight, lithe and graceful,

full of unconscious artistic poses, fearless and surefooted as a gazelle in climbing about the rocks, leaping

from stone to stone, and even making her way up a tree that had convenient branches, if the whim took her,

using her hands and arms like a gymnast, and performing whatever feat of. daring or dexterity as if the

exquisitely molded form was all instinct with her indomitable will, and obeyed it, and always with an air of

refinement and spirited breeding. A child of nature in seeming, but yet a woman who was not to be fathomed

The old man with the spectacles was presently overtaken by a stout, elderly woman, who landed in the

exhausted condition of a porpoise that has come ashore, and stood regardless of everything but her own

weight, while member after member of the party straggled up. No sooner did this group espy the artist than

they moved in his direction. "There's a painter." "I wonder what he's painting." "Maybe he'll paint us." "Let's

see what he's doing." "I should like to see a man paint." And the crowd flowed on, getting in front of the

sketcher, and creeping round behind him for a peep over his shoulder. The artist closed his sketch book and

retreated, and the stout woman, balked of that prey, turned round a moment to the view, exclaimed, "Ain't

"I wonder," Mr. King was saying, "if these excursionists are representative of general American life?"

"If they are," said the artist, "there's little here for my purpose. A good many of them seem to be foreigners,

or of foreign origin. Just as soon as these people get naturalized, they lose the picturesqueness they had

"Did it never occur to your highness that they may prefer to be comfortable rather than picturesque, and that

they may be ignorant that they were born for artistic purposes?" It was the low voice of Miss Lamont, and

"And so do I," said Miss Sumner. "What on earth do you suppose made those girls come up here in white

dresses, blowing about in the wind, and already drabbled? Did you ever see such a lot of cheap millinery? I

"Poor things, they look as if they'd never had a holiday before in their lives, and didn't exactly know what to

"Don't you believe it. They've been to more church and Sundayschool picnics than you ever attended. Look

It was a group seated about their lunchbaskets. A young gentleman, the comedian of the patty, the life of the

church sociable, had put on the hat of one of the girls, and was making himself so irresistibly funny in it that

all the girls tittered, and their mothers looked a little shamefaced and pleased.

"Well," said Mr. King, "that's the only festive sign I've seen. It's more like a funeral procession than a

pleasure excursion. What impresses me is the extreme gravity of these peopleno fun, no hilarity, no letting

themselves loose for a good time, as they say. Probably they like it, but they seem to have no capacity for

enjoying themselves; they have no vivacity, no gayetywhat a contrast to a party in France or Germany off

"Yes, it's all sad, respectable, confoundedly uninteresting. What does the doctor say?" asked the artist.

"I know what the doctor will say," put in Miss Summer, "but I tell you that what this crowd needs is

missionary dressmakers and tailors. If I were dressed that way I should feel and act just as they do. Well,

"It's pretty melancholy. The trouble is constant grinding work and bad food. I've been studying these people.

"Well, illfavored, scrimped; that means illnurtured simply. Out of the three hundred there are not half a

dozen wellconditioned, filled out physically in comfortable proportions. Most of the women look as if they

had been dragged out with indoor work and little intellectual life, but the real cause of physical degeneration

is bad cooking. If they lived more outofdoors, as women do in Italy, the food might not make so much

difference, but in our climate it is the prime thing. This poor physical state accounts for the want of gayety

and the lack of beauty. The men, on the whole, are better than the women, that is, the young men. I don't

know as these people are overworked, as the world goes. I dare say, Nettie, there's not a girl in this crowd

who could dance with you through a season. They need to be better fed, and to have more elevating

"I've been educating the taste of one excursionist this morning, a good faced workman, who was prying

about everywhere with a curious air, and said he never'd been on an excursion before. He came up to me in

the office, deferentially asked me if I would go into the parlor with him, and, pointing to something hanging

on the wall, asked, 'What is that?' 'That,' I said, 'is a view from Sunset Rock, and a very good one.' 'Yes,' he

continued, walking close up to it, 'but what is it?' 'Why, it's a painting.' 'Oh, it isn't the place?' 'No, no; it's a

painting in oil, done with a brush on a piece of canvasdon't you see, made to look like the view over

there from the rock, colors and all.' ' Yes, I thought, perhapsyou can see a good ways in it. It's pooty.'

'There's another one,' I said'falls, water coming down, and trees.' 'Well, I declare, so it is! And that's jest a

makebelieve? I s'pose I can go round and look?' 'Certainly.' And the old fellow tiptoed round the parlor,

peering at all the pictures in a confused state of mind, and with a guilty look of enjoyment. It seems

incredible that a person should attain his age with such freshness of mind. But I think he is the only one of the

"No; I think it's encouraging. It's a sign of an art appreciation in this country. That man will know a painting

next time he sees one, and then he won't rest till he has bought a chromo, and so he will go on."

When Mr. King met the party at the dinnertable, the places of Miss Lamont and Mr. Forbes were still

vacant. The other ladies looked significantly at them, and one of them said, "Don't you think there's

something in it? don't you think they are interested in each other?" Mr. King put down his soupspoon, too

much amazed to reply. Do women never think of anything but mating people who happen to be thrown

together? Here were this young lady and his friend, who had known each other for three days, perhaps, in the

most casual way, and her friends had her already as good as married to him and off on a wedding journey. All

that Mr. King said, after apparent deep cogitation, was, "I suppose if it were here it would have to be in a

Yet it was undeniable that the artist and Marion had a common taste for hunting out picturesque places in the

woodpaths, among the rocks, and on the edges of precipices, and they dragged the rest of the party many a

mile through wildernesses of beauty. Sketching was the object of all these expeditions, but it always

happenedthere seemed a fatality in it that whenever they halted anywhere for a rest or a view, the Lamont

girl was sure to take an artistic pose, which the artist couldn't resist, and his whole occupation seemed to be

drawing her, with the Catskills for a background. "There," he would say, "stay just as you are; yes, leaning a

little so"it was wonderful how the lithe figure adapted itself to any background" and turn your head this

way, looking at me." The artist began to draw, and every time he gave a quick glance upwards from his book,

there were the wistful face and those eyes. "Confound it! I beg your pardonthe light. Will you please turn

your eyes a little off, that wayso." There was no reason why the artist should be nervous, the face was

perfectly demure; but the fact is that art will have only one mistress. So the drawing limped on from day to

day, and the excursions became a matter of course. Sometimes the party drove, extending their explorations

miles among the hills, exhilarated by the sparkling air, excited by the succession of lovely changing

prospects, bestowing their compassion upon the summer boarders in the smartly painted boarding houses,

and comparing the other big hotels with their own. They couldn't help looking down on the summer boarders,

any more than cottagers at other places can help a feeling of superiority to people in hotels. It is a natural

desire to make an aristocratic line somewhere. Of course they saw the Kaaterskill Falls, and bought

twentyfive cents' worth of water to pour over them, and they came very near seeing the Haines Falls, but

"I'm real sorry, miss," said the proprietor, "but there's just been a party here and taken the water. But you can

They went down, and saw where the falls ought to be. The artist said it was a sort of dryplate process, to be

developed in the mind afterwards; Mr. King likened it to a dry smoke without lighting the cigar; and the

doctor said it certainly had the sanitary advantage of not being damp. The party even penetrated the

Platerskill Cove, and were well rewarded by its exceeding beauty, as is every one who goes there. There are

sketches of all these lovely places in a certain artist's book, all looking, however, very much alike, and

consisting principally of a graceful figure in a great variety of unstudied attitudes.

"Isn't this a nervous sort of a place?" the artist asked his friend, as they sat in his chamber overlooking the

"Perhaps it is. I have a fancy that some people are born to enjoy the valley, and some the mountains."

"I think it makes a person nervous to live on a high place. This feeling of constant elevation tires one; it gives

a fellow no such sense of bodily repose as he has in a valley. And the wind, it's constantly nagging, rattling

the windows and banging the doors. I can't escape the unrest of it." The artist was turning the leaves and

contemplating the poverty of his sketchbook. "The fact is, I get better subjects on the seashore."

"Probably the sea would suit us better. By the way, did I tell you that Miss Lamont's uncle came last night

from Richmond? Mr. De Long, uncle on the mother's side. I thought there was French blood in her."

"Oh, a comfortable bachelor, past middle age; business man; Southern; just a little touch of the 'cyar' for 'car.'

Said he was going to take his niece to Newport next week. Has Miss Lamont said anything about going

The house was filling up, and, King thought, losing its family aspect. He had taken quite a liking for the

society of the pretty invalid girl, and was fond of sitting by her, seeing the delicate color come back to her

cheeks, and listening to her shrewd little society comments. He thought she took pleasure in having him push

her wheelchair up and down the piazza at least she rewarded him by grateful looks, and complimented him

by asking his advice about reading and about being useful to others. Like most young girls whose career of

gayety is arrested as hers was, she felt an inclination to coquet a little with the serious side of life. All this had

been pleasant to Mr. King, but now that so many more guests had come, he found himself most of the time

out of business. The girl's chariot was always surrounded by admirers and sympathizers. All the young men

were anxious to wheel her up and down by the hour; there was always a strife for this sweet office; and at

night, when the vehicle had been lifted up the first flight, it was beautiful to see the eagerness of sacrifice

exhibited by these young fellows to wheel her down the long corridor to her chamber. After all, it is a kindly,

unselfish world, full of tenderness for women, and especially for invalid women who are pretty. There was all

day long a competition of dudes and elderly widowers and bachelors to wait on her. One thought she needed

a little more wheeling; another volunteered to bring her a glass of water; there was always some one to pick

up her fan, to recover her handkerchief (why is it that the fans and handkerchiefs of ugly women seldom go

astray?), to fetch her shawlwas there anything they could do? The charming little heiress accepted all the

attentions with most engaging sweetness. Say what you will, men have good hearts.

Yes, they were going to Newport. King and Forbes, who had not had a Fourth of July for some time, wanted

to see what it was like at Newport. Mr. De Long would like their company. But before they went the artist

must make one more trial at a sketchmust get the local color. It was a large party that went one morning to

see it done under the famous ledge of rocks on the Red Path. It is a fascinating spot, with its coolness, sense

of seclusion, mosses, wild flowers, and ferns. In a small grotto under the frowning wall of the precipice is

said to be a spring, but it is difficult to find, and lovers need to go a great many times in search of it. People

not in love can sometimes find a damp place in the sand. The question was where Miss Lamont should pose.

Should she nestle under the great ledge, or sit on a projecting rock with her figure against the sky? The artist

could not satisfy himself, and the girl, always adventurous, kept shifting her position, climbing about on the

jutting ledge, until she stood at last on the top of the precipice, which was some thirty or forty feet high.

Against the top leaned a dead balsam, just as some tempest had cast it, its dead branches bleached and

scraggy. Down this impossible ladder the girl announced her intention of coming. "No, no," shouted a chorus

of voices; "go round; it's unsafe; the limbs will break; you can't get through them; you'll break your neck."

The girl stood calculating the possibility. The more difficult the feat seemed, the more she longed to try it.

"But I want to. I think I must. You can sketch me in the act. It will be something new."

And before any one could interpose, the resolute girl caught hold of the balsam and swung off. A boy or a

squirrel would have made nothing of the feat. But for a young lady in long skirts to make her way down that

balsam, squirming about and through the stubs and dead limbs, testing each one before she trusted her weight

to it, was another affair. It needed a very cool head and the skill of a gymnast. To transfer her hold from one

limb to another, and work downward, keeping her skirts neatly gathered about her feet, was an achievement

that the spectators could appreciate; the presence of spectators made it much more difficult. And the

lookerson were a good deal more excited than the girl. The artist had his book ready, and when the little

figure was halfway down, clinging in a position at once artistic and painful, he began. "Work fast," said the

girl. "It's hard hanging on." But the pencil wouldn't work. The artist made a lot of wild marks. He would have

given the world to sketch in that exquisite figure, but every time he cast his eye upward the peril was so

evident that his hand shook. It was no use. The danger increased as she descended, and with it the excitement

of the spectators. All the young gentlemen declared they would catch her if she fell, and some of them

seemed to hope she might drop into their arms. Swing off she certainly must when the lowest limb was

reached. But that was ten feet above the ground and the alightingplace was sharp rock and broken bowlders.

The artist kept up a pretense of drawing. He felt every movement of her supple figure and the strain upon the

slender arms, but this could not be transferred to the book. It was nervous work. The girl was evidently

getting weary, but not losing her pluck. The young fellows were very anxious that the artist should keep at his

work; they would catch her. There was a pause; the girl had come to the last limb; she was warily meditating

a slide or a leap; the young men were quite ready to sacrifice themselves; but somehow, no one could tell

exactly how, the girl swung low, held herself suspended by her hands for an instant, and then dropped into

the right placetrust a woman for that; and the artist, his face flushed, set her down upon the nearest flat

"I'm sorry, Mr. Forbes." The girl looked full of innocent regret. "But when I was up there I had to come down

On the Fourth of July, at five o'clock in the morning, the porters called the sleepers out of their berths at

Wickford Junction. Modern civilization offers no such test to the temper and to personal appearance as this

early preparation to meet the inspection of society after a night in the stuffy and luxuriously upholstered

tombs of a sleepingcar. To get into them at night one must sacrifice dignity; to get out of them in the

morning, clad for the day, gives the proprietors a hard rub. It is wonderful, however, considering the twisting

and scrambling in the berth and the miscellaneous and ludicrous presentation of humanity in the washroom at

the end of the car, how presentable people make themselves in a short space of time. One realizes the debt of

the ordinary man to clothes, and how fortunate it is for society that commonly people do not see each other in

the morning until art has done its best for them. To meet the public eye, cross and tousled and disarranged,

requires either indifference or courage. It is disenchanting to some of our cherished ideals. Even the trig,

irreproachable commercial drummer actually looks bangedup, and nothing of a man; but after a few

moments, bootblacked and papercollared, he comes out as fresh as a daisy, and all ready to drum.

Our travelers came out quite as well as could be expected, the artist sleepy and a trifle disorganized, Mr. King

in a sort of facetious humor that is more dangerous than grumbling, Mr. De Long yawning and stretching and

declaring that he had not slept a wink, while Marion alighted upon the platform unruffled in plumage,

greeting the morning like a bird. There were the usual early loafers at the station, hands deep in pockets,

ruminant, listlessly observant. No matter at what hour of day or night a train may arrive or depart at a country

station in America, the loafers are so invariably there in waiting that they seem to be a part of our railway

system. There is something in the life and movement that seems to satisfy all the desire for activity they have.

Even the most sleepy tourist could not fail to be impressed with the exquisite beauty of the scene at Wickford

Harbor, where the boat was taken for Newport. The slow awaking of morning life scarcely disturbed its

tranquillity. Sky and sea and land blended in a tone of refined gray. The shores were silvery, a silvery light

came out of the east, streamed through the entrance of the harbor, and lay molten and glowing on the water.

The steamer's deck and chairs and benches were wet with dew, the noises in transferring the baggage and

getting the boat under way were all muffled and echoed in the surrounding silence. The sail boats that lay at

anchor on the still silver surface sent down long shadows, and the slim masts seemed driven down into the

water to hold the boats in place. The little village was still asleep. It was such a contrast; the artist was saying

to Marion, as they leaned over the taff rail, to the new raw villages in the Catskills. The houses were large,

and looked solid and respectable, many of them were shingled on the sides, a spire peeped out over the green

trees, and the hamlet was at once homelike and picturesque. Refinement is the note of the landscape. Even the

old warehouses dropping into the water, and the decaying piles of the wharves, have a certain grace. How

graciously the water makes into the land, following the indentations, and flowing in little streams, going in

and withdrawing gently and regretfully, and how the shore puts itself out in low points, wooing the embrace

of the seaa lovely union. There is no haze, but all outlines are softened in the silver light. It is like a dream,

and there is no disturbance of the repose when a family party, a woman, a child, and a man come down to the

shore, slip into a boat, and scull away out by the lighthouse and the rocky entrance of the harbor, off, perhaps,

for a day's pleasure. The artist has whipped out his sketchbook to take some outlines of the view, and his

comrade, looking that way, thinks this group a pleasing part of the scene, and notes how the salt, dewy

morning air has brought the color into the sensitive face of the girl. There are not many such hours in a

lifetime, he is also thinking, when nature can be seen in such a charming mood, and for the moment it

The party indulged this feeling when they landed, still early, at the Newport wharf, and decided to walk

through the old town up to the hotel, perfectly well aware that after this no money would hire them to leave

their beds and enjoy this novel sensation at such an hour. They had the street to themselves, and the

promenade was one of discovery, and had much the interest of a landing in a foreign city.

"It is so colonial," said Mr. King, "though I've no doubt that any one of the sleeping occupants of these

houses would be wideawake instantly, and come out and ask you to breakfast, if they heard you say it is so

"If they were not restrained," Marion suggested, "by the feeling that that would not be English. How fine the

"And such lawns! We cannot make this turf in Virginia," was the reflection of Mr. De Long.

"Well, colonial if you like," the artist replied to Mr. King. "What is best is in the colonial style; but you notice

that all the new houses are built to look old, and that they have had Queen Anne pretty bad, though the colors

"That's the way with some towns. Queen Anne seems to strike them all of a sudden, and become epidemic.

The only way to prevent it is to vaccinate, so to speak, with two or three houses, and wait; then it is not so

Laughing and criticising and admiring, the party strolled along the shaded avenue to the Ocean House. There

were as yet no signs of life at the Club, or the Library, or the Casino; but the shops were getting open, and the

richness and elegance of the goods displayed in the windows were the best evidence of the wealth and

refinement of the expected customers culture and taste always show themselves in the shops of a town.

The long graybrown front of the Casino, with its shingled sides and hooded balconies and galleries, added

to the already strong foreign impression of the place. But the artist was dissatisfied. It was not at all his idea

of Independence Day; it was like Sunday, and Sunday without any foreign gayety. He had expected firing of

cannon and ringing of bellsthere was not even a flag out anywhere; the celebration of the Fourth seemed to

have shrunk into a dull and decorous avoidance of all excitement. "Perhaps," suggested Miss Lamont, "if the

NewEnglanders keep the Fourth of July like Sunday, they will by and by keep Sunday like the Fourth of

Mr. King was perfectly well aware that in going to a hotel in Newport he was putting himself out of the pale

of the best society; but he had a fancy for viewing this society from the outside, having often enough seen it

from the inside. And perhaps he had other reasons for this eccentric conduct. He had, at any rate, declined the

invitation of his cousin, Mrs. Bartlett Glow, to her cottage on the Point of Rocks. It was not without regret

that he did this, for his cousin was a very charming woman, and devoted exclusively to the most exclusive

social life. Her husband had been something in the oil line in New York, and King had watched with interest

his evolution from the business man into the full blown existence of a man of fashion. The process is

perfectly charted. Success in business, membership in a good club, tandem in the Park, introduction to a good

house, marriage to a pretty girl of family and not much money, a yacht, a fourinhand, a Newport villa. His

name had undergone a like evolution. It used to be written on his business card, Jacob B. Glow. It was

entered at the club as J. Bartlett Glow. On the wedding invitations it was Mr. Bartlett Glow, and the dashing

When Mr. King descended from his room at the Ocean House, although it was not yet eight o'clock, he was

not surprised to see Mr. Benson tilted back in one of the chairs on the long piazza, out of the way of the

scrubbers, with his air of patient waiting and observation. Irene used to say that her father ought to write a

book"Life as Seen from Hotel Piazzas." His only idea of recreation when away from business seemed to

"The womenfolks," he explained to Mr. King, who took a chair beside him, "won't be down for an hour yet.

"I guess the house is full enough. But I can't find out that anybody is actually stopping here, except ourselves

and a lot of schoolmarms come to attend a convention. They seem to enjoy it. The rest, those I've talked with,

just happen to be here for a day or so, never have been to a hotel in Newport before, always stayed in a

cottage, merely put up here now to visit friends in cottages. You'll see that none of them act like they

At a place we were last summer all the summer boarders, in boarding houses round, tried to act like they

were staying at the big hotel, and the hotel people swelled about on the fact of being at a hotel. Here you're

nobody. I hired a carriage by the week, driver in buttons, and all that. It don't make any difference. I'll bet a

gold dollar every cottager knows it's hired, and probably they think by the drive."

"Not a bit of it. It's the nicest place in America: such grass, such horses, such women, and the drive round the

islandthere's nothing like it in the country. We take it every day. Yes, it would be a little lonesome but for

the ocean. It's a good deal like a funeral procession, nobody ever recognizes you, not even the hotel people

who are in hired hacks. If I were to come again, Mr. King, I'd come in a yacht, drive up from it in a box on

two wheels, with a man clinging on behind with his back to me, and have a cottage with an English gardener.

That would fetch 'em. Money won't do it, not at a hotel. But I'm not sure but I like this way best. It's an

"No. When we aren't out riding, she and Irene go on to the cliffs, and I sit here and talk real estate. It's about

There was an awkward moment or two when the two parties met in the lobby and were introduced before

going in to breakfast. There was a little putting up of guards on the part of the ladies. Between Irene and

Marion passed that rapid glance of inspection, that one glance which includes a study and the passing of

judgment upon family, manners, and dress, down to the least detail. It seemed to be satisfactory, for after a

few words of civility the two girls walked in together, Irene a little dignified, to be sure, and Marion with her

wistful, halfinquisitive expression. Mr. King could not be mistaken in thinking Irene's manner a little

constrained and distant to him, and less cordial than it was to Mr. Forbes, but the mother righted the family

"I'm right glad you've come, Mr. King. It's like seeing somebody from home. I told Irene that when you came

"No, not really. There's Mrs. Peabody has a cottage here, what they call a cottage, but there no such house in

Cyrusville. We drove past it. Her daughter was to school with Irene. We've met 'em out riding several times,

and Sally (Miss Peabody) bowed to Irene, and pa and I bowed to everybody, but they haven't called. Pa says

it's because we are at a hotel, but I guess it's been company or something. They were real good friends at

Mr. King laughed. "Oh, Mrs. Benson, the Peabodys were nobodys only a few years ago. I remember when

At breakfast the party had topics enough in common to make conversation lively. The artist was sure he

should be delighted with the beauty and finish of Newport. Miss Lamont doubted if she should enjoy it as

much as the freedom and freshness of the Catskills. Mr. King amused himself with drawing out Miss Benson

on the contrast with Atlantic City. The dining room was full of members of the Institute, in attendance upon

the annual meeting, graybearded, longfaced educators, devotees of theories and systems, known at a glance

by a certain earnestness of manner and intensity of expression, middleaged women of a resolute, intellectual

countenance, and a great crowd of youthful schoolmistresses, just on the dividing line between domestic life

and selfsacrifice, still full of sentiment, and still leaning perhaps more to Tennyson and Lowell than to

"They have a curious, mingled air of primness and gayety, as if gayety were not quite proper," the artist

began. "Some of them look downright interesting, and I've no doubt they are all excellent women."

"I've no doubt they are all good as gold," put in Mr. King. "These women are the salt of New England."

(Irene looked up quickly and appreciatively at the speaker.) "No fashionable nonsense about them. What's in

"I don't shy at a good womanbut three hundred of them! I don't want all my salt in one place. And see

hereI appeal to you, Miss Lamont why didn't these girls dress simply, as they do at home, and not

attempt a sort of illfitting finery that is in greater contrast to Newport than simplicity would be?"

"If you were a woman," said Marion, looking demurely, not at Mr. Forbes, but at Irene, "I could explain it to

you. You don't allow anything for sentiment and the natural desire to please, and it ought to be just pathetic to

you that these girls, obeying a natural instinct, missed the expression of it a little."

"Men are such critics," and Irene addressed the remark to Marion, "they pretend to like intellectual women,

but they can pardon anything better than an illfitting gown. Better be frivolous than badly dressed."

"Well," stoutly insisted Forbes, "I'll take my chance with the well dressed ones always; I don't believe the

"No; but you make out a prima facie case against a woman for want of taste in dress, just as you jump at the

conclusion that because a woman dresses in such a way as to show she gives her mind to it she is of the right

sort. I think it's a relief to see a convention of women devoted to other things who are not thinking of their

"Pardon me; the point I made was that they are thinking of their clothes, and thinking erroneously."

"Why don't you ask leave to read a paper, Forbes, on the relation of dress to education?" asked Mr. King.

They rose from the table just as Mrs. Benson was saying that for her part she liked these girls, they were so

homelike; she loved to hear them sing college songs and hymns in the parlor. To sing the songs of the

When Mr. King and Irene walked up and down the corridor after breakfast the girl's constraint seemed to

have vanished, and she let it be seen that she had sincere pleasure in renewing the acquaintance. King himself

began to realize how large a place the girl's image had occupied in his mind. He was not in lovethat would

be absurd on such short acquaintancebut a thought dropped into the mind ripens without consciousness,

and he found that he had anticipated seeing Irene again with decided interest. He remembered exactly how

she looked at Fortress Monroe, especially one day when she entered the parlor, bowing right and left to

persons she knew, stopping to chat with one and another, tall, slender waist swelling upwards in symmetrical

lines, brown hair, dark gray eyeshe recalled every detail, the highbred air (which was certainly not

inherited), the unconscious perfect carriage, and his thinking in a vague way that such ease and grace meant

good living and leisure and a sound body. This, at any rate, was the image in his mind a sufficiently

distracting thing for a young man to carry about with him; and now as he walked beside her he was conscious

that there was something much finer in her than the image he had carried with him, that there was a charm of

speech and voice and expression that made her different from any other woman he had ever seen. Who can

define this charm, this difference? Some women have it for the universal manthey are desired of every

man who sees them; their way to marriage (which is commonly unfortunate) is over a causeway of prostrate

forms, if not of cracked hearts; a few such women light up and make the romance of history. The majority of

women fortunately have it for one man only, and sometimes he never appears on the scene at all! Yet every

man thinks his choice belongs to the first class; even King began to wonder that all Newport was not raving

over Irene's beauty. The present writer saw her one day as she alighted from a carriage at the Ocean House,

her face flushed with the sea air, and he remembers that he thought her a fine girl. "By George, that's a fine

woman!" exclaimed a New York bachelor, who prided himself on knowing horses and women and all that;

What were this couple talking about as they promenaded, basking in each other's presence? It does not

matter. They were getting to know each other, quite as much by what they did not say as by what they did

say, by the thousand little exchanges of feeling and sentiment which are all important, and never appear

even in a stenographer's report of a conversation. Only one thing is certain about it, that the girl could recall

every word that Mr. King said, even his accent and look, long after he had forgotten even the theme of the

talk. One thing, however, he did carry away with him, which set him thinking. The girl had been reading the

"Life of Carlyle," and she took up the cudgels for the old curmudgeon, as King called him, and declared that,

when all was said, Mrs. Carlyle was happier with him than she would have been with any other man in

England. "What woman of spirit wouldn't rather mate with an eagle, and quarrel half the time, than with a

humdrum barnyard fowl?" And Mr. Stanhope King, when he went away, reflected that he who had fitted

himself for the bar, and traveled extensively, and had a moderate competence, hadn't settled down to any sort

of career. He had always an intention of doing something in a vague way; but now the thought that he was

idle made him for the first time decidedly uneasy, for he had an indistinct notion that Irene couldn't approve

This feeling haunted him as he was making a round of calls that day. He did not return to lunch or dinnerif

he had done so he would have found that lunch was dinner and that dinner was supperanother vital

distinction between the hotel and the cottage. The rest of the party had gone to the cliffs with the artist, the

girls on a pretense of learning to sketch from nature. Mr. King dined with his cousin.

"You are a bad boy, Stanhope," was the greeting of Mrs. Bartlett Glow, "not to come to me. Why did you go

"Oh, I thought I'd see life; I had an unaccountable feeling of independence. Besides, I've a friend with me, a

very clever artist, who is reseeing his country after an absence of some years. And there are some other

"Why, there is quite a party. We met them at different places. There's a very bright New York girl, Miss

Lamont, and her uncle from Richmond." ("Never heard of her," interpolated Mrs. Glow.) "And a Mr. and

Mrs. Benson and their daughter, from Ohio. Mr. Benson has made money; Mrs. Benson, goodhearted old

"Yes, I know the sort; had a fallingout with Lindley Murray in her youth and never made it up. But what I

want to know is about the girl. What makes you beat about the bush so? What's her name?"

"Irene. She is an uncommonly clever girl; educated; been abroad a good deal, studying in Germany; had all

advantages; and she has cultivated tastes; and the fact is that out in Cyrusvillethat is where they live

You know how it is here in America when the girl is educated and the old people are not"

"The long and short of it is, you want me to invite them here. I suppose the girl is plain, tootakes after her

"Not exactly. Mr. Forbesthat's my friendsays she's a beauty. But if you don't mind, Penelope, I was

"Well, I'll admit she is handsomea very strikinglooking girl. I've seen them driving on the Avenue day

after day. Now, Stanhope, I don't mind asking them here to a five o'clock; I suppose the mother will have to

come. If she was staying with somebody here it would be easier. Yes, I'll do it to oblige you, if you will make

yourself useful while you are here. There are some girls I want you to know, and mind, my young friend, that

you don't go and fall in love with a country girl whom nobody knows, out of the set. It won't be comfortable."

"You are always giving me good advice, Penelope, and I should be a different man if I had profited by it."

Late in the evening the gentlemen of the hotel party looked in at the skatingrink, a great American

institution that has for a large class taken the place of the ball, the social circle, the evening meeting. It

seemed a little incongruous to find a great rink at Newport, but an epidemic is stronger than fashion, and even

the most exclusive summer resort must have its rink. Rollerskating is said to be fine exercise, but the benefit

of it as exercise would cease to be apparent if there were a separate rink for each sex. There is a certain

exhilaration in the lights and music and the lively crowd, and always an attraction in the freedom of

intercourse offered. The rink has its world as the opera has, its romances and its heroes. The frequenters of

the rink know the young women and the young men who have a national reputation as adepts, and their

exhibitions are advertised and talked about as are the appearances of celebrated 'prime donne' and 'tenori' at

the opera. The visitors had an opportunity to see one of these exhibitions. After a weary watching of the

monotonous and clattering round and round of the swinging couples or the stumbling single skaters, the floor

was cleared, and the darling of the rink glided upon the scene. He was a slender, handsome fellow, graceful

and expert to the nicest perfection in his profession. He seemed not so much to skate as to float about the

floor, with no effort except volition. His rhythmic movements were followed with pleasure, but it was his

feats of dexterity, which were more wonderful than graceful, that brought down the house. It was evident that

he was a hero to the female part of the spectators, and no doubt his charming image continued to float round

and round in the brain of many a girl when she put her, head on the pillow that night. It is said that a good

many matches which are not projected or registered in heaven are made at the rink.

At the breakfasttable it appeared that the sketchingparty had been a great successfor everybody except

the artist, who had only some rough memoranda, like notes for a speech, to show. The amateurs had made

Miss Benson had done some rocks, and had got their hardness very well. Miss Lamont's effort was more

ambitious; her picture took in no less than miles of coast, as much sea as there was room for on the paper, a

navy of sailboats, and all the rocks and figures that were in the foreground, and it was done with a great deal

of naivete and conscientiousness. When it was passed round the table, the comments were very flattering.

"What I like, Marion," said Mr. De Long, holding it out at arm'slength, "is the perspective; it isn't an easy

"But I think Miss Lamont deserves credit for keeping the haze out of it." King was critically examining it,

turning his head from side to side. "I like it; but I tell you what I think it lacks: it lacks atmosphere. Why don't

"Mr. King," replied Miss Lamont, quite seriously, "you are a real friend, I can only repay you by taking you

"You didn't make much that time, King," said Forbes, as he lounged out of the room.

After church King accepted a seat in the Benson carriage for a drive on the Ocean Road. He who takes this

drive for the first time is enchanted with the scene, and it has so much variety, deliciousness in curve and

winding, such graciousness in the union of sea and shore, such charm of color, that increased acquaintance

only makes one more in love with it. A good part of its attraction lies in the fickleness of its aspect. Its serene

and soft appearance might pall if it were not now and then, and often suddenly, and with little warning,

transformed into a wild coast, swept by a tearing wind, enveloped in a thick fog, roaring with the noise of the

angry sea slapping the rocks and breaking in foam on the fragments its rage has cast down. This elementary

mystery and terror is always present, with one familiar with the coast, to qualify the gentleness of its lovelier

aspects. It has all moods. Perhaps the most exhilarating is that on a brilliant day, when shore and sea sparkle

in the sun, and the waves leap high above the cliffs, and fall in diamond showers.

This Sunday the shore was in its most gracious mood, the landscape as if newly created. There was a light,

luminous fog, which revealed just enough to excite the imagination, and refined every outline and softened

every color. Mr. King and Irene left the carriage to follow the road, and wandered along the sea path. What

softness and tenderness of color in the gray rocks, with the browns and reds of the vines and lichens! They

went out on the iron fishingstands, and looked down at the shallow water. The rocks under water took on

the most exquisite shadespurple and malachite and brown; the barnacles clung to them; the long

seaweeds, in half a dozen varieties, some in vivid colors, swept over them, flowing with the restless tide,

like the long locks of a drowned woman's hair. King, who had dabbled a little in natural history, took great

delight in pointing out to Irene this varied and beautiful life of the sea; and the girl felt a new interest in

science, for it was all pure science, and she opened her heart to it, not knowing that love can go in by the door

of science as well as by any other opening. Was Irene really enraptured by the dear little barnacles and the

exquisite seaweeds? I have seen a girl all of a flutter with pleasure in a laboratory when a young chemist

was showing her the retorts and the crooked tubes and the glass wool and the freaks of color which the

alkalies played with the acids. God has made them so, these women, and let us be thankful for it.

What a charm there was about everything! Occasionally the mist became so thin that a long line of coast and

"There's nothing like it," said King"there's nothing like this island. It seems as if the Creator had

determined to show man, once for all, a landscape perfectly refined, you might almost say with the beauty of

highbreeding, refined in outline, color, everything softened into loveliness, and yet touched with the wild

" It's just a dream at this moment," murmured Irene. They were standing on a promontory of rock. "See those

figures of people there through the mistsilhouettes only. And look at that vesseltherenoit has

As she was speaking, a sailvessel began to loom up large in the mysterious haze. But was it not the ghost of

a ship? For an instant it was coming, coming; it was distinct; and when it was plainly in sight it faded away,

like a dissolving view, and was gone. The appearance was unreal. What made it more spectral was the bell on

the reefs, swinging in its triangle, always sounding, and the momentary scream of the fog whistle. It was

like an enchanted coast. Regaining the carriage, they drove out to the end, Agassiz's Point, where, when the

mist lifted, they saw the sea all round dotted with sails, the irregular coasts and islands with headlands and

Late that afternoon all the party were out upon the cliff path in front of the cottages. There is no more lovely

sea stroll in the world, the way winding over the cliff edge by the turquoise sea, where the turf, close cut and

green as Erin, set with flower beds and dotted with noble trees, slopes down, a broad pleasure park, from the

stately and picturesque villas. But it was a social mistake to go there on Sunday. Perhaps it is not the height

of good form to walk there any day, but Mr. King did not know that the fashion had changed, and that on

Sunday this lovely promenade belongs to the butlers and the upper maids, especially to the butlers, who make

it resplendent on Sunday afternoons when the weather is good. As the weather had thickened in the late

afternoon, our party walked in a dumbshow, listening to the soft swish of the waves on the rocks below, and

watching the figures of other promenaders, who were good enough ladies and gentlemen in this friendly mist.

The next day Mr. King made a worse mistake. He remembered that at high noon everybody went down to the

first beach, a charming sheltered place at the bottom of the bay, where the rollers tumble in finely from the

south, to bathe or see others bathe. The beach used to be lined with carriages at that hour, and the surf, for a

quarter of a mile, presented the appearance of a line of picturesquely clad skirmishers going out to battle with

the surf. Today there were not half a dozen carriages and omnibuses altogether, and the bathers were

fewnursery maids, fragments of a dayexcursion, and some of the fair conventionists. Newport was not

there. Mr. King had led his party into another social blunder. It has ceased to be fashionable to bathe at

Strangers and servants may do so, but the cottagers have withdrawn their support from the ocean. Saltwater

may be carried to the house and used without loss of caste, but bathing in the surf is vulgar. A gentleman may

go down and take a dip aloneit had better be at an early hourand the ladies of the house may be heard to

apologize for his eccentricity, as if his fondness for the water were abnormal and quite out of experience. And

the observer is obliged to admit that promiscuous bathing is vulgar, as it is plain enough to be seen when it

becomes unfashionable. It is charitable to think also that the cottagers have made it unfashionable because it

is vulgar, and not because it is a cheap and refreshing pleasure accessible to everybody.

Nevertheless, Mr. King's ideas of Newport were upset. "It's a little off color to walk much on the cliffs; you

"Oh," explained Miss Lamont, "you can make calls; go to teas and receptions and dinners; belong to the

Casino, but not appear there much; and you must drive on the Ocean Road, and look as English as you can.

Didn't you notice that Redfern has an establishment on the Avenue? Well, the London girls wear what

Redfern tells them to wearmuch to the improvement of their appearanceand so it has become possible for

Before lunch Mrs. Bartlett Glow called on the Bensons, and invited them to a fiveo'clock tea, and Miss

Lamont, who happened to be in the parlor, was included in the invitation. Mrs. Glow was as gracious as

possible, and especially attentive to the old lady, who purred with pleasure, and beamed and expanded into

familiarity under the encouragement of the woman of the world. In less than ten minutes Mrs. Glow had

learned the chief points in the family history, the state of health and habits of pa (Mr. Benson), and all about

Cyrusville and its wonderful growth. In all this Mrs. Glow manifested a deep interest, and learned, by

observing out of the corner of her eye, that Irene was in an agony of apprehension, which she tried to conceal

under an increasing coolness of civility. "A nice lady," was Mrs. Benson's comment when Mrs. Glow had

taken herself away with her charminglyscented air of frank cordiality"a real nice lady. She seemed just

"Have to go, child? I should think you'd like to go. I never saw such a girlnever. Pa and me are just

studying all the time to please you, and it seems as if" And the old lady's voice broke down.

"Why, mother dear"and the girl, with tears in her eyes, leaned over her and kissed her fondly, and stroked

her hair"you are just as good and sweet as you can be; and don't mind me; you know I get in moods

The old lady pulled her down and kissed her, and looked in her face with beseeching eyes.

"What an old frump the mother is!" was Mrs. Glow's comment to Stanhope, when she next met him; "but she

"Oh, motherly! Has it come to that? I do believe you are more than half gone. The girl is pretty; she has a

beautiful figure; but my gracious! her parents are impossiblejust impossible. And don't you think she's a

little too intellectual for society? I don't mean too intellectual, of course, but too mental, don't you

"But, Penelope, I thought it was the fashion now to be intellectualgo in for reading, and literary clubs,

"Yes, I belong to three clubs. I'm going to one tomorrow morning. We are going to take up the

'Disestablishment of the English Church.' That's different; we make it fit into social life somehow, and it

doesn't interfere. I'll tell you what, Stanhope, I'll take Miss Benson to the Town and County Club next

"That will be too intellectual for Miss Benson. I suppose the topic will be Transcendentalism?"

"No; we have had that. Professor Spor, of Cambridge, is going to lecture on Bacteriaif that's the way you

"I should think it would be very improving. I'll tell Miss Benson that if she stays in Newport she must

"You can make yourself as disagreeable as you like to me, but mind you are on your good behavior at dinner

The fiveo'clock at Mrs. Bartlett Glow's was probably an event to nobody in Newport except Mrs. Benson.

To most it was only an incident in the afternoon round and drive, but everybody liked to go there, for it is one

of the most charming of the moderatesized villas. The lawn is planted in exquisite taste, and the gardener

has set in the open spaces of green the most ingenious devices of flowers and foliage plants, and nothing

could be more enchanting than the view from the wide veranda on the sea side. In theory, the occupants

lounge there, read, embroider, and swing in hammocks; in point of fact, the breeze is usually so strong that

The rooms were well filled with a moving, chattering crowd when the Bensons arrived, but it could not be

said that their entrance was unnoticed, for Mr. Benson was conspicuous, as Irene had in vain hinted to her

father that he would be, in his evening suit, and Mrs. Benson's beaming, extragracious manner sent a little

"I was afraid we should be too late," was Mrs. Benson's response to the smiling greeting of the hostess, with a

most friendly look towards the rest of the company. "Mr. Benson is always behindhand in getting dressed for

Before the sentence was finished Mrs. Benson found herself passed on and in charge of a certain general,

who was charged by the hostess to get her a cup of tea. Her talk went right on, however, and Irene, who was

still standing by the host, noticed that wherever her mother went there was a lull in the general conversation,

a slight pause as if to catch what this motherly old person might be saying, and such phrases as, "It doesn't

agree with me, general; I can't eat it," "Yes, I got the rheumatiz in New Orleans, and he did too," floated over

In the introduction and movement that followed Irene became one of a group of young ladies and gentlemen

who, after the first exchange of civilities, went on talking about matters of which she knew nothing, leaving

her wholly out of the conversation. The matters seemed to be very important, and the conversation was

animated: it was about soandso who was expected, or was or was not engaged, or the last evening at the

Casino, or the new trap on the Avenuethe delightful little chitchat by means of which those who are in

society exchange good understandings, but which excludes one not in the circle. The young gentleman next

to Irene threw in an explanation now and then, but she was becoming thoroughly uncomfortable. She could

not be unconscious, either, that she was the object of polite transient scrutiny by the ladies, and of glances of

interest from gentlemen who did not approach her. She began to be annoyed by the staring (the sort of stare

that a woman recognizes as impudent admiration) of a young fellow who leaned against the mantel a youth

in English clothes who had caught very successfully the air of an English groom. Two girls near her, to whom

she had been talking, began speaking in lowered voices in French, but she could not help overhearing them,

and her face flushed hotly when she found that her mother and her appearance were the subject of their

Luckily at the moment Mr. King approached, and Irene extended her hand and said, with a laugh, "Ah,

monsieur," speaking in a very pretty Paris accent, and perhaps with unnecessary distinctness, "you were quite

right: the society here is very different from Cyrusville; there they all talk about each other."

Mr. King, who saw that something had occurred, was quickwitted enough to reply jestingly in French, as

they moved away, but he asked, as soon as they were out of earshot, "What is it?"

"Nothing," said the girl, recovering her usual serenity. "I only said something for the sake of saying

something; I didn't mean to speak so disrespectfully of my own town. But isn't it singular how local and

provincial society talk is everywhere? I must look up mother, and then I want you to take me on the veranda

The two young ladies who had dropped into French looked at each other for a moment after Irene moved

away, and one of them spoke for both when she exclaimed: "Did you ever see such rudeness in a

drawingroom! Who could have dreamed that she understood?" Mrs. Benson had been established very

comfortably in a corner with Professor Slem, who was listening with great apparent interest to her accounts

of the early life in Ohio. Irene seemed relieved to get away into the open air, but she was in a mood that Mr.

King could not account for. Upon the veranda they encountered Miss Lamont and the artist, whose natural

enjoyment of the scene somewhat restored her equanimity. Could there be anything more refined and

charming in the world than this landscape, this hospitable, smiling house, with the throng of easymannered,

pleasantspeaking guests, leisurely flowing along in the conventional stream of social comity. One must be a

churl not to enjoy it. But Irene was not sorry when, presently, it was time to go, though she tried to extract

some comfort from her mother's enjoyment of the occasion. It was beautiful. Mr. Benson was in a calculating

mood. He thought it needed a great deal of money to make things run so smoothly.

Why should one inquire in such a paradise if things do run smoothly? Cannot one enjoy a rose without

pulling it up by the roots ? I have no patience with those people who are always looking on the seamy side. I

agree with the commercial traveler who says that it will only be in the millennium that all goods will be alike

on both sides. Mr. King made the acquaintance in Newport of the great but somewhat philosophical Mr.

Snodgrass, who is writing a work on "The Discomforts of the Rich," taking a view of life which he says has

been wholly overlooked. He declares that their annoyances, sufferings, mortifications, envies, jealousies,

disappointments, dissatisfactions (and so on through the dictionary of disagreeable emotions), are a great deal

more than those of the poor, and that they are more worthy of sympathy. Their troubles are real and

unbearable, because they are largely of the mind. All these are set forth with so much powerful language and

variety of illustration that King said no one could read the book without tears for the rich of Newport, and he

asked Mr. Snodgrass why he did not organize a society for their relief. But the latter declared that it was not a

matter for levity. The misery is real. An imaginary case would illustrate his meaning. Suppose two persons

quarrel about a purchase of land, and one builds a stable on his lot so as to shut out his neighbor's view of the

sea. Would not the one suffer because he could not see the ocean, and the other by reason of the revengeful

state of his mind? He went on to argue that the owner of a splendid villa might have, for reasons he gave, less

content in it than another person in a tiny cottage so small that it had no spare room for his motherinlaw

even, and that in fact his satisfaction in his own place might be spoiled by the more showy place of his

neighbor. Mr. Snodgrass attempts in his book a philosophical explanation of this. He says that if every man

designed his own cottage, or had it designed as an expression of his own ideas, and developed his grounds

and landscape according to his own tastes, working it out himself, with the help of specialists, he would be

satisfied. But when owners have no ideas about architecture or about gardening, and their places are the

creation of some experimenting architect and a foreign gardener, and the whole effort is not to express a

person's individual taste and character, but to make a show, then discontent as to his own will arise whenever

some new and more showy villa is built. Mr. Benson, who was poking about a good deal, strolling along the

lanes and getting into the rears of the houses, said, when this book was discussed, that his impression was that

the real object of these fine places was to support a lot of English gardeners, grooms, and stableboys. They

are a kind of aristocracy. They have really made Newport (that is the summer, transient Newport, for it is

largely a transient Newport). "I've been inquiring," continued Mr. Benson, "and you'd be surprised to know

the number of people who come here, buy or build expensive villas, splurge out for a year or two, then fail or

Mr. Snodgrass devotes a chapter to the parvenues at Newport. By the parvenuhis definition may not be

scientifiche seems to mean a person who is vulgar, but has money, and tries to get into society on the

strength of his money alone. He is more to be pitied than any other sort of rich man. For he not only works

hard and suffers humiliation in getting his place in society, but after he is in he works just as hard, and with

bitterness in his heart, to keep out other parvenues like himself. And this is misery.

But our visitors did not care for the philosophizing of Mr. Snodgrass you can spoil almost anything by

turning it wrong side out. They thought Newport the most beautiful and finished wateringplace in America.

Nature was in the loveliest mood when it was created, and art has generally followed her suggestions of

beauty and refinement. They did not agree with the cynic who said that Newport ought to be walled in, and

have a gate with an inscription, "None but Millionaires allowed here." It is very easy to get out of the

artificial Newport and to come into scenery that Nature has made after artistic designs which artists are

satisfied with. A favorite drive of our friends was to the Second Beach and the Purgatory Rocks overlooking

it. The photographers and the watercolor artists have exaggerated the Purgatory chasm into a Colorado

canon, but anybody can find it by help of a guide. The rock of this locality is a curious study. It is an

agglomerate made of pebbles and cement, the pebbles being elongated as if by pressure. The rock is

sometimes found in detached fragments having the form of tree trunks. Whenever it is fractured, the fracture

is a clean cut, as if made by a saw, and through both pebbles and cement, and the ends present the appearance

of a composite cake filled with almonds and cut with a knife. The landscape is beautiful.

"All the lines are so simple," the artist explained. "The shore, the sea, the gray rocks, with here and there the

roof of a quaint cottage to enliven the effect, and few trees, only just enough for contrast with the long,

"Yes, in themselves. But trees are apt to be in the way. There are too many trees in America. It is not often

It happened to be a day when the blue of the sea was that of the Mediterranean, and the sky and sea melted

into each other, so that a distant sailboat seemed to be climbing into the heavens. The waves rolled in blue

on the white sand beach, and broke in silver. Three young girls on horseback galloping in a race along the

North of this the land comes down to the sea in knolls of rock breaking off suddenlyrocks gray with lichen,

and shaded with a touch of other vegetation. Between these knifeback ledges are plots of seagreen grass and

sedge, with little ponds, black, and mirroring the sky. Leaving this wild bit of nature, which has got the name

of Paradise (perhaps because few people go there), the road back to town sweeps through sweet farm land;

the smell of hay is in the air, loads of hay encumber the roads, flowers in profusion half smother the farm

cottages, and the trees of the appleorchards are gnarled and picturesque as olives.

The younger members of the party climbed up into this paradise one day, leaving the elders in their carriages.

They came into a new world, as unlike Newport as if they had been a thousand miles away. The spot was

wilder than it looked from a distance. The high ridges of rock lay parallel, with bosky valleys and ponds

between, and the sea shining in the south all in miniature. On the way to the ridges they passed clean pasture

fields, bowlders, gray rocks, aged cedars with flat tops like the stonepines of Italy. It was all wild but

Irene and Mr. King strolled along one of the ridges, and sat down on a rock looking off upon the peaceful

expanse, the silver lines of the curving shores, and the blue sea dotted with white sails.

"Ah," said the girl, with an inspiration, "this is the sort of five o'clock I like."

"And I'm sure I'd rather be here with you than at the Blims' reception, from which we ran away."

"I thought," said Irene, not looking at him, and jabbing the point of her parasol into the ground, "I thought

"So I do, or did. I thought you would like it. But, pardon me, you seem somehow different from what you

were at Fortress Monroe, or even at lovely Atlantic City," this with a rather forced laugh.

"Do I? Well, I suppose I am; that is, different from what you thought me. I should hate this place in a week

The girl looked up quickly. "I forgot to tell you how much she thanked you for the invitation to your cousin's.

"Oh, kind; I didn't mean to be kind. I was purely selfish in wanting you to go. Cannot you believe, Miss

"Well, I will be as frank as you are, Mr. King. I don't like being shown off. There, don't look displeased. I

"I did not think about motives, but the fact is" (another jab of the parasol), "I was made desperately

uncomfortable, and always shall be under such circumstances, and, my friendI should like to believe you

"I just see things as they are," Irene went on, hastily. "You think I am different here. Well, I don't mind

saying that when I made your acquaintance I thought you different from any man I had met." But now it was

out, she did mind saying it; and stopped, confused, as if she had confessed something. But she continued,

almost immediately: "I mean I liked your manner to women; you didn't appear to flatter, and you didn't talk

"No. Not that. But everything is somehow changed here. Don't let's talk of it. There's the carriage."

Irene arose, a little flushed, and walked towards the point. Mr. King, picking his way along behind her over

the rocks, said, with an attempt at lightening the situation, " Well, Miss Benson, I'm going to be just as

We have heard it said that one of the charms, of Narragansett Pier is that you can see Newport from it. The

summer dwellers at the Pier talk a good deal about liking it better than Newport; it is less artificial and more

restful. The Newporters never say anything about the Pier. The Pier people say that it is not fair to judge it

when you come direct from Newport, but the longer you stay there the better you like it; and if any too frank

person admits that he would not stay in Narragansett a day if he could afford to live in Newport, he is

In a calm summer morning, such as our party of pilgrims chose for an excursion to the Pier, there is no

prettier sail in the world than that out of the harbor, by Conanicut Island and Beavertail Light. It is a holiday

harbor, all these seas are holiday seasthe yachts, the sail vessels, the puffing steamers, moving swiftly from

one headland to another, or loafing about the blue, smiling sea, are all on pleasure bent. The vagrant vessels

that are idly watched from the rocks at the Pier may be coasters and freight schooners engaged seriously in

trade, but they do not seem so. They are a part of the picture, always to be seen slowly dipping along in the

horizon, and the impression is that they are manoeuvred for show, arranged for picturesque effect, and that

The visitors confessed when they landed that the Pier was a contrast to Newport. The shore below the landing

is a line of broken, ragged, slimy rocks, as if they had been dumped there for a riprap wall. Fronting this

unkempt shore is a line of barracklike hotels, with a few cottages of the cheap sort. At the end of this row of

hotels is a fine granite Casino, spacious, solid, with wide verandas, and a tenniscourtsuch a building as

even Newport might envy. Then come more hotels, a cluster of cheap shops, and a long line of bathhouses

facing a lovely curving beach. Bathing is the fashion at the Pier, and everybody goes to the beach at noon.

The spectators occupy chairs on the platform in front of the bathhouses, or sit under tents erected on the

smooth sand. At high noon the scene is very lively, and even picturesque, for the ladies here dress for bathing

with an intention of pleasing. It is generally supposed that the angels in heaven are not edified by this

promiscuous bathing, and by the spectacle of a crowd of women tossing about in the surf, but an impartial

angel would admit that many of the costumes here are becoming, and that the effect of the red and yellow

caps, making a color line in the flashing rollers, is charming. It is true that there are odd figures in the shifting

meleeone solitary old gentleman, who had contrived to get his bathingsuit on hindside before, wandered

along the ocean margin like a lost Ulysses; and that fat woman and fat man were never intended for this sort

of exhibition; but taken altogether, with its colors, and the silver flash of the breaking waves, the scene was

exceedingly pretty. Not the least pretty part of it was the fringe of children tumbling on the beach, following

the retreating waves, and flying from the incoming rollers with screams of delight. Children, indeed, are a

characteristic of Narragansett Pierchildren and mothers. It might be said to be a family place; it is a good

deal so on Sundays, and occasionally when the "business men" come down from the cities to see how their

After the bathing it is the fashion to meet again at the Casino and take lunchsometimes through a

strawand after dinner everybody goes for a stroll on the cliffs. This is a noble seapromenade; with its

handsome villas and magnificent rocks, a fair rival to Newport. The walk, as usually taken, is two or three

miles along the bold, rocky shore, but an ambitious pedestrian may continue it to the light on Point Judith.

Nowhere on this coast are the rocks more imposing, and nowhere do they offer so many studies in color. The

visitor's curiosity is excited by a massive granite tower which rises out of a mass of tangled woods planted on

the crest of the hill, and his curiosity is not satisfied on nearer inspection, when he makes his way into this

thick and gloomy forest, and finds a granite cottage near the tower, and the signs of neglect and wildness that

might mark the home of a recluse. What is the object of this noble tower? If it was intended to adorn the

landscape, why was it ruined by piercing it irregularly with square windows like those of a factory?

One has to hold himself back from being drawn into the history and romance of this Narragansett shore.

Down below the bathing beach is the pretentious wooden pile called Canonchet, that already wears the air of

tragedy. And here, at this end, is the mysterious tower, and an ugly unfinished dwellinghouse of granite,

with the legend "Druid's Dream" carved over the entrance door; and farther inland, in a sandy and shrubby

landscape, is Kendall Green, a private cemetery, with its granite monument, surrounded by heavy granite

posts, every other one of which is hollowed in the top as a receptacle for food for birds. And one reads there

these inscriptions: "Whatever their mode of faith, or creed, who feed the wandering birds, will themselves be

fed." "Who helps the helpless, Heaven will help." This inland region, now apparently deserted and neglected,

was once the seat of colonial aristocracy, who exercised a princely hospitality on their great plantations,

exchanged visits and ran horses with the planters of Virginia and the Carolinas, and were known as far as

Kentucky, and perhaps best known for their breed of Narragansett pacers. But let us get back to the shore.

In wandering along the cliff path in the afternoon, Irene and Mr. King were separated from the others, and

unconsciously extended their stroll, looking for a comfortable seat in the rocks. The day was perfect. The sky

had only a few fleecy, highsailing clouds, and the great expanse of sea sparkled under the hectoring of a

light breeze. The atmosphere was not too clear on the horizon for dreamy effects; all the headlands were

softened and tinged with opalescent colors. As the light struck them, the sails which enlivened the scene were

either dark spots or shining silver sheets on the delicate blue. At one spot on this shore rises a vast mass of

detached rock, separated at low tide from the shore by irregular bowlders and a tiny thread of water. In search

of a seat the two strollers made their way across this rivulet over the broken rocks, passed over the summit of

the giant mass, and established themselves in a cavernous place close to the sea. Here was a natural seat, and

the bulk of the seamed and colored ledge, rising above their heads and curving around them, shut them out of

sight of the land, and left them alone with the dashing sea, and the gulls that circled and dipped their silver

wings in their eager pursuit of prey. For a time neither spoke. Irene was looking seaward, and Mr. King, who

had a lower seat, attentively watched the waves lapping the rocks at their feet, and the fine profile and trim

figure of the girl against the sky. He thought he had never seen her looking more lovely, and yet he had a

sense that she never was so remote from him. Here was an opportunity, to be sure, if he had anything to say,

but some fine feeling of propriety restrained him from taking advantage of it. It might not be quite fair, in a

place so secluded and remote, and with such sentimental influences, shut in as they were to the sea and the

"It seems like a world by itself," she began, as in continuation of her thought. "They say you can see Gay

"Yes. And Newport to the left there, with its towers and trees rising out of the sea. It is quite like the Venice

"I think I like Newport better at this distance. It is very poetical. I don't think I like what is called the world

The remark seemed to ask for sympathy, and Mr. King ventured: "Are you willing to tell me, Miss Benson,

why you have not seemed as happy at Newport as elsewhere? Pardon me; it is not an idle question." Irene,

who seemed to be looking away beyond Gay Head, did not reply. "I should like to know if I have been in any

way the cause of it. We agreed to be friends, and I think I have a friend's right to know." Still no response.

"You must seeyou must know," he went on, hurriedly, "that it cannot be a matter of indifference to me."

"It had better be," she said, as if speaking deliberately to herself, and still looking away. But suddenly she

turned towards him, and the tears sprang to her eyes, and the words rushed out fiercely, "I wish I had never

left Cyrusville. I wish I had never been abroad. I wish I had never been educated. It is all a wretched

King was unprepared for such a passionate outburst. It was like a rift in a cloud, through which he had a

glimpse of her real life. Words of eager protest sprang to his lips, but, before they could be uttered, either her

mood had changed or pride had come to the rescue, for she said: "How silly I am! Everybody has

discontented days. Mr. King, please don't ask me such questions. If you want to be a friend, you will let me

"Well, MissIrene, then, there was something I wanted to say to you the other day in Paradise"

"Look, Mr. King. Did you see that wave? I'm sure it is nearer our feet than when we sat down here."

"Oh, that's just an extra lift by the wind. I want to tell you. I must tell you that lifehas all changed since I

"There! There's no mistakeabout that. The last wave came a foot higher than the other!"

King sprang up. "Perhaps it is the tide. I'll go and see." He ran up the rock, leaped across the fissures, and

looked over on the side they had ascended. Sure enough, the tide was coming in. The stones on which they

had stepped were covered, and a deep stream of water, rising with every pulsation of the sea, now, where

there was only a rivulet before. He hastened back. "There is not a moment to lose. We are caught by the tide,

and if we are not off in five minutes we shall be prisoners here till the turn."

He helped her up the slope and over the chasm. The way was very plain when they came on, but now he

could not find it. At the end of every attempt was a precipice. And the water was rising. A little girl on the

shore shouted to them to follow along a ledge she pointed out, then descend between two bowlders to the

ford. Precious minutes were lost in accomplishing this circuitous descent, and then they found the stepping

stones under water, and the seaweed swishing about the slippery rocks with the incoming tide. It was a

ridiculous position for lovers, or even "friends"ridiculous because it had no element of danger except the

ignominy of getting wet. If there was any heroism in seizing Irene before she could protest, stumbling with

his burden among the slimy rocks, and depositing her, with only wet shoes, on the shore, Mr. King shared it,

The day after the discovery and exploration of Narragansett, Mr. King spent the morning with his cousin at

the Casino. It was so pleasant that he wondered he had not gone there oftener, and that so few people

frequented it. Was it that the cottagers were too strong for the Casino also, which was built for the recreation

of the cottagers, and that they found when it came to the test that they could not with comfort come into any

sort of contact with popular life? It is not large, but no summer resort in Europe has a prettier place for

lounging and reunion. None have such an air of refinement and exclusiveness. Indeed, one of the chief

attractions and entertainments in the foreign casinos and conversationhalls is the mingling there of all sorts

of peoples, and the animation arising from diversity of conditions. This popular commingling in pleasure

resorts is safe enough in aristocratic countries, but it will not answer in a republic.

The Newport Casino is in the nature of a club of the best society. The building and grounds express the most

refined taste. Exteriorly the house is a long, low Queen Anne cottage, with brilliant shops on the

groundfloor, and above, behind the wooded balconies, is the clubroom. The tint of the shingled front is

brown, and all the colors are low and blended. Within, the court is a mediaeval surprise. It is a miniature

castle, such as might serve for an opera scene. An extension of the galleries, an ombre, completes the circle

around the plot of close clipped green turf. The house itself is all balconies, galleries, odd windows half

overgrown and hidden by ivy, and a large gilt clockface adds a touch of piquancy to the antique charm of

the facade. Beyond the first court is a more spacious and less artificial lawn, set with fine trees, and at the

bottom of it is the brown building containing ballroom and theatre, bowlingalley and closed tenniscourt,

and at an angle with the second lawn is a pretty field for lawntennis. Here the tournaments are held, and on

If the Casino is then so exclusive, why is it not more used as a rendezvous and loungingplace? Alas! it must

be admitted that it is not exclusive. By an astonishing concession in the organization any person can gain

admittance by paying the sum of fifty cents. This tax is sufficient to exclude the deserving poor, but it is only

an inducement to the vulgar rich, and it is even broken down by the prodigal excursionist, who commonly

sets out from home with the intention of being reckless for one day. It is easy to see, therefore, why the charm

The band was playing this morningnot rink musicwhen Mrs. Glow and King entered and took chairs on

the ombre. It was a very pretty scene; more people were present than usual of a morning. Groups of half a

dozen had drawn chairs together here and there, and were chatting and laughing; two or three exceedingly

wellpreserved old bachelors, in the smart rough morning suits of the period, were entertaining their lady

friends with club and horse talk; several old gentlemen were reading newspapers; and there were some

dowagerlooking mammas, and seated by them their cold, beautiful, highbred daughters, who wore their

visible exclusiveness like a garment, and contrasted with some other young ladies who were promenading

with Englishlooking young men in flannel suits, who might be described as lawntennis young ladies

conscious of being in the mode, but wanting the indescribable atmosphere of highbreeding. Doubtless the

most interesting persons to the student of human life were the young fellows in lawntennis suits. They had

the languid air which is so attractive at their age, of having found out life, and decided that it is a bore.

Nothing is worth making an exertion about, not even pleasure. They had come, one could see, to a just

appreciation of their value in life, and understood quite well the social manners of the mammas and girls in

whose company they condescended to dawdle and make, languidly, cynical observations. They had, in truth,

the manner of playing at fashion and elegance as in a stage comedy. King could not help thinking there was

something theatrical about them altogether, and he fancied that when he saw them in their "traps" on the

Avenue they were going through the motions for show and not for enjoyment. Probably King was mistaken

in all this, having been abroad so long that he did not understand the evolution of the American gilded youth.

In a pause of the music Mrs. Bartlett Glow and Mr. King were standing with a group near the steps that led

down to the inner lawn. Among them were the Postlethwaite girls, whose beauty and audacity made such a

sensation in Washington last winter. They were bantering Mr. King about his Narragansett excursion, his

cousin having maliciously given the party a hint of his encounter with the tide at the Pier. . . Just at this

moment, happening to glance across the lawn, he saw the Bensons coming towards the steps, Mrs. Benson

waddling over the grass and beaming towards the group, Mr. Benson carrying her shawl and looking as if he

had been hired by the day, and Irene listlessly following. Mrs. Glow saw them at the same moment, but gave

no other sign of her knowledge than by striking into the banter with more animation. Mr. King intended at

once to detach himself and advance to meet the Bensons. But he could not rudely break away from the

unfinished sentence of the younger Postlethwaite girl, and the instant that was concluded, as luck would have

it, an elderly lady joined the group, and Mrs. Glow went through the formal ceremony of introducing King to

her. He hardly knew how it happened, only that he made a hasty bow to the Bensons as he was shaking hands

with the ceremonious old lady, and they had gone to the door of exit. He gave a little start as if to follow

them, which Mrs. Glow noticed with a laugh and the remark, "You can catch them if you run," and then he

weakly submitted to his fate. After all, it was only an accident which would hardly need a word of

explanation. But what Irene saw was this: a distant nod from Mrs. Glow, a cool survey and stare from the

Postlethwaite girls, and the failure of Mr. King to recognize his friends any further than by an indifferent bow

as he turned to speak to another lady. In the raw state of her sensitiveness she felt all this as a terrible and

King did not return to the hotel till evening, and then he sent up his card to the Bensons. Word came back that

the ladies were packing, and must be excused. He stood at the office desk and wrote a hasty note to Irene,

attempting an explanation of what might seem to her a rudeness, and asked that he might see her a moment.

And then he paced the corridor waiting for a reply. In his impatience the fifteen minutes that he waited

He folded the note carefully and put it in his breast pocket, took it out and reread it, lingering over the fine

and dainty signature, put it back again, and walked out upon the piazza. It was a divine night, soft and

sweetscented, and all the rustling trees were luminous in the electric light. From a window opening upon a

balcony overhead came the clear notes of a barytone voice enunciating the oldfashioned words of an English

The eastern coast, with its ragged outline of bays, headlands, indentations, islands, capes, and sandspits,

from Watch Hill, a favorite breezy resort, to Mount Desert, presents an almost continual chain of hotels and

summer cottages. In fact, the same may be said of the whole Atlantic front from Mount Desert down to Cape

May. It is to the traveler an amazing spectacle. The American people can no longer be reproached for not

taking any summer recreation. The amount of money invested to meet the requirements of this vacation

idleness is enormous. When one is on the coast in July or August it seems as if the whole fifty millions of

people had come down to lie on the rocks, wade in the sand, and dip into the sea. But this is not the case.

These crowds are only a fringe of the pleasureseeking population. In all the mountain regions from North

Carolina to the Adirondacks and the White Hills, along the St. Lawrence and the lakes away up to the

Northwest, in every elevated village, on every mountainside, about every pond, lake, and clear stream, in

the wilderness and the secluded farmhouse, one encounters the traveler, the summer boarder, the vacation

idler, one is scarcely out of sight of the American flag flying over a summer resort. In no other nation,

probably, is there such a general summer hejira, no other offers on such a vast scale such a variety of

entertainment, and it is needless to say that history presents no parallel to this general movement of a people

for a summer outing. Yet it is no doubt true that statistics, which always upset a broad generous statement

such as I have made, would show that the majority of people stay at home in the summer, and it is undeniable

But there are resorts suited to all tastes, and to the economical as well as to the extravagant. Perhaps the

strongest impression one has in visiting the various wateringplaces in the summertime, is that the

multitudes of everyday folk are abroad in search of enjoyment. On the New Bedford boat for Martha's

Vineyard our little party of tourists sailed quite away from Newport lifeStanhope with mingled depression

and relief, the artist with some shrinking from contact with anything common, while Marion stood upon the

bow beside her uncle, inhaling the salt breeze, regarding the lovely fleeting shores, her cheeks glowing and

her eyes sparkling with enjoyment. The passengers and scene, Stanhope was thinking, were typically New

England, until the boat made a landing at Naushon Island, when he was reminded somehow of Scotland, as

much perhaps by the wild furzy appearance of the island as by the "gentlefolks" who went ashore.

The boat lingered for the further disembarkation of a number of horses and carriages, with a piano and a cow.

There was a farmer's lodge at the landing, and over the rocks and amid the trees the picturesque roof of the

villa of the sole proprietor of the island appeared, and gave a feudal aspect to the domain. The sweet grass

affords good picking for sheep, and besides the sheep the owner raises deer, which are destined to be chased

The artist noted that there were several distinct types of women on board, besides the common,

straightwaisted, flatchested variety. One girl who was alone, with a city air, a neat, firm figure, in a

traveling suit of elegant simplicity, was fond of taking attitudes about the rails, and watching the effect

produced on the spectators. There was a blueeyed, sharpfaced, rather loosejointed young girl, who had

the manner of being familiar with the boat, and talked readily and freely with anybody, keeping an eye

occasionally on her sister of eight years, a child with a serious little face in a pokebonnet, who used the

language of a young lady of sixteen, and seemed also abundantly able to take care of herself. What this mite

of a child wants of all things, she confesses, is a pugfaced dog. Presently she sees one come on board in the

arms of a young lady at Wood's Holl. "No," she says," I won't ask her for it; the lady wouldn't give it to me,

and I wouldn't waste my breath;" but she draws near to the dog, and regards it with rapt attention. The owner

of the dog is a very pretty blackeyed girl with banged hair, who prattles about herself and her dog with

perfect freedom. She is staying at Cottage City, lives at Worcester, has been up to Boston to meet and bring

down her dog, without which she couldn't live another minute. "Perhaps," she says, "you know Dr. Ridgerton,

These girls are all types of the skatingrinkan institution which is beginning to express itself in American

The band was playing on the pier when the steamer landed at Cottage City (or Oak Bluff, as it was formerly

called), and the pier and the gallery leading to it were crowded with spectators, mostly women a pleasing

mingling of the skatingrink and sewingcircle varietiesand gayety was apparently about setting in with

the dusk. The rink and the, ground opposite the hotel were in full tilt. After supper King and Forbes took a

cursory view of this strange encampment, walking through the streets of fantastic tiny cottages among the

scrub oaks, and saw something of family life in the painted little boxes, whose wideopen front doors gave to

view the whole domestic economy, including the bed, centretable, and melodeon. They strolled also on the

elevated plank promenade by the beach, encountering now and then a couple enjoying the lovely night.

Music abounded. The circuspumping strains burst out of the rink, calling to a gay and perhaps dissolute life.

The band in the nearly empty hotel parlor, in a mournful mood, was wooing the guests who did not come to a

soothing tune, something like China"Why do we mourn departed friends?" A procession of lasses coming

up the broad walk, advancing out of the shadows of night, was heard afar off as the stalwart singers strode on,

chanting in high nasal voices that lovely hymn, which seems to suit the rink as well as the night promenade

In the morning this fairylike settlement, with its flimsy and eccentric architecture, took on more the

appearance of reality. The season was late, as usual, and the hotels were still waiting for the crowds that seem

to prefer to be late and make a rushing carnival of August, but the tiny cottages were nearly all occupied. At

10 A.M. the band was playing in the threestory pagoda sort of tower at the bathingplace, and the three

stories were crowded with female spectators. Below, under the bank, is a long array of bathhouses, and the

shallow water was alive with floundering and screaming bathers. Anchored a little out was a raft, from which

men and boys and a few venturesome girls were diving, displaying the human form in graceful curves. The

crowd was an immensely goodhumored one, and enjoyed itself. The sexes mingled together in the water,

and nothing thought of it, as old Pepys would have said, although many of the tightlyfitting costumes left

less to the imagination than would have been desired by a poet describing the scene as a phase of the

'comedie humaine.' The band, having played out its hour, trudged back to the hotel pier to toot while the noon

steamboat landed its passengers, in order to impress the new arrivals with the mad joyousness of the place.

The crowd gathered on the high gallery at the end of the pier added to this effect of reckless holiday

enjoyment. Miss Lamont was infected with this gayety, and took a great deal of interest in this peripatetic

band, which was playing again on the hotel piazza before dinner, with a sort of mechanical hilariousness. The

rink band opposite kept up a lively competition, grinding out goround music, imparting, if one may say so, a

glamour to existence. The band is on hand at the pier at four o'clock to toot again, and presently off, tramping

While Mr. King could not help wondering how all this curious life would strike Irenehe put his

lonesomeness and longing in this wayand what she would say about it, he endeavored to divert his mind

by a study of the conditions, and by some philosophizing on the change that had come over American

summer life within a few years. In his investigations he was assisted by Mr. De Long, to whom this social life

was absolutely new, and who was disposed to regard it as peculiarly Yankeethe staid dissipation of a

seriousminded people. King, looking at it more broadly, found this pasteboard city by the sea one of the

most interesting developments of American life. The original nucleus was the Methodist campmeeting,

which, in the season, brought here twenty thousand to thirty thousand people at a time, who camped and

picnicked in a somewhat primitive style. Gradually the people who came here ostensibly for religious

exercises made a longer and more permanent occupation, and, without losing its ephemeral character, the

place grew and demanded more substantial accommodations. The spot is very attractive. Although the shore

looks to the east, and does not get the prevailing southern breeze, and the beach has little surf, both water and

air are mild, the bathing is safe and agreeable, and the view of the illimitable sea dotted with sails and

fishingboats is always pleasing. A crowd begets a crowd, and soon the world's people made a city larger

than the original one, and still more fantastic, by the aid of paint and the jigsaw. The tent, however, is the

type of all the dwellinghouses. The hotels, restaurants, and shops follow the usual order of flamboyant

seaside architecture. After a time the Baptists established a camp, ground on the bluffs on the opposite side of

the inlet. The world's people brought in the commercial element in the way of fancy shops for the sale of all

manner of cheap and bizarre "notions," and introduced the common amusements. And so, although the

campmeetings do not begin till late in August, this city of playhouses is occupied the summer long. The

shops and shows represent the taste of the million, and although there is a similarity in all these popular coast

wateringplaces, each has a characteristic of its own. The foreigner has a considerable opportunity of

studying family life, whether he lounges through the narrow, sometimes circular, streets by night, when it

appears like a fairy encampment, or by daylight, when there is no illusion. It seems to be a point of etiquette

to show as much of the interiors as possible, and one can learn something of cooking and bedmaking and

mending, and the art of doing up the back hair. The photographer revels here in pictorial opportunities. The

pictures of these bizarre cottages, with the family and friends seated in front, show very serious groups. One

of the Tabernaclea vast iron hood or dome erected over rows of benches that will seat two or three

thousand peoplerepresents the building when it is packed with an audience intent upon the preacher. Most

of the faces are of a grave, severe type, plain and good, of the sort of people ready to die for a notion. The

impression of these photographs is that these people abandon themselves soberly to the pleasures of the sea

and of this packed, gregarious life, and get solid enjoyment out of their recreation.

Here, as elsewhere on the coast, the greater part of the population consists of women and children, and the

young ladies complain of the absence of menand, indeed, something is desirable in society besides the

The artist and Miss Lamont, in search of the picturesque, had the courage, although the thermometer was in

the humor to climb up to ninety degrees, to explore the Baptist encampment. They were not rewarded by

anything new except at the landing, where, behind the bathhouses, the bathing suits were hung out to dry,

and presented a comical spectacle, the humor of which seemed to be lost upon all except themselves. It was

such a caricature of humanity! The suits hanging upon the line and distended by the wind presented the

appearance of headless, bloated forms, fat men and fat women kicking in the breeze, and vainly trying to

climb over the line. It was probably merely fancy, but they declared that these images seemed larger, more

bloated, and much livelier than those displayed on the Cottage City side. When travelers can be entertained

by trifles of this kind it shows that there is an absence of more serious amusement. And, indeed, although

people were not wanting, and music was in the air, and the bicycle and tricycle stable was well patronized by

men and women, and the noon bathing was well attended, it was evident that the life of Cottage City was not

The morning on which our tourists took the steamer for Wood's Holl the sea lay shimmering in the heat, only

stirred a little by the land breeze, and it needed all the invigoration of the short ocean voyage to brace them

up for the intolerably hot and dusty ride in the cars through the sandy part of Massachusetts. So long as the

train kept by the indented shore the route was fairly picturesque; all along Buzzard Bay and Onset Bay and

Monument Beach little cottages, gay with paint and fantastic saw work explained, in a measure, the design

of Providence in permitting this part of the world to be discovered; but the sandy interior had to be reconciled

to the deeper divine intention by a trial of patience and the cultivation of the heroic virtues evoked by a

struggle for existence, of fitting men and women for a better country. The travelers were confirmed, however,

in their theory of the effect of a sandy country upon the human figure. This is not a juicy land, if the

expression can be tolerated, any more than the sandy parts of New Jersey, and its unsympathetic dryness is

favorable to the productionone can hardly say development of the lean, enduring, flatchested, and angular

In order to reach Plymouth a wait of a couple of hours was necessary at one of the sleepy but historic

villages. There was here no tavern, no restaurant, and nobody appeared to have any license to sell anything

for the refreshment of the travelers. But at some distance from the station, in a tworoomed dwellinghouse,

a good woman was found who was willing to cook a meal of victuals, as she explained, and a sign on her

front door attested, she had a right to do. What was at the bottom of the local prejudice against letting the

wayfaring man have anything to eat and drink, the party could not ascertain, but the defiant air of the woman

revealed the fact that there was such a prejudice. She was a noble, robust, gigantic specimen of her sex, well

formed, strong as an ox, with a resolute jaw, and she talked, through tightlyclosed teeth, in an aggressive

manner. Dinner was ordered, and the party strolled about the village pending its preparation; but it was not

ready when they returned. "I ain't goin' to cook no victuals," the woman explained, not ungraciously, "till I

know folks is goin' to eat it." Knowledge of the world had made her justly cautious. She intended to set out a

good meal, and she had the true housewife's desire that it should be eaten, that there should be enough of it,

and that the guests should like it. When she waited on the table she displayed a pair of arms that would

discourage any approach to familiarity, and disincline a timid person to ask twice for pie; but in point of fact,

as soon as the party became her bonafide guests, she was royally hospitable, and only displayed anxiety lest

"I like folks to be up and down and square," she began saying, as she vigilantly watched the effect of her

culinary skill upon the awed little party. "Yes, I've got a regular hotel license; you bet I have. There's been

folks lawed in this town for sellin' a meal of victuals and not having one. I ain't goin' to be taken in by

anybody. I warn't raised in New Hampshire to be scared by these Massachusetts folks. No, I hain't got a girl

now. I had one a spell, but I'd rather do my own work. You never knew what a girl was doin' or would do.

After she'd left I found a broken plate tucked into the ashbarrel. Sho! you can't depend on a girl. Yes, I've

got a husband. It's easier to manage him. Well, I tell you a husband is better than a girl. When you tell him to

do anything, you know it's going to be done. He's always about, never loafin' round; he can take right hold

King went into the kitchen after dinner and saw this model husband, who had the faculty of making himself

generally useful, holding a baby on one arm, and stirring something in a pot on the stove with the other. He

looked hot but resigned. There has been so much said about the position of men in Massachusetts that the

travelers were glad of this evidence that husbands are beginning to be appreciated. Under proper training they

It was late afternoon when they reached the quiet haven of Plymoutha place where it is apparently always

afternoon, a place of memory and reminiscences, where the whole effort of the population is to hear and to

tell some old thing. As the railway ends there, there is no danger of being carried beyond, and the train slowly

ceases motion, and stands still in the midst of a great and welcome silence. Peace fell upon the travelers like a

garment, and although they had as much difficulty in landing their baggage as the early Pilgrims had in

getting theirs ashore, the circumstance was not able to disquiet them much. It seemed natural that their trunks

should go astray on some of the inextricably interlocked and branching railways, and they had no doubt that

when they had made the tour of the State they would be discharged, as they finally were, into this

The Pilgrims have made so much noise in the world, and so powerfully affected the continent, that our

tourists were surprised to find they had landed in such a quiet place, and that the spirit they have left behind

them is one of such tranquillity. The village has a charm all its own. Many of the houses are oldfashioned

and square, some with colonial doors and porches, irregularly aligned on the main street, which is arched by

ancient and stately elms. In the spacious dooryards the lindens have had room and time to expand, and in

the beds of bloom the flowers, if not the very ones that our grandmothers planted, are the sorts that they

loved. Showing that the town has grown in sympathy with human needs and eccentricities, and is not the

work of a surveyor, the streets are irregular, forming picturesque angles and open spaces.

Nothing could be imagined in greater contrast to a Western town, and a good part of the satisfaction our

tourists experienced was in the absence of anything Western or "Queen Anne" in the architecture.

In the Pilgrim Halla stone structure with an incongruous wooden pillared frontthey came into the very

presence of the early worthies, saw their portraits on the walls, sat in their chairs, admired the solidity of their

shoes, and imbued themselves with the spirit of the relics of their heroic, uncomfortable lives. In the town

there was nothing to disturb the serenity of mind acquired by this communion. The Puritan interdict of

unseemly excitement still prevailed, and the streets were silent; the artist, who could compare it with the

placidity of Holland towns, declared that he never walked in a village so silent; there was no loud talking; and

even the children played without noise, like little Pilgrims. . . God bless such children, and increase their

numbers! It might have been the approach of Sundayif Sunday is still regarded in eastern

Massachusettsthat caused this hush, for it was now towards sunset on Saturday, and the inhabitants were

washing the fronts of the houses with the hose, showing how cleanliness is next to silence.

Possessed with the spirit of peace, our tourists, whose souls had been vexed with the passions of many

wateringplaces, walked down Leyden Street (the first that was laid out), saw the site of the first house, and

turned round Carver Street, walking lingeringly, so as not to break the spell, out upon the hillCole's

Hillwhere the dead during the first fearful winter were buried. This has been converted into a beautiful

esplanade, grassed and graveled and furnished with seats, and overlooks the old wharves, some coal

schooners, and shabby buildings, on one of which is a sign informing the reckless that they can obtain there

clam chowder and icecream, and the ugly, heavy granite canopy erected over the "Rock." No reverent

person can see this rock for the first time without a thrill of excitement. It has the date of 1620 cut in it, and it

is a good deal cracked and patched up, as if it had been much landed on, but there it is, and there it will

remain a witness to a great historic event, unless somebody takes a notion to cart it off uptown again. It is

said to rest on another rock, of which it formed a part before its unfortunate journey, and that lower rock as

everybody knows, rests upon the immutable principle of selfgovernment. The stone lies too far from the

water to enable anybody to land on it now, and it is protected from vandalism by an iron grating. The

sentiment of the hour was disturbed by the advent of the members of a baseball nine, who wondered why the

Pilgrims did not land on the wharf, and, while thrusting their feet through the grating in a commendable

desire to touch the sacred rock, expressed a doubt whether the feet of the Pilgrims were small enough to slip

through the grating and land on the stone. It seems that there is nothing safe from the irreverence of American

Has any other coast town besides Plymouth had the good sense and taste to utilize such an elevation by the

waterside as an esplanade? It is a most charming feature of the village, and gives it what we call a foreign

air. It was very lovely in the afterglow and at moonrise. Staid citizens with their families occupied the

benches, groups were chatting under the spreading lindentree at the north entrance, and young maidens in

white muslin promenaded, looking seaward, as was the wont of Puritan maidens, watching a receding or

coming Mayflower. But there was no loud talking, no laughter, no outbursts of merriment from the children,

all ready to be transplanted to the Puritan heaven! It was high tide, and all the bay was silvery with a tinge of

color from the glowing sky. The long, curved sandspitwhich was heavily wooded when the Pilgrims

landedwas silvery also, and upon its northern tip glowed the white sparkle in the lighthouse like the

eveningstar. To the north, over the smooth pink water speckled with white sails, rose Captain Hill, in

Duxbury, bearing the monument to Miles Standish. Clarke's Island (where the Pilgrims heard a sermon on the

first Sunday), Saguish Point, and Gurnett Headland (showing now twin white lights) appear like a long island

intersected by thin lines of blue water. The effect of these ribbons of alternate sand and water, of the lights

Even the unobtrusive tavern at the rear of the esplanade, ancient, feebly lighted, and inviting, added

something to the picturesqueness of the scene. The old tree by the gatean English lindenilluminated by

the street lamps and the moon, had a mysterious appearance, and the tourists were not surprised to learn that

it has a romantic history. The story is that the twig or sapling from which it grew was brought over from

England by a lover as a present to his mistress, that the lovers quarreled almost immediately, that the girl in a

pet threw it out of the window when she sent her lover out of the door, and that another man picked it up and

planted it where it now grows. The legend provokes a good many questions. One would like to know whether

this was the first case of female rebellion in Massachusetts against the commonlaw right of a man to correct

a woman with a stick not thicker than his little finger a rebellion which has resulted in the position of man

as the tourists saw him where the New Hampshire Amazon gave them a meal of victuals; and whether the girl

married the man who planted the twig, and, if so, whether he did not regret that he had not kept it by him.

This is a world of illusions. By daylight, when the tide was out, the pretty silver bay of the night before was a

mud flat, and the tourists, looking over it from Monument Hill, lost some of their respect for the Pilgrim

sagacity in selecting a landingplace. They had ascended the hill for a nearer view of the monument, King

with a reverent wish to read the name of his Mayflower ancestor on the tablet, the others in a spirit of cold,

New York criticism, for they thought the structure, which is still unfinished, would look uglier near at hand

than at a distance. And it does. It is a pile of granite masonry surmounted by symbolic figures.

"I wouldn't like to say that," replied the artist, "when the competition in this direction is so lively. But just

look at the drawing" (holding up his pencil with which he had intended to sketch it). "If it were quaint, now,

or rude, or archaic, it might be in keeping, but bad drawing is just vulgar. I should think it had been designed

"Yes," said the little Lamont, who always fell in with the most abominable opinions the artist expressed; "it

"You will please remember," mildly suggested King, who had found the name he was in search of, "that you

are trampling on my ancestral sensibilities, as might be expected of those who have no ancestors who ever

landed or ever were buried anywhere in particular. I look at the commemorative spirit rather than the

"So do I," retorted the girl; "and if the Pilgrims landed in such a vulgar, ostentatious spirit as this, I'm glad my

The party were in a better mood when they had climbed up Burial Hill, back of the meetinghouse, and sat

down on one of the convenient benches amid the ancient gravestones, and looked upon the wide and

magnificent prospect. A soft summer wind waved a little the long gray grass of the ancient restingplace, and

seemed to whisper peace to the weary generation that lay there. What struggles, what heroisms, the names on

the stones recalled! Here had stood the first fort of 1620, and here the watchtower of 1642, from the top of

which the warder espied the lurking savage, or hailed the expected ship from England. How much of history

this view recalled, and what pathos of human life these graves made real. Read the names of those buried a

couple of centuries agocaptains, elders, ministers, governors, wives well beloved, children a span long,

maidens in the blush of womanhoodhalf the tender inscriptions are illegible; the stones are broken, sunk,

slanting to fall. What a pitiful attempt to keep the world mindful of the departed!

Mr. Stanhope King was not in very good spirits. Even Boston did not make him cheerful. He was half

annoyed to see the artist and Miss Lamont drifting along in such laughing goodhumor with the world, as if a

summer holiday was just a holiday without any consequences or responsibilities. It was to him a serious affair

ever since that unsatisfactory note from Miss Benson; somehow the summer had lost its sparkle. And yet was

it not preposterous that a girl, just a single girl, should have the power to change for a man the aspect of a

whole coastby her presence to make it iridescent with beauty, and by her absence to take all the life out of

it? And a simple girl from Ohio! She was not by any means the prettiest girl in the Newport Casino that

morning, but it was her figure that he remembered, and it was the look of hurt sensibility in her eyes that

stayed with him. He resented the attitude of the Casino towards her, and he hated himself for his share in it.

He would write to her..... He composed letter after letter in his mind, which he did not put on paper. How

many millions of letters are composed in this way! It is a favorite occupation of imaginative people; and as

they say that no thoughts or mental impressions are ever lost, but are all registered made, as it were, on a

"dryplate," to be developed hereafterwhat a vast correspondence must be lying in the next world, in the

Deadletter Office there, waiting for the persons to whom it is addressed, who will all receive it and read it

some day! How unpleasant and absurd it will be to read, much of it! I intend to be careful, for my part, about

composing letters of this sort hereafter. Irene, I dare say, will find a great many of them from Mr. King,

thought out in those days. But he mailed none of them to her. What should he say? Should he tell her that he

didn't mind if her parents were what Mrs. Bartlett Glow called "impossible"? If he attempted any explanation,

would it not involve the offensive supposition that his social rank was different from hers? Even if he

convinced her that he recognized no caste in American society, what could remove from her mind the

somewhat morbid impression that her education had put her in a false position? His love probably could not

shield her from mortification in a society which, though indefinable in its limits and code, is an entity more

"Don't you think the whole social atmosphere has changed," Miss Lamont suddenly asked, as they were

running along in the train towards ManchesterbytheSea, "since we got north of Boston? I seem to find it

so. Don't you think it's more refined, and, don't you know, sort of cultivated, and subdued, and Boston? You

notice the gentlemen who get out at all these stations, to go to their countryhouses, how highly civilized

they look, and ineffably respectable and intellectual, all of them presidents of colleges, and substantial bank

directors, and possible ambassadors, and of a social cult (isn't that the word?) uniting brains and gentle

"You must have been reading the Boston newspapers; you have hit the idea prevalent in these parts, at any

rate. I was, however, reminded myself of an afternoon train out of London, say into Surrey, on which you are

"And you think this is different from a train out of New York?" asked the artist.

"Yes. New York is more mixed. No one train has this kind of tone. You see there more of the broker type and

politician type, smarter apparel and nervous manners, but, dear me, not this high moral and intellectual

"Well," said the artist, "I'm changing my mind about this country. I didn't expect so much variety. I thought

that all the wateringplaces would be pretty much alike, and that we should see the same people everywhere.

"There you touch a deep questionthe refining or the vulgarizing influence of man upon nature, and the

opposite. Now, did the summer Bostonians make this coast refined, or did this coast refine the Bostonians

"Well, this is primarily an artistic coast; I feel the influence of it; there is a refined beauty in all the lines, and

residents have not vulgarized it much. But I wonder what Boston could have done for the Jersey coast?"

In the midst of this high and useless conversation they came to the Masconomo House, a sort of concession,

in this region of noble villas and private parks, to the popular desire to get to the sea. It is a long, low house,

with very broad passages below and above, which give lightness and cheerfulness to the interior, and each of

the four corners of the entrance hall has a fireplace. The pillars of the front and back piazzas are pine stems

stained, with the natural branches cut in unequal lengths, and look like the stumps for the bears to climb in

the pit at Berne. Set up originally with the bark on, the worms worked underneath it in secret, at a novel sort

of decoration, until the bark came off and exposed the stems most beautifully vermiculated, giving the effect

of fine carving. Back of the house a meadow slopes down to a little beach in a curved bay that has rocky

headlands, and is defended in part by islands of rock. The whole aspect of the place is peaceful. The hotel

does not assert itself very loudly, and if occasionally transient guests appear with flash manners, they do not

One finds, indeed, nature and social life happily blended, the exclusiveness being rather protective than

offensive. The special charm of this piece of coast is that it is bold, much broken and indented, precipices

fronting the waves, promontories jutting out, high rocky points commanding extensive views, wild and

picturesque, and yet softened by color and graceful shore lines, and the forest comes down to the edge of the

sea. And the occupants have heightened rather than lessened this picturesqueness by adapting their villas to a

certain extent to the rocks and inequalities in color and form, and by means of roads, allies, and vistas

Here, as at Newport, is cottage life, but the contrast of the two places is immense. There is here no attempt at

any assembly or congregated gayety or display. One would hesitate to say that the drives here have more

beauty, but they have more variety. They seem endless, through odorous pine woods and shady lanes, by

private roads among beautiful villas and exquisite grounds, with evidences everywhere of wealth to be sure,

but of individual taste and refinement. How sweet and cool are these winding ways in the wonderful woods,

overrun with vegetation, the bayberry, the sweetfern, the wild roses, woodlilies, and ferns! and it is ever a

fresh surprise at a turn to find one's self so near the sea, and to open out an entrancing coast view, to emerge

upon a promontory and a sight of summer isles, of lighthouses, cottages, villagesMarblehead, Salem,

Beverly. What a lovely coast! and how wealth and culture have set their seal on it.

It possesses essentially the same character to the north, although the shore is occasionally higher and bolder,

as at the picturesque promontory of Magnolia, and Cape Ann exhibits more of the hotel and popular life. But

to live in one's own cottage, to choose his calling and dining acquaintances, to make the long season

contribute something to cultivation in literature, art, musicto live, in short, rather more for one's self than

for societyseems the increasing tendency of the men of fortune who can afford to pay as much for an acre

of rock and sand at Manchester as would build a decent house elsewhere. The tourist does not complain of

this, and is grateful that individuality has expressed itself in the great variety of lovely homes, in cottages

very different from those on the Jersey coast, showing more invention, and good in form and color.

There are NewYorkers at Manchester, and Bostonians at Newport; but who was it that said New York

expresses itself at Newport, and Boston at Manchester and kindred coast settlements? This may be only

fancy. Where intellectual life keeps pace with the accumulation of wealth, society is likely to be more natural,

simpler, less tied to artificial rules, than where wealth runs ahead. It happens that the quiet social life of

Beverly, Manchester, and that region is delightful, although it is a home rather than a public life. Nowhere

else at dinner and at the chance evening musicale is the foreigner more likely to meet sensible men who are

good talkers, brilliant and witty women who have the gift of being entertaining, and to have the events of the

day and the social and political problems more cleverly discussed. What is the good of wealth if it does not

bring one back to freedom, and the ability to live naturally and to indulge the finer tastes in vacationtime?

After all, King reflected, as the party were on their way to the Isles of Shoals, what was it that had most

impressed him at Manchester? Was it not an evening spent in a cottage amid the rocks, close by the water, in

the company of charming people? To be sure, there were the magical reflection of the moonlight and the bay,

the points of light from the cottages on the rocky shore, the hum and swell of the sea, and all the mystery of

the shadowy headlands; but this was only a congenial setting for the music, the witty talk, the free play of

intellectual badinage, and seriousness, and the simple human cordiality that were worth all the rest.

What a kaleidoscope it is, this summer travel, and what an entertainment, if the tourist can only keep his

"impression plates" fresh to take the new scenes, and not sink into the state of chronic grumbling at hotels

and minor discomforts! An interview at a ticketoffice, a whirl of an hour on the rails, and to Portsmouth,

anchored yet to the colonial times by a few old houses, and resisting with its respectable provincialism the

encroachments of modern smartness, and the sleepy wharf in the sleepy harbor, where the little steamer is

obligingly waiting for the last passenger, for the very last woman, running with a bandbox in one hand, and

dragging a jerked, fretting child by the other hand, to make the hour's voyage to the Isles of Shoals.

(The shrewd reader objects to the bandbox as an anachronism: it is no longer used. If I were writing a novel,

instead of a veracious chronicle, I should not have introduced it, for it is an anachronism. But I was

powerless, as a mere narrator, to prevent the woman coming aboard with her bandbox. No one but a trained

novelist can make a long striding, resolute, downEast woman conform to his notions of conduct and

If a young gentleman were in love, and the object of his adoration were beside him, he could not have chosen

a lovelier day nor a prettier scene than this in which to indulge his happiness; and if he were in love, and the

object absent, he could scarcely find a situation fitter to nurse his tender sentiment. Doubtless there is a stage

in love when scenery of the very best quality becomes inoperative. There was a couple on board seated in

front of the pilothouse, who let the steamer float along the pretty, long, landlocked harbor, past the Kittery

Navyyard, and out upon the blue sea, without taking the least notice of anything but each other. They were

on a voyage of their own, Heaven help them! probably without any chart, a voyage of discovery, just as fresh

and surprising as if they were the first who ever took it. It made no difference to them that there was a

personally conducted excursion party on board, going, they said, to the Oceanic House on Star Island, who

had out their maps and guidebooks and operaglasses, and wrung the last drop of the cost of their tickets out

of every foot of the scenery. Perhaps it was to King a more sentimental journey than to anybody else, because

he invoked his memory and his imagination, and as the lovely shores opened or fell away behind the steamer

in evershifting forms of beauty, the scene was in harmony with both his hope and his longing. As to Marion

and the artist, they freely appropriated and enjoyed it. So that mediaeval structure, all tower, growing out of

the rock, is Stedman's Castlejust like him, to let his art spring out of nature in that way. And that is the

"What do they do there, uncle?" asked the girl, after scanning the place in search of drydocks and vessels

"Oh, they make 'repairs,' principally just before an election. It is very busy then."

"Why, political repairs; they call them naval in the department. They are always getting appropriations for

them. I suppose that this country is better off for naval repairs than any other country in the world."

"No; they are done in the department. Here is where the voters are. You see, we have a political navy. It costs

about as much as those navies that have ships and guns, but it is more in accord with the peaceful spirit of the

age. Did you never hear of the leading case of 'repairs' of a government vessel here at Kittery? The 'repairs'

were all done here, at Portsmouth, New Hampshire; the vessel lay all the time at Portsmouth, Virginia. How

should the department know that there were two places of the same name? It usually intends to have 'repairs'

The steamer was gliding along over smooth water towards the seven blessed isles, which lay there in the sun,

masses of rock set in a sea sparkling with diamond points. There were two pretty girls in the pilothouse, and

the artist thought their presence there accounted for the serene voyage, for the masts of a wrecked schooner

rising out of the shallows to the north reminded him that this is a dangerous coast. But he said the passengers

would have a greater sense of security if the usual placard (for the benefit of the captain) was put up: "No

At a distance nothing could be more barren than these islands, which Captain John Smith and their native

poet have enveloped in a halo of romance, and it was not until the steamer was close to it that any

The boat turned into a pretty little harbor among the rocks, and the settlement was discovered: a long, low,

oldfashioned hotel with piazzas, and a few cottages, perched on the ledges, the dooryards of which were

perfectly ablaze with patches of flowers, masses of red, yellow, purple poppies, marigolds, nasturtiums,

bachelor'sbuttons, lovely splashes of color against the gray lichencovered rock. At the landing is an

interior miniature harbor, walled in, and safe for children to paddle about and sail on in tiny boats. The

islands offer scarcely any other opportunity for bathing, unless one dare take a plunge off the rocks.

Talk of the kaleidoscope! At a turn of the wrist, as it were, the elements of society had taken a perfectly novel

shape here. Was it only a matter of grouping and setting, or were these people different from all others the

tourists had seen? There was a lively scene in the hotel corridor, the spacious office with its long counters and

postoffice, when the noon mail was opened and the letters called out. So many pretty girls, with pet dogs of

all degrees of ugliness (dear little objects of affection overflowing and otherwise running to wasteone of

the most pathetic sights in this sad world), jaunty suits with a nautical cut, for boating and rockclimbing,

family groups, so much animation and excitement over the receipt of letters, so much wellbred chaffing and

friendliness, such an air of refinement and "style," but withal so homelike. These people were "guests " of the

proprietors, who nevertheless felt a sort of proprietorship themselves in the little island, and were very much

like a company together at sea. For living on this island is not unlike being on shipboard at sea, except that

Mr. King discovered by the register that the Bensons had been here (of all places in the world, he thought this

would be the ideal one for a few days with her), and Miss Lamont had a letter from Irene, which she did not

"They didn't stay long," she said, as Mr. King seemed to expect some information out of the letter, " and they

"Yees," trying to recall the mood he was in before he looked at the register; "butbut" (thinking of the

words "gone on to Bar Harbor") "it is a place, after all, that you can see in a short time go all over it in half

"I can't dream on an islandnot on a small island. It's too cooped up; you get a feeling of being a prisoner."

"I suppose you wish 'that little isle had wings, and you and I within its shady'"

The party went in the tug Pinafore, which led a restless, fussy life, puffing about among these islands, making

the circuit of Appledore at fixed hours, and acting commonly as a ferry. Star Island is smaller than Appledore

and more barren, but it has the big hotel (and a different class of guests from those on Appledore), and

several monuments of romantic interest. There is the ancient stone church, rebuilt some time in this century;

there are some gravestones; there is a monument to Captain John Smith, the only one existing anywhere to

that interesting adventurera triangular shaft, with a long inscription that could not have been more

eulogistic if he had composed it himself. There is something pathetic in this lonely monument when we recall

Smith's own touching allusion to this naked rock, on which he probably landed when he once coasted along

this part of New England, as being his sole possession in the world at the end of his adventurous career:

Every tourist goes to the south end of Star Island, and climbs down on the face of the precipice to the "Chair,"

a niche where a schoolteacher used to sit as long ago as 1848. She was sitting there one day when a wave

came up and washed her away into the ocean. She disappeared. But she who loses her life shall save it. That

one thoughtless act of hers did more for her reputation than years of faithful teaching, than all her beauty,

grace, and attractions. Her "Chair" is a point of pilgrimage. The tourist looks at it, guesses at its height above

the water, regards the hungry sea with aversion, reenacts the drama in his imagination, sits in the chair, has

his wife sit in it, has his boy and girl sit in it together, wonders what the teacher's name was, stops at the hotel

and asks the photograph girl, who does not know, and the proprietor, who says it's in a book somewhere, and

finally learns that it was Underhill, and straightway forgets it when he leaves the island.

What a delicious place it is, this Appledore, when the elements favor! The party were lodged in a little

cottage, whence they overlooked the hotel and the little harbor, and could see all the life of the place, looking

over the bank of flowers that draped the rocks of the dooryard. How charming was the miniature pond, with

the children sailing round and round, and the girls in pretty costumes bathing, and sunlight lying so warm

upon the greenishgray rocks! But the night, following the glorious afterglow, the red sky, all the level sea,

and the little harbor burnished gold, the rocks purpleoh! the night, when the moon came! Oh, Irene! Great

heavens! why will this world fall into such a sentimental fit, when all the sweetness and the light of it are

Love and moonlight, and the soft lapse of the waves and singing? Yes, there are girls down by the landing

with a banjo, and young men singing the songs of love, the modern songs of love dashed with college slang.

The banjo suggests a little fastness; and this new generation carries off its sentiment with some bravado and a

mocking tone. Presently the tug Pinafore glides up to the landing, the engineer flings open the furnace door,

and the glowing fire illumines the interior, brings out forms and faces, and deepens the heavy shadows

outside. It is like a cavern scene in the opera. A party of ladies in white come down to cross to Star. Some of

these insist upon climbing up to the narrow deck, to sit on the roof and enjoy the moonlight and the cinders.

Girls like to do these things, which are more unconventional than hazardous, at wateringplaces.

What a wonderful effect it is, the masses of rock, water, sky, the night, all details lost in simple lines and

forms! On the piazza of the cottage is a group of ladies and gentlemen in poses more or less graceful; one

lady is in a hammock; on one side is the moonlight, on the other come gleams from the curtained windows

touching here and there a white shoulder, or lighting a lovely head; the vines running up on strings and half

enclosing the piazza make an exquisite tracery against the sky, and cast delicate shadow patterns on the floor;

all the time music within, the piano, the violin, and the sweet waves of a woman's voice singing the songs of

The northern part of Appledore Island is an interesting place to wander. There are no trees, but the plateau is

far from barren. The gray rocks crop out among bayberry and huckleberry bushes, and the wild rose, very

large and brilliant in color, fairly illuminates the landscape, massing its great bushes. Amid the chaotic desert

of broken rocks farther south are little valleys of deep green grass, gay with roses. On the savage precipices at

the end one may sit in view of an extensive sweep of coast with a few hills, and bf other rocky islands, sails,

and oceangoing steamers. Here are many nooks and hidden corners to dream in and make love in, the soft

One could easily get attached to the place, if duty and Irene did not call elsewhere. Those who dwell here the

year round find most satisfaction when the summer guests have gone and they are alone with freaky nature.

"Yes," said the woman in charge of one of the cottages," I've lived here the year round for sixteen years, and I

like it. After we get fixed up comfortable for winter, kill a critter, have pigs, and make my own sassengers,

The attraction of Bar Harbor is in the union of mountain and sea; the mountains rise in granite majesty right

out of the ocean. The traveler expects to find a repetition of Mount Athos rising six thousand feet out of the

The BarHarborers made a mistake in killingif they did killthe stranger who arrived at this resort from

the mainland, and said it would be an excellent seaandmountain place if there were any mountains or any

sea in sight. Instead, if they had taken him in a rowboat and pulled him out through the islands, far enough,

he would have had a glimpse of the ocean, and if then he had been taken by the cograilway seventeen

hundred feet to the top of Green Mountain, he would not only have found himself on firm, rising ground, but

he would have been obliged to confess that, with his feet upon a solid mountain of granite, he saw

innumerable islands and, at a distance, a considerable quantity of ocean. He would have repented his hasty

speech. In two days he would have been a partisan of the place, and in a week he would have been an owner

There is undeniably a public opinion in Bar Harbor in favor of it, and the visitor would better coincide with it.

He is anxiously asked at every turn how he likes it, and if he does not like it he is an object of compassion.

Countless numbers of people who do not own a foot of land there are devotees of the place. Any number of

certificates to its qualities could be obtained, as to a patent medicine, and they would all read pretty much

alike, after the wellknown formula: "The first bottle I took did, me no good, after the second I was worse,

after the third I improved, after the twelfth I walked fifty miles in one day; and now I never do without it, I

take never less than fifty bottles a year." So it would be: "At first I felt just as you do, shutin place, foggy,

stayed only two days. Only came back again to accompany friends, stayed a week, foggy, didn't like it. Can't

tell how I happened to come back again, stayed a month, and I tell you, there is no place like it in America.

The genesis of Bar Harbor is curious and instructive. For many years, like other settlements on Mount Desert

Island; it had been frequented by people who have more fondness for nature than they have money, and who

were willing to put up with wretched accommodations, and enjoyed a mild sort of "roughing it." But some

society people in New York, who have the reputation of setting the mode, chanced to go there; they declared

in favor of it; and instantly, by an occult law which governs fashionable life, Bar Harbor became the fashion.

Everybody could see its preeminent attractions. The word was passed along by the Boudoir Telephone from

Boston to New Orleans, and soon it was a matter of necessity for a debutante, or a woman of fashion, or a

man of the world, or a blase boy, to show themselves there during the season. It became the scene of summer

romances; the student of manners went there to study the "American girl." The notion spread that it was the

finest sanitarium on the continent for flirtations; and as trade is said to follow the flag, so in this case

There is no doubt that the "American girl" is there, as she is at divers other seaandland resorts; but the

present peculiarity of this watering place is that the American young man is there also. Some philosophers

have tried to account for this coincidence by assuming that the American girl is the attraction to the young

man. But this seems to me a misunderstanding of the spirit of this generation. Why are young men quoted as

"scarce" in other resorts swarming with sweet girls, maidens who have learned the art of being agreeable, and

interesting widows in the vanishing shades of an attractive and consolable grief? No. Is it not rather the cold,

luminous truth that the American girl found out that Bar Harbor, without her presence, was for certain

reasons, such as unconventionality, a bracing air, opportunity for boating, etc., agreeable to the young man?

But why do elderly people go there? This question must have been suggested by a foreigner, who is ignorant

Our tourists passed a weary, hot day on the coast railway of Maine. Notwithstanding the high temperature,

the country seemed cheerless, the sunlight to fall less genially than in more fertile regions to the south, upon a

landscape stripped of its forests, naked, and unpicturesque. Why should the little white houses of the

prosperous little villages on the line of the rail seem cold and suggest winter, and the land seem scrimped and

without an atmosphere? It chanced so, for everybody knows that it is a lovely coast. The artist said it was the

Maine Law. But that could not be, for the only drunken man encountered on their tour they saw at the Bangor

They were plunged into a cold bath on the steamer in the halfhour's sail from the end of the rail to Bar

Harbor. The wind was fresh, whitecaps enlivened the scene, the spray dashed over the huge pile of baggage

on the bow, the passengers shivered, and could little enjoy the islands and the picturesque shore, but fixed

eyes of hope upon the electric lights which showed above the headlands, and marked the site of the hotels and

the town in the hidden harbor. Spits of rain dashed in their faces, and in some discomfort they came to the

wharf, which was alive with vehicles and tooters for the hotels. In short, with its lights and noise, it had every

appearance of being an important place, and when our party, holding on to their seats in a buckboard, were

whirled at a gallop up to Rodick's, and ushered into a spacious office swarming with people, they realized

that they were entering upon a lively if somewhat haphazard life. The first confused impression was of a

bewildering number of slim, pretty girls, nonchalant young fellows in lawntennis suits, and indefinite

opportunities in the halls and parlors and wide piazzas for promenade and flirtations.

Rodick's is a sort of big boardinghouse, hesitating whether to be a hotel or not, no bells in the rooms, no

bills of fare (or rarely one), no winelist, a goasyouplease, helpyourself sort of place, which is popular

because it has its own character, and everybody drifts into it first or last. Some say it is an acquired taste; that

people do not take to it at first. The big office is a sort of assemblyroom, where new arrivals are scanned

and discovered, and it is unblushingly called the "fishpond" by the young ladies who daily angle there. Of

the unconventional ways of the establishment Mr. King had an illustration when he attempted to get some

washing done. Having read a notice that the hotel had no laundry, he was told, on applying at the office, that

if he would bring his things down there they would try to send them out for him. Not being accustomed to

carrying about soiled clothes, he declined this proposal, and consulted a chambermaid. She told him that

ladies came to the house every day for the washing, and that she would speak to one of them. No result

following this, after a day King consulted the proprietor, and asked him point blank, as a friend, what course

he would pursue if he were under the necessity of having washing done in that region. The proprietor said

that Mr. King's wants should be attended to at once. Another day passed without action, when the

chambermaid was again applied to. "There's a lady just come in to the hall I guess will do it."

"Don't know, she washes for the woman in the room next to you." And the lady was at last secured.

Somebody said that those who were accustomed to luxury at home liked Rodick's, and that those who were

not grumbled. And it was true that fashion for the moment elected to be pleased with unconventionality,

finding a great zest in freedom, and making a joke of every inconvenience. Society will make its own rules,

and although there are several other large hotels, and good houses as wateringplace hotels go, and

cottagelife here as elsewhere is drawing away its skirts from hotel life, society understood why a person

might elect to stay at Rodick's. Bar Harbor has one of the most dainty and refined little hotels in the

worldthe Malvern. Any one can stay there who is worth two millions of dollars, or can produce a certificate

from the Recorder of New York that he is a direct descendant of Hendrick Hudson or Diedrich

Knickerbocker. It is needless to say that it was built by a Philadelphianthat is to say one born with a genius

for hotelkeeping. But though a guest at the Malvern might not eat with a friend at Rodick's, he will meet

Bar Harbor was indeed an interesting society study. Except in some of the cottages, it might be said that

society was on a lark. With all the manners of the world and the freemasonry of fashionable life, it had

elected to be unconventional. The young ladies liked to appear in nautical and lawntennis toilet, carried so

far that one might refer to the "cut of their jib," and their minds were not much given to any elaborate

dressing for evening. As to the young gentlemen, if there were any dresscoats on the island, they took pains

not to display them, but delighted in appearing in the evening promenade, and even in the ballroom, in the

nondescript suits that made them so conspicuous in the morning, the favorite being a dress of stripes, with

striped jockey cap to match, that did not suggest the penitentiary uniform, because in stateprisons the stripes

run round. This neglige costume was adhered to even in the ballroom. To be sure, the ballroom was little

frequented, only an adventurous couple now and then gliding over the floor, and affording scant amusement

to the throng gathered on the piazza and about the open windows. Mrs. Montrose, a stately dame of the old

school, whose standard was the court in the days of Calhoun, Clay, and Webster, disapproved of this laxity,

and when a couple of young fellows in striped array one evening whirled round the room together, with

brierwood pipes in their mouths, she was scandalized. If the young ladies shared her sentiments they made

no resolute protests, remembering perhaps the scarcity of young men elsewhere, and thinking that it is better

to be loved by a lawntennis suit than not to be loved at all. The daughters of Mrs. Montrose thought they

Dancing, however, is not the leading occupation at Bar Harbor, it is rather neglected. A cynic said that the

chief occupation was to wait at the "fishpond" for new arrivalsthe young ladies angling while their mothers

and chaperonshow shall we say it to complete the figure?held the bait. It is true that they did talk in

fisherman's lingo about this, asked each other if they had a nibble or a bite, or boasted that they had hauled

one in, or complained that it was a poor day for fishing. But this was all chaff, born of youthful spirits and the

air of the place. If the young men took airs upon themselves under the impression they were in much demand,

they might have had their combs cut if they had heard how they were weighed and dissected and imitated,

and taken off as to their peculiarities, and known, most of them, by sobriquets characteristic of their

appearance or pretentions. There was one young man from the West, who would have been flattered with the

appellation of "dude," so attractive in the fit of his clothes, the manner in which he walked and used his cane

and his eyeglass, that Mr. King wanted very much to get him and bring him away in a cage. He had no doubt

that he was a favorite with every circle and wanted in every group, and the young ladies did seem to get a

great deal of entertainment out of him. He was not like the young man in the Scriptures except that he was

No, the principal occupation at Bar Harbor was not fishing in the house. It was outdoor exercise, incessant

activity in driving, walking, boating, rowing and sailingbowling, tennis, and flirtation. There was always

an excursion somewhere, by land or sea, watermelon parties, races in the harbor in which the girls took part,

drives in buckboards which they organizedindeed, the canoe and the buckboard were in constant demand.

In all this there was a pleasing freedomof course under proper chaperonage. And such delightful chaperons

as they were, their business being to promote and not to hinder the intercourse of the sexes!

This activity, this desire to row and walk and drive and to become acquainted, was all due to the air. It has a

peculiar quality. Even the skeptic has to admit this. It composes his nerves to sleep, it stimulates to unwonted

exertion. The fanatics of the place declare that the fogs are not damp as at other resorts on the coast. Fashion

can make even a fog dry. But the air is delicious. In this latitude, and by reason of the hills, the atmosphere is

pure and elastic and stimulating, and it is softened by the presence of the sea. This union gives a charming

effect. It is better than the Maine Law. The air being like wine, one does not need stimulants. If one is

addicted to them and is afraid to trust the air, he is put to the trouble of sneaking into masked places, and

becoming a party to petty subterfuges for evading the law. And the wretched man adds to the misdemeanor of

"Everybody" was at Bar Harbor, or would be there in course of the season. Mrs. Cortlandt was there, and

Mrs. Pendragon of New Orleans, one of the most brilliant, amiable, and charming of women. I remember her

as far back as the seventies. A young man like Mr. King, if he could be called young, could not have a safer

and more sympathetic social adviser. Why are not all handsome women cordial, goodtempered, and

wellbred! And there were the Ashleysclever mother and three daughters, aufait girls, racy and witty

talkers; I forget whether they were last from Paris, Washington, or San Francisco. Family motto: "Don't be

dull." All the Van Dams from New York, and the Sleiderheifers and Mulligrubs of New Jersey, were there

for the season, some of them in cottages. These families are intimate, even connected by marriage, with the

Bayardiers of South Carolina and the Lontoons of Louisiana. The girls are handsome, dashing women,

without much information, but rattling talkers, and so exclusive! and the young men, with a Piccadilly air,

fancy that they belong to the "Prince of Wales set," you know. There is a good deal of monarchical simplicity

Mrs. Cortlandt was quite in her element here as directorgeneral of expeditions and promoter of social

activity. "I have been expecting you," she was kind enough to say to Mr. King the morning after his arrival.

"Kitty Van Sanford spied you last night, and exclaimed, 'There, now, is a real reinforcement!" You see that

"Several hundreds, I should say. If you cannot find friends here, you are a subject for an orphanasylum. And

"And you are standing right before me and trying to look as if you did not know that Irene Benson is in the

house. I didn't think, Mr. King, it had gone that farindeed I didn't. You know I'm in a manner responsible for

"I don't think she liked it as much as her mother did. Mrs. Benson talks of nothing else. Irene said nothing

special to me. I don't know what she may have said to Mr. Meigs," this wily woman added, in the most

"Mr. Alfred Meigs, Boston. He is a rich widower, about fortythe most fascinating age for a widower, you

know. I think he is conceited, but he is really a most entertaining man; has traveled all over the world

Egypt, Persialived in Japan, prides himself a little on never having been in Colorado or Florida."

"Do? He drives Miss Benson to Otter Cliffs, and out on the Cornice Road, about seven days in the week, and

"Isn't that occupation enough? Well, he has a library and a little archaeological museum, and prints

monographs on art now and then. If he were a NewYorker, you know, he would have a yacht instead of a

A carriage with a pair of spirited horses stood at the bottom of the steps on the entrance side. Mrs. Cortlandt

and King turned the corner of the piazza and walked that way. On the back seat were Mrs. Benson and Mrs.

Simpkins. The gentleman holding the reins was just helping Irene to the high seat in front. Mr. King was

running down the long flight of steps. Mrs. Benson saw him, bowed most cordially, and called his name.

Irene, turning quickly, also bowedhe thought there was a flush on her face. The gentleman, in the act of

starting the horses, raised his hat. King was delighted to notice that he was bald. He had a round head,

snuglytrimmed beard slightly dashed with gray, was short and a trifle stoutKing thought dumpy. "I

suppose women like that kind of man," he said to Mrs. Cortlandt when the carriage was out of sight.

Why not? He has perfect manners; he knows the worldthat is a great point, I can tell you, in the

"Several days. They happened to come up from the Isles of Shoals together. He is somehow related to the

Simpkinses. There! I've wasted time enough on you. I must go and see Mrs. Pendragon about a watermelon

King had no idea what a watermelon party was, but he was pleased to think that it was just the sort of thing

that Mr. Meigs would shine in. He said to himself that he hated dilettante snobs. His bitter reflections were

interrupted by the appearance of Miss Lamont and the artist, and with them Mr. Benson. The men shook

"Yes. We are still at it," he said, with his humorous air of resignation. "I tell my wife that I'm beginning to

understand how old Christian felt going through Vanity Fair. We ought to be pretty near the Heavenly Gates

by this time. I reckoned she thought they opened into Newport. She said I ought to be ashamed to ridicule the

Bible. I had to have my joke. It's queer how different the world looks to women."

"Well, my dear young lady, it looks like a good deal of fuss, and tolerably large bills."

"That's just it. Folks work harder to enjoy themselves than at anything else I know. Half of them spend more

money than they can afford to, and keep under the harrow all the time, just because they see others spend

"I saw your wife and daughter driving away just now," said King, shifting the conversation to a more

"Yes. They have gone to take a ride over what they call here the Cornneechy. It's a pretty enough road along

the bay, but Irene says it's about as much like the road in Europe they name it from as Green Mountain is like

Mount Blanck. Our folks seem possessed to stick a foreign name on to everything. And the road round

through the scrub to Eagle Lake they call Norway. If Norway is like that, it's pretty short of timber. If there

hadn't been so much lumbering here, I should like it better. There is hardly a decent pinetree left. Mr.

Meigsthey have gone riding with Mr. Meigssays the Maine government ought to have a Maine law that

amounts to somethingone that will protect the forests, and start up some trees on the coast."

"Only for scenery, I guess. He is great on scenery. He's a Boston man. I tell the women that he is what I call a

bricerbrac man. But you come to set right down with him, away from women, and he talks just as sensible

as anybody. He is shrewd enough. It beats all how men are with men and with women."

Mr. Benson was capable of going on in this way all day. But the artist proposed a walk up to Newport, and

Mr. King getting Mrs. Pendragon to accompany them, the party set out. It is a very agreeable climb up

Newport, and not difficult; but if the sun is out, one feels, after scrambling over the rocks and walking home

by the dusty road, like taking a long pull at a cup of shandygaff. The mountain is a solid mass of granite, bare

on top, and commands a noble view of islands and ocean, of the gorge separating it from Green Mountain,

and of that respectable hill. For this reason, because it is some two or three hundred feet lower than Green

Mountain, and includes that scarred eminence in its view, it is the most picturesque and pleasing elevation on

the island. It also has the recommendation of being nearer to the sea than its sister mountain. On the south

side, by a long slope, it comes nearly to the water, and the longing that the visitor to Bar Harbor has to see the

Mrs. Pendragon informed Mr. King that he and Miss Lamont and Mr. Forbes were included in the

watermelon party that was to start that afternoon at five o'clock. The plan was for the party to go in

buckboards to Eagle Lake, cross that in the steamer, scramble on foot over the "carry" to Jordan Pond, take

rowboats to the foot of that, and find at a farmhouse there the watermelons and other refreshments, which

would be sent by the shorter road, and then all return by moonlight in the buckboards.

This plan was carried out. Mrs. Cortlandt, Mrs. Pendragon, and Mrs. Simpkins were to go as chaperons, and

Mr. Meigs had been invited by Mrs. Cortlandt, King learned to his disgust, also to act as a chaperon. All the

proprieties are observed at Bar Harbor. Half a dozen long buckboards were loaded with their merry freight.

At the last Mrs. Pendragon pleaded a headache, and could not go. Mr. King was wandering about among the

buckboards to find an eligible seat. He was not put in good humor by finding that Mr. Meigs had ensconced

himself beside Irene, and he was about crowding in with the Ashley girlsnot a bad fatewhen word was

passed down the line from Mrs. Cortlandt, who was the autocrat of the expedition, that Mr. Meigs was to

come back and take a seat with Mrs. Simpkins in the buckboard with the watermelons. She could not walk

around the "carry"; she must go by the direct road, and of course she couldn't go alone. There was no help for

it, and Mr. Meigs, looking as cheerful as an undertaker in a healthy season, got down from his seat and

trudged back. Thus two chaperons were disposed of at a stroke, and the young men all said that they hated to

assume so much responsibility. Mr. King didn't need prompting in this emergency; the wagons were already

moving, and before Irene knew exactly what had happened, Mr. King was begging her pardon for the change,

and seating himself beside her. And he was thinking, "What a confoundedly clever woman Mrs. Cortlandt

There is an informality about a buckboard that communicates itself at once to conduct. The exhilaration of

the long springboard, the necessity of holding on to something or somebody to prevent being tossed

overboard, put occupants in a larkish mood that they might never attain in an ordinary vehicle. All this was

favorable to King, and it relieved Irene from an embarrassment she might have felt in meeting him under

ordinary circumstances. And King had the tact to treat himself and their meeting merely as accidents.

"The American youth seem to have invented a novel way of disposing of chaperons," he said. "To send them

"I'm not sure the chaperons like it. And I doubt if it is proper to pack them off by themselves, especially when

"It's a case of chaperon eat chaperon. I hope your friend didn't mind it. I had nearly despaired of finding a

"We have driven about a good deal. We have seen Southwest Harbor, and Somes's Sound and Schooner

Head, and the Ovens and Otter Cliffsthere's no end of things to see; it needs a month. I suppose you have

"You ought to go. It saves buying a map. Yes, I like the place immensely. You mustn't judge of the variety

here by the table at Rodick's. I don't suppose there's a place on the coast that compares with it in interest; I

mean variety of effects and natural beauty. If the writers wouldn't exaggerate so, talk about 'the sublimity of

"Don't use such strong language there on the back seat," cried Miss Lamont. "This is a pleasure party. Mr.

"He is not to be gratified, Marion. If it is conundrums, I shall get out and walk."

Before the conundrum was guessed, the volatile Van Dusen broke out into, "Here's a how d'e do! "One of the

Ashley girls in the next wagon caught up the word with, "Here's a state of things!" and the two buckboards

"The Mikado troupe seems to have got over here in advance of Sullivan," said Mr. King to Irene. "I happened

"Oh, half these people were in London last spring. They give you the impression that they just run over to the

States occasionally. Mr. Van Dusen says he keeps his apartments in whatever street it is off Piccadilly, it's so

On the steamer crossing the lake, King hoped for an opportunity to make an explanation to Irene. But when

the opportunity came he found it very difficult to tell what it was he wanted to explain, and so blundered on

"You like Bar Harbor so well," he said, " that I suppose your father will be buying a cottage here?"

"Hardly. Mr. Meigs" (King thought there was too much Meigs in the conversation) "said that he had once

thought of doing so, but he likes the place too well for that. He prefers to come here voluntarily. The trouble

about owning a cottage at a wateringplace is that it makes a duty of a pleasure. You can always rent, father

says. He has noticed that usually when a person gets comfortably established in a summer cottage he wants to

"I want to tell you," he said breaking in most illogically" I want to tell you, Miss Benson, that it was all a

wretched mistake at Newport that morning. I don't suppose you care, but I'm afraid you are not quite just to

"I don't think I was unjust." The girl's voice was low, and she spoke slowly. "You couldn't help it. We can't

any of us help it. We cannot make the world over, you know." And she looked up at him with a faint little

"But you didn't understand. I didn't care for any of those people. It was just an accident. Won't you believe

"I never did, Mr. King. Perhaps you do not see what society is as I do. People think they can face it when

they cannot. I can't say what I mean, and I think we'd better not talk about it."

The boat was landing; and the party streamed up into the woods, and with jest and laughter and feigned

anxiety about danger and assistance, picked its way over the rough, stony path. It was such a scramble as

young ladies enjoy, especially if they are city bred, for it seems to them an achievement of more magnitude

than to the country lasses who see nothing uncommon or heroic in following a cowpath. And the young men

like it because it brings out the trusting, dependent, clinging nature of girls. King wished it had been five

miles long instead of a mile and a half. It gave him an opportunity to show his helpful, considerate spirit. It

was necessary to take her hand to help her over the bad spots, and either the bad spots increased as they went

on, or Irene was deceived about it. What makes a path of this sort so perilous to a woman's heart? Is it

because it is an excuse for doing what she longs to do? Taking her hand recalled the day on the rocks at

Narragansett, and the nervous clutch of her little fingers, when the footing failed, sent a delicious thrill

through her lover. King thought himself quite in love with Forbesthere was the warmest affection between

the twobut when he hauled the artist up a Catskill cliff there wasn't the least of this sort of a thrill in the

grip of hands. Perhaps if women had the ballot in their hands all this nervous fluid would disappear out of the

At Jordan Pond boats were waiting. It is a pretty freshwater pond between high sloping hills, and twin peaks

at the north end give it even picturesqueness. There are a good many trout in itat least that is the

supposition, for the visitors very seldom get them out. When the boats with their chattering passengers had

pushed out into the lake and accomplished a third of the voyage, they were met by a skiff containing the

faithful chaperons Mrs. Simpkins and Mr. Meigs. They hailed, but Mr. King, who was rowing his boat, did

not slacken speed. "Are you much tired, Miss Benson?" shouted Mr. Meigs. King didn't like this assumption

"Hang his paternal impudence!" growled King, under his breath, as he threw himself back with a jerk on the

Evidently the boatload, of which the Ashley girls and Mr. Van Dusen were a part, had taken the sense of

This pleasantry passed entirely over the head of Irene, who had not heard the "Mikado," but King accepted it

as a good omen, and forgave its impudence. It set Mr. Meigs thinking that he had a rival.

At the landing, however, Mr. Meigs was on hand to help Irene out, and a presentation of Mr. King followed.

Mr. Meigs was polite even to cordiality, and thanked him for taking such good care of her. Men will make

Mr. Meigs tried to mend matters by saying that he had promised Mrs. Benson, you know, to look after her.

There was that in Irene's manner that said she was not to be appropriated without leave. But the

consciousness that her look betrayed this softened her at once towards Mr. Meigs, and decidedly improved

his chances for the evening. The philosopher says that women are cruelest when they set out to be kind.

The supper was an 'al fresco' affair, the party being seated about on rocks and logs and shawls spread upon

the grass near the farmer's house. The scene was a very pretty one, at least the artist thought so, and Miss

Lamont said it was lovely, and the Ashley girls declared it was just divine. There was no reason why King

should not enjoy the chaff and merriment and the sunset light which touched the group, except that the one

woman he cared to serve was enveloped in the attentions of Mr. Meigs. The drive home in the moonlight was

the best part of the excursion, or it would have been if there had not been a general change of seats ordered,

altogether, as Mr. King thought, for the accommodation of the Boston man. It nettled him that Irene let

herself fall to the escort of Mr. Meigs, for women can always arrange these things if they choose, and he had

only a melancholy satisfaction in the college songs and conundrums that enlivened the festive buckboard in

which he was a passenger. Not that he did not join in the hilarity, but it seemed only a poor imitation of

pleasure. Alas, that the tone of one woman's voice, the touch of her hand, the glance of her eye, should

Somehow, with all the opportunities, the suit of our friend did not advance beyond a certain point. Irene was

always cordial, always friendly, but he tried in vain to ascertain whether the middleaged man from Boston

had touched her imagination. There was a boating party the next evening in Frenchman's Bay, and King had

the pleasure of pulling Miss Benson and Miss Lamont out seaward under the dark, frowning cliffs until they

felt the ocean swell, and then of making the circuit of Porcupine Island. It was an enchanting night, full of

mystery. The rock face of the Porcupine glistened white in the moonlight as if it were encrusted with salt, the

waves beat in a continuous roar against its base, which is honeycombed by the action of the water, and when

the boat glided into its shadow it loomed up vast and wonderful. Seaward were the harbor lights, the

phosphorescent glisten of the waves, the dim forms of other islands; all about in the bay rowboats darted in

and out of the moonlight, voices were heard calling from boat to boat, songs floated over the water, and the

huge Portland steamer came plunging in out of the night, a blazing, trembling monster. Not much was said in

the boat, but the impression of such a night goes far in the romance of real life.

Perhaps it was this impression that made her assent readily to a walk next morning with Mr. King along the

bay. The shore is nearly all occupied by private cottages, with little lawns running down to the granite edge of

the water. It is a favorite place for strolling; couples establish themselves with books and umbrellas on the

rocks, children are dabbling in the coves, sails enliven the bay, rowboats dart about, the cawing of crows is

heard in the still air. Irene declared that the scene was idyllic. The girl was in a most gracious humor, and

opened her life more to King than she had ever done before. By such confidences usually women invite

avowals, and as the two paced along, King felt the moment approach when there would be the most natural

chance in the world for him to tell this woman what she was to him; at the next turn in the shore, by that rock,

surely the moment would come. What is this airy nothing by which women protect themselves in such

emergencies, by a question, by a tone, an invisible strong barrier that the most impetuous dare not attempt to

King felt the subtle restraint which he could not define or explain. And before he could speak she said: "We

are going away tomorrow." "We? And who are we?" "Oh, the Simpkinses and our whole family, and Mr.

"Mr. Meigs has persuaded mother into the wildest scheme. It is nothing less than to leap from, here across all

the intervening States to the White Sulphur Springs in Virginia. Father falls into the notion because he wants

to see more of the Southerners, Mrs. Simpkins and her daughter are crazy to go, and Mr. Meigs says he has

been trying to get there all his life, and in August the season is at its height. It was all arranged before I was

"Yes, I should think it would be delightful," King replied, rather absentmindedly. "It's a long journey, a very

long journey. I should think it would be too long a journey for Mr. Meigsat his time of life."

It was not a fortunate remark, and still it might be; for who could tell whether Irene would not be flattered by

this declaration of his jealousy of Mr. Meigs. But she passed it over as not serious, with the remark that the

The introduction of Mr. Meigs in the guise of an accepted family friend and traveling companion chilled

King and cast a gloom over the landscape. Afterwards he knew that he ought to have dashed in and scattered

this encompassing network of Meigs, disregarded the girl's fence of reserve, and avowed his love. More

women are won by a single charge at the right moment than by a whole campaign of strategy.

On the way back to the hotel he was absorbed in thought, and he burst into the room where Forbes was

touching up one of his sketches, with a fullyformed plan. "Old fellow, what do you say to going to

Forbes put in a few deliberate touches, moving his head from side to side, and with aggravating slowness

"Why White Sulphur, of course; the most characteristic wateringplace in America. See the whole Southern

"I've seen pictures of the Natural Bridge. I don't know as I care much" (still contemplating the sketch from

different points of view, and softly whistling) "for the whole of Southern life."

"See here, Forbes, you must have some deep design to make you take that attitude."

"Deep design!" replied Forbes, facing round. "I'll be hanged if I see what you are driving at. I thought it was

"And the little Lamont. I know we talked of going there with her and her uncle; but we can go there

afterwards. I tell you what I'll do: I'll go to Richfield, and stay till snow comes, if you will take a dip with me

down into Virginia first. You ought to do it for your art. It's something new, picturesquenegroes, Southern

"I don't see the fun of being yanked all over the United States in the middle of August."

"You want shaking up. You've been drawing seashores with one figure in them till your pictures all look

And the two got into a huff. The artist took his sketchbook and went outdoors, and King went to his room to

study the guidebooks and the map of Virginia. The result was that when the friends met for dinner, King

And Forbes replied: "Why didn't you say so? I don't care a rap where I go. But it's Richfield afterwards."

What occurred at the parting between the artist and the little Lamont at Bar Harbor I never knew. There was

that good comradeship between the two, that frank enjoyment of each other's society, without any sentimental

nonsense, so often seen between two young people in America, which may end in a friendship of a summer,

or extend to the cordial esteem of a lifetime, or result in marriage. I always liked the girl; she had such a

sunny temper, such a flow of originality in her mental attitude towards people and things without being a wit

or a critic, and so much piquancy in all her little ways. She would take to matrimony, I should say, like a

duck to water, with unruffled plumage, but as a wife she would never be commonplace, or anything but

engaging, and, as the saying is, she could make almost any man happy. And, if unmarried, what a delightful

I never imagined that she was capable of a great passion, as was Irene Benson, who under a serene exterior

was moved by tides of deep feeling, subject to moods, and full of aspirations and longings which she herself

only dimly knew the meaning of. With Irene marriage would be either supreme happiness or extreme

wretchedness, no halfway acceptance of a conventional life. With such a woman life is a failure, either

tragic or pathetic, without a great passion given and returned. It is fortunate, considering the chances that

make unions in society, that for most men and women the "grand passion" is neither necessary nor possible. I

did not share King's prejudice against Mr. Meigs. He seemed to me, as the world goes, a 'bon parti,' cultivated

by travel and reading, wellbred, entertaining, amiable, possessed of an ample fortune, the ideal husband in

the eyes of a prudent mother. But I used to think that if Irene, attracted by his many admirable qualities,

should become his wife, and that if afterwards the Prince should appear and waken the slumbering woman's

heart in her, what a tragedy would ensue. I can imagine their placid existence if the Prince should not appear,

and I can well believe that Irene and Stanhope would have many a tumultuous passage in the passionate

If Marion had shed any tears overnight, say on account of a little lonesomeness because her friend was

speeding away from her southward, there were no traces of them when she met her uncle at the breakfast

table, as bright and chatty as usual, and in as high spirits as one can maintain with the Rodick coffee.

What a world of shifting scenes it is! Forbes had picked up his traps and gone off with his unreasonable

companion like a soldier. The day after, when he looked out of the window of his sleepingcompartment at

halfpast four, he saw the red sky of morning, and against it the spires of Philadelphia.

At ten o'clock the two friends were breakfasting comfortably in the car, and running along down the

Cumberland Valley. What a contrast was this rich country, warm with color and suggestive of abundance, to

the pale and scrimped coast land of Maine denuded of its trees! By afternoon they were far down the east

valley of the Shenandoah, between the Blue Ridge and the Massanutten range, in a country broken,

picturesque, fertile, so attractive that they wondered there were so few villages on the route, and only now

and then a cheap shanty in sight; and crossing the divide to the waters of the James, at sundown, in the midst

of a splendid effect of mountains and clouds in a thunderstorm, they came to Natural Bridge station, where a

This was old ground to King, who had been telling the artist that the two natural objects east of the Rocky

Mountains that he thought entitled to the epithet "sublime" were Niagara Falls and the Natural Bridge; and as

for scenery, he did not know of any more noble and refined than this region of the Blue Ridge. Take away the

Bridge altogether, which is a mere freak, and the place would still possess, he said, a charm unique. Since the

enlargement of hotel facilities and the conversion of this princely domain into a grand park, it has become a

favorite summer resort. The gorge of the Bridge is a botanical storehouse, greater variety of evergreens

cannot be found together anywhere else in the country, and the hills are still clad with stately forests. In

opening drives, and cutting roads and vistas to give views, the proprietor has shown a skill and taste in

dealing with natural resources, both in regard to form and the development of contrasts of color in foliage,

which are rare in landscape gardening on this side of the Atlantic. Here is the highest part of the Blue Ridge,

and from the gentle summit of Mount Jefferson the spectator has in view a hundred miles of this remarkable

range, this ribbed mountain structure, which always wears a mantle of beauty, changeable purple and violet.

After supper there was an illumination of the cascade, and the ancient gnarled arborvita: trees that lean over

itperhaps the largest known specimens of this speciesof the gorge and the Bridge. Nature is apt to be

belittled by this sort of display, but the noble dignity of the vast arch of stone was superior to this trifling, and

even had a sort of mystery added to its imposing grandeur. It is true that the flaming bonfires and the colored

lights and the tiny figures of men and women standing in the gorge within the depth of the arch made the

scene theatrical, but it was strange and weird and awful, like the fantasy of a Walpurgis' Night or a midnight

The presence of the colored brother in force distinguished this from provincial resorts at the North, even

those that employ this color as servants. The flavor of Old Virginia is unmistakable, and life drops into an

easygoing pace under this influence. What fine manners, to be sure! The waiters in the diningroom, in white

ties and dresscoats, move on springs, starting even to walk with a complicated use of all the muscles of the

body, as if in response to the twang of a banjo; they do nothing without excessive motion and flourish. The

gestures and good humored vitality expended in changing plates would become the leader of an orchestra.

Many of them, besides, have the expression of class leadersof a worldly sort. There were the aristocratic

chambermaid and porter, who had the air of never having waited on any but the first families. And what

clever flatterers and readers of human nature! They can tell in a moment whether a man will be

complimented by the remark, "I tuk you for a Richmond gemman, never shod have know'd you was from de

Norf," or whether it is best to say, "We depen's on de gemmen frum de Norf; folks down hyer never gives

noflin; is too pore." But to a Richmond man it is always, "The Yankee is mighty keerful of his money; we

depen's on the old sort, marse." A fine specimen of the "Richmond darkey" of the old schoolpolite,

flattering, with a venerable head of gray wool, was the bartender, who mixed his juleps with a flourish as if

keeping time to music. "Haven't I waited on you befo', sah? At Capon Springs? Sorry, sah, but tho't I knowed

you when you come in. Sorry, but glad to know you now, sah. If that julep don't suit you, sah, throw it in my

A friendly, restful, family sort of place, with music, a little mild dancing, mostly performed by children, in

the pavilion, driving and ridingin short, peace in the midst of noble scenery. No display of fashion, the artist

soon discovered, and he said he longed to give the pretty girls some instruction in the art of dress. Forbes was

a missionary of "style." It hurt his sense of the fitness of things to see women without it. He used to say that

an illdressed woman would spoil the finest landscape. For such a man, with an artistic feeling so sensitive,

the White Sulphur Springs is a natural goal. And he and his friend hastened thither with as much speed as the

Virginia railways, whose timetables are carefully adjusted to miss all connections, permit.

"What do you think of a place," he wrote Miss Lamontthe girl read me a portion of his lively letter that

summer at Saratoga" into which you come by a belated train at halfpast eleven at night, find friends

waiting up for you in evening costume, are taken to a champagne supper at twelve, get to your quarters at

one, and have your baggage delivered to you at two o'clock in the morning?" The friends were lodged in

"Paradise Row"a whimsical name given to one of the quarters assigned to single gentlemen. Put into these

singleroom barracks, which were neat but exceedingly primitive in their accommodations, by hilarious

negro attendants who appeared to regard life as one prolonged lark, and who avowed that there was no time

of day or night when a mintjulep or any other necessary of life would not be forthcoming at a moment's

warning, the beginning of their sojourn at "The White" took on an air of adventure, and the two strangers had

the impression of having dropped into a garrison somewhere on the frontier. But when King stepped out upon

the gallery, in the fresh summer morning, the scene that met his eyes was one of such peaceful dignity, and so

different from any in his experience, that he was aware that he had come upon an original development of

The White Sulphur has been for the better part of a century, as everybody knows, the typical Southern resort,

the rendezvous of all that was most characteristic in the society of the whole South, the meetingplace of its

politicians, the haunt of its belles, the arena of gayety, intrigue, and fashion. If tradition is to be believed, here

in years gone by were concocted the measures that were subsequently deployed for the government of the

country at Washington, here historic matches were made, here beauty had triumphs that were the talk of a

generation, here hearts were broken at a ball and mended in Lovers' Walk, and here fortunes were nightly lost

and won. It must have been in its material conditions a primitive place in the days of its greatest fame.

Visitors came to it in their carriages and unwieldy fourhorse chariots, attended by troops of servants,

making slow but most enjoyable pilgrimages over the mountain roads, journeys that lasted a week or a

fortnight, and were every day enlivened by jovial adventure. They came for the season. They were all of one

social order, and needed no introduction; those from Virginia were all related to each other, and though life

there was somewhat in the nature of a picnic, it had its very welldefined and ceremonious code of etiquette.

In the memory of its old habitues it was at once the freest and the most aristocratic assembly in the world.

The hotel was small and its arrangements primitive; a good many of the visitors had their own cottages, and

the rows of these cheap structures took their names from their occupants. The Southern presidents, the

senators, and statesmen, the rich planters, lived in cottages which still have an historic interest in their

memory. But cottage life was never the exclusive affair that it is elsewhere; the society was one body, and the

Time has greatly changed the White Sulphur; doubtless in its physical aspect it never was so beautiful and

attractive as it is today, but all the modern improvements have not destroyed the character of the resort, which

possesses a great many of its primitive and oldtime peculiarities. Briefly the White is an elevated and

charming mountain region, so cool, in fact, especially at night, that the "season" is practically limited to July

and August, although I am not sure but a quiet person, who likes invigorating air, and has no daughters to

marry off, would find it equally attractive in September and October, when the autumn foliage is in its glory.

In a green rolling interval, planted with noble trees and flanked by moderate hills, stands the vast white

caravansary, having wide galleries and big pillars running round three sides. The front and two sides are

elevated, the galleries being reached by flights of steps, and affording room underneath for the large billiard

and barrooms. From the hotel the ground slopes down to the spring, which is surmounted by a round canopy

on white columns, and below is an opening across the stream to the racetrack, the servants' quarters, and a

fine view of receding hills. Three sides of this charming park are enclosed by the cottages and cabins, which

back against the hills, and are more or less embowered in trees. Most of these cottages are built in blocks and

rows, some single rooms, others large enough to accommodate a family, but all reached by flights of steps, all

with verandas, and most of them connected by galleries. Occasionally the forest trees have been left, and the

galleries built around them. Included in the premises are two churches, a gamblinghouse, a couple of

country stores, and a post office. There are none of the shops common at wateringplaces for the sale of

fancy articles, and, strange to say, flowers are not systematically cultivated, and very few are ever to be had.

The hotel has a vast diningroom, besides the minor eatingrooms for children and nurses, a large ballroom,

and a drawingroom of imposing dimensions. Hotel and cottages together, it is said, can lodge fifteen

The natural beauty of the place is very great, and fortunately there is not much smart and fantastic

architecture to interfere with it. I cannot say whether the knowledge that Irene was in one of the cottages

affected King's judgment, but that morning, when he strolled to the upper part of the grounds before

breakfast, he thought he had never beheld a scene of more beauty and dignity, as he looked over the mass of

hotel buildings, upon the park set with a wonderful variety of dark green foliage, upon the elevated rows of

galleried cottages marked by colonial simplicity, and the soft contour of the hills, which satisfy the eye in

their delicate blending of every shade of green and brown. And after an acquaintance of a couple of weeks

King was always raving about the White Sulphur after he came North, and one never could tell how much his

judgment was colored by his peculiar experiences there. It was my impression that if he had spent those two

weeks on a barren rock in the ocean, with only one fair spirit for his minister, he would have sworn that it

was the most lovely spot on the face of the earth. He always declared that it was the most friendly, cordial

society at this resort in the country. At breakfast he knew scarcely any one in the vast diningroom, except

the New Orleans and Richmond friends with whom he had a seat at table. But their acquaintance sufficed to

establish his position. Before dinnertime he knew half a hundred; in the evening his introductions had run

up into the hundreds, and he felt that he had potential friends in every Southern city; and before the week was

over there was not one of the thousand guests he did not know or might not know. At his table he heard Irene

spoken of and her beauty commented on. Two or three days had been enough to give her a reputation in a

society that is exceedingly sensitive to beauty. The men were all ready to do her homage, and the women

took her into favor as soon as they saw that Mr. Meigs, whose social position was perfectly well known, was

of her party. The society of the White Sulphur seems perfectly easy of access, but the ineligible will find that

it is able, like that of Washington, to protect itself. It was not without a little shock that King heard the good

points, the style, the physical perfections, of Irene so fully commented on, and not without some alarm that he

Coming out from breakfast, the Benson party were encountered on the gallery, and introductions followed. It

was a trying five minutes for King, who felt as guilty, as if the White Sulphur were private property into

which he had intruded without an invitation. There was in the civility of Mr. Meigs no sign of an invitation.

Mrs. Benson said she was never so surprised in her life, and the surprise seemed not exactly an agreeable one,

but Mr. Benson looked a great deal more pleased than astonished. The slight flush in Irene's face as she

greeted him might have been wholly due to the unexpectedness of the meeting. Some of the gentlemen

lounged off to the office region for politics and cigars, the elderly ladies took seats upon the gallery, and the

"So Miss Benson was expecting you!" said Mrs. Farquhar, who was walking with King. It is enough to

mention Mrs. Farquhar's name to an habitue of the Springs. It is not so many years ago since she was a

reigning belle, and as noted for her wit and sparkling raillery as for her beauty. She was still a very handsome

woman, whose original cleverness had been cultivated by a considerable experience of social life in this

"No, simple man. You were with her at Bar Harbor, and I suppose she never mentioned to you that she was

"You men are too aggravatingly stupid. I never saw astonishment better feigned. I dare say it imposed upon

that other admirer of hers also. Well, I like her, and I'm going to be good to her." This meant a good deal.

Mrs. Farquhar was related to everybody in Virginiathat is, everybody who was anybody before the

warand she could count at that moment seventyfive cousins, some of them first and some of them

double first cousins, at the White Sulphur. Mrs. Farquhar's remark meant that all these cousins and all their

The morning german had just begun in the ballroom. The gallery was thronged with spectators, clustering

like bees about the large windows, and the notes of the band came floating out over the lawn, bringing to the

"And they say she is from Ohio. It is right odd, isn't it? but two or three of the prettiest women here are from

that State. There is Mrs. Martin, sweet as a jacqueminot. I'd introduce you if her husband were here. Ohio!

Well, we get used to it. I should have known the father and mother were cornfed. I suppose you prefer the

cornfeds to the Confeds. But there's homespun and homespun. You see those under the trees yonder?

"Oh, dear, no. I'm provincial. It is the most difficult thing to be in these leveling days. But I am not going to

interest you in myself. I am too unselfish. Your Miss Benson is a fine girl, and it does not matter about her

parents. Since you Yankees upset everything by the war, it is really of no importance who one's mother is.

But, mind, this is not my opinion. I'm trying to adjust myself. You have no idea how reconstructed I am."

And with this Mrs. Farquhar went over to Miss Benson, and chatted for a few moments, making herself

particularly agreeable to Mr. Meigs, and actually carried that gentleman off to the spring, and then as an

escort to her cottage, shaking her fan as she went away at Mr. King and Irene, and saying, "It is a waste of

The german was just ended, and the participants were grouping themselves on the gallery to be photographed,

the usual custom for perpetuating the memory of these exercises, which only take place every other morning.

And since something must be done, as there are only six nights for dancing in the week, on the off mornings

It was not about the german, however, that King was thinking. He was once more beside the woman he loved,

and all the influences of summer and the very spirit of this resort were in his favor. If I cannot win her here,

he was saying to himself, the Meigs is in it. They talked about the journey, about Luray, where she had been,

"The people are all so friendly," she said, "and strive so much to put the stranger at his ease, and putting

themselves out lest time hang heavy on one's hands. They seem somehow responsible."

"Yes," said King, "the place is unique in that respect. I suppose it is partly owing to the concentration of the

"But the sole object appears to me to be agreeable, and make a real social life. At other like places nobody

"Doubtless the cordiality and good feeling are spontaneous, though something is due to manner, and a habit

of expressing the feeling that arises. Still, I do not expect to find any wateringplace a paradise. This must be

vastly different from any other if it is not full of cliques and gossip and envy underneath. But we do not go to

"I don't know anything about markets, and this cordiality may all be on the surface, but it makes life very

agreeable, and I wish our Northerners would catch the Southern habit of showing sympathy where it exists."

"Well, I'm free to say that I like the place, and all its easygoing ways, and I have to thank you for a new

"Oh, I wouldn't have come if it had not been for your suggestionI mean for youryour saying that you

At this moment Mrs. Benson and Mr. Meigs came down with the announcement of the dinner hour, and the

The party did not meet again till evening in the great drawingroom. The business at the White Sulphur is

pleasure. And this is about the order of proceedings: A few conscientious people take an early glass at the

spring, and later patronize the baths, and there is a crowd at the postoffice; a late breakfast; lounging and

gossip on the galleries and in the parlor; politics and oldfogy talk in the readingroom and in the piazza

corners; flirtation on the lawn; a german every other morning at eleven; wineparties under the trees;

morning calls at the cottages; servants running hither and thither with cooling drinks; the barroom not

absolutely deserted and cheerless at any hour, day or night; dinner from two to four; occasionally a

ridingparty; some driving; though there were charming drives in every direction, few private carriages, and

no display of turnouts; strolls in Lovers' Walk and in the pretty hill paths; supper at eight, and then the

fulldress assembly in the drawingroom, and a "walk around" while the children have their hour in the

ballroom; the nightly dance, witnessed by a crowd on the veranda, followed frequently by a private german

and a supper given by some lover of his kind, lasting till all hours in the morning; and while the majority of

the vast encampment reposes in slumber, some resolute spirits are fighting the tiger, and a light gleaming

from one cottage and another shows where devotees of science are backing their opinion of the relative value

of chance bits of pasteboard, in certain combinations, with a liberality and faith for which the world gives

them no credit. And lest their life should become monotonous, the enterprising young men are continually

organizing entertainments, mock races, comical games. The idea seems to prevail that a summer resort ought

The White Sulphur is the only wateringplace remaining in the United States where there is what may be

called an "assembly," such as might formerly be seen at Saratoga or at Ballston Spa in Irving's young days.

Everybody is in the drawingroom in the evening, and although, in the freedom of the place, full dress is not

exacted, the habit of parade in full toilet prevails. When King entered the room the scene might well be called

brilliant, and even bewildering, so that in the maze of beauty and the babble of talk he was glad to obtain the

services of Mrs. Farquhar as cicerone. Between the rim of people near the walls and the elliptical centre was

an open space for promenading, and in this beauty and its attendant cavalier went round and round in

unending show. This is called the "treadmill." But for the seriousness of this frank display, and the

unflagging interest of the spectators, there would have been an element of high comedy in it. It was an

education to join a wall group and hear the free and critical comments on the style, the dress, the physical

perfection, of the charming procession. When Mrs. Farquhar and King had taken a turn or two, they stood on

"Did you ever see so many pretty girls together before? If you did, don't you dare say so."

"But at the North the pretty women are scattered in a thousand places. You have here the whole South to

draw on. Are they elected as representatives from the various districts, Mrs. Farquhar?"

"Certainly. By an election that your clumsy device of the ballot is not equal to. Why shouldn't beauty have a

reputation? You see that old lady in the corner? Well, forty years ago the Springs just raved over her;

everybody in the South knew her; I suppose she had an average of seven proposals a week; the young men

went wild about her, followed her, toasted her, and fought duels for her possessionyou don't like duels?

why, she was engaged to three men at one time, and after all she went off with a worthless fellow."

"Well, she is a most charming old lady; just as entertaining! I must introduce you. But this is history. Now

look! There's the belle of Mobile, that tall, stately brunette. And that superb figure, you wouldn't guess she is

the belle of Selma. There is a fascinating girl. What a mixture of languor and vivacity! Creole, you know; full

blood. She is the belle of New Orleansor one of them. Oh! do you see that Paris dress? I must look at it

again when it comes around; she carries it well, toobelle of Richmond. And, see there; there's one of the

prettiest girls in the Southbelle of Macon. And that handsome woman Nashville?Louisville? See,

that's the newcomer from Ohio." And so the procession went on, and the enumerationbelle of

Montgomery, belle of Augusta, belle of Charleston, belle of Savannah, belle of Atlanta always the belle of

"No, I don't expect you to say that these are prettier than Northern women; but just between friends, Mr.

King, don't you think the North might make a little more of their beautiful women? Yes, you are right; she is

handsome" (King was bowing to Irene, who was on the arm of Mr. Meigs), "and has something besides

beauty. I see what you mean" (King had not intimated that he meant anything), "but don't you dare to say it."

"Critical? Why, I've heard more criticism in the last halfhour from these spectators than in a year before.

"Seems to me that the chief topic here is physical beautyabout the shape, the style, the dress, of women,

"Well, suppose beauty is worshiped in the Southwe worship what we have; we haven't much money now,

"And I think he ought to be encouraged. I'll tell you what you ought to do, Mr. King: you ought to give a

german. If you do not, I shall put Mr. Meigs up to itit is the thing to do here."

"Why not? You see that old beau there, the one smiling and bending towards her as he walks with the belle of

Macon? He does not look any older than Mr. Meigs. He has been coming here for fifty years; he owns up to

sixtyfive and the Mexican war; it's my firm belief that he was out in 1812. Well, he has led the german here

for years. You will find Colonel Fane in the ballroom every night. Yes, I shall speak to Mr. Meigs."

The room was thinning out. King found himself in front of a row of dowagers, whose tongues were still

going about the departing beauties. "No mercy there," he heard a lady say to her companion; "that's a jury for

conviction every time." What confidential communication Mrs. Farquhar made to Mr. Meigs, King never

knew, but he took advantage of the diversion in his favor to lead Miss Benson off to the ballroom.

The days went by at the White Sulphur on the wings of incessant gayety. Literally the nights were filled with

music, and the only cares that infested the day appeared in the anxious faces of the mothers as the campaign

became more intricate and uncertain. King watched this with the double interest of spectator and player. The

artist threw himself into the melee with abandon, and pacified his conscience by an occasional letter to Miss

Lamont, in which he confessed just as many of his conquests and defeats as he thought it would be good for

The colored people, who are a conspicuous part of the establishment, are a source of neverfailing interest

and amusement. Every morning the mammies and nurses with their charges were seated in a long, shining

row on a part of the veranda where there was most passing and repassing, holding a sort of baby show, the

social consequence of each one depending upon the rank of the family who employed her, and the dress of

the children in her charge. Hightoned conversation on these topics occupied these dignified and faithful

mammies, upon whom seemed to rest to a considerable extent the maintenance of the aristocratic social

traditions. Forbes had heard that while the colored people of the South had suspended several of the ten

commandments, the eighth was especially regarded as nonapplicable in the present state of society. But he

was compelled to revise this opinion as to the White Sulphur. Nobody ever locked a door or closed a window.

Cottages most remote were left for hours open and without guard, miscellaneous articles of the toilet were

left about, trunks were not locked, waiters, chambermaids, porters, washerwomen, were constantly coming

and going, having access to the rooms at all hours, and yet no guest ever lost so much as a hairpin or a cigar.

This fashion of trust and of honesty so impressed the artist that he said he should make an attempt to have it

introduced elsewhere. This sort of esprit de corps among the colored people was unexpected, and he

wondered if they are not generally misunderstood by writers who attribute to them qualities of various kinds

that they do not possess. The negro is not witty or consciously humorous, or epigrammatic. The humor of his

actions and sayings lies very much in a certain primitive simplicity. Forbes couldn't tell, for instance, why he

was amused at a remark he heard one morning in the store. A colored girl sauntered in, looking about

vacantly. "You ain't got no cotton, is you?" "Why, of course we have cotton." "Well" (the girl only wanted an

Sports of a colonial and old English flavor that have fallen into disuse elsewhere varied the life at the White.

One day the gentlemen rode in a mulerace, the slowest mule to win, and this feat was followed by an

exhibition of negro agility in climbing the greased pole and catching the greased pig; another day the

cavaliers contended on the green field surrounded by a brilliant array of beauty and costume, as two Amazon

baseball nines, the one nine arrayed in yellow cambric frocks and sun bonnets, and the other in bright red

gownsthe whiskers and big boots and trousers adding nothing whatever to the illusion of the female battle.

The two tables, King's and the Benson's, united in an expedition to the Old Sweet, a drive of eighteen miles.

Mrs. Farquhar arranged the affair, and assigned the seats in the carriages. It is a very picturesque drive, as are

all the drives in this region, and if King did not enjoy it, it was not because Mrs. Farquhar was not even more

entertaining than usual. The truth is that a young man in love is poor company for himself and for everybody

else. Even the object of his passion could not tolerate him unless she returned it. Irene and Mr. Meigs rode in

the carriage in advance of his, and King thought the scenery about the tamest he had ever seen, the roads bad,

the horses slow. His illhumor, however, was concentrated on one spot; that was Mr. Meigs's back; he

thought he had never seen a more disagreeable back, a more conceited back. It ought to have been a

delightful day; in his imagination it was to be an eventful day. Indeed, why shouldn't the opportunity come at

the Old Sweet, at the end of the drive?there was something promising in the name. Mrs. Farquhar was in a

mocking mood all the way. She liked to go to the Old Sweet, she said, because it was so intolerably dull; it

was a sensation. She thought, too, that it might please Miss Benson, there was such a fitness in the thingthe

old sweet to the Old Sweet. "And he is not so very old either," she added; "just the age young girls like. I

should think Miss Benson in dangerseriously, nowif she were three or four years younger."

The Old Sweet is, in fact, a delightful oldfashioned resort, respectable and dull, with a pretty park, and a

crystal pond that stimulates the bather like a glass of champagne, and perhaps has the property of restoring

youth. King tried the spring, which he heard Mrs. Farquhar soberly commending to Mr. Meigs; and after

dinner he manoeuvred for a halfhour alone with Irene. But the fates and the women were against him. He

had the mortification to see her stroll away with Mr. Meigs to a distant part of the grounds, where they

In the rearrangement of seats Mrs. Farquhar exchanged with Irene. Mrs. Farquhar said that it was very much

like going to a funeral each way. As for Irene, she was in high, even feverish spirits, and rattled away in a

Notwithstanding the general chaff, the singing, and the gayety of Irene, the drive seemed to him intolerably

long. At the halfway house, where in the moonlight the horses drank from a shallow stream, Mr. Meigs

came forward to the carriage and inquired if Miss Benson was sufficiently protected against the chilliness of

the night. King had an impulse to offer to change seats with him; but no, he would not surrender in the face of

the enemy. It would be more dignified to quietly leave the Springs the next day.

It was late at night when the party returned. The carriage drove to the Benson cottage; King helped Irene to

alight, coolly bade her goodnight, and went to his barracks. But it was not a good night to sleep. He tossed

about, he counted every step of the late night birds on his gallery; he got up and lighted a cigar, and tried

dispassionately to think the matter over. But thinking was of no use. He took pen and paper; he would write a

chill letter of farewell; he would write a manly avowal of his passion; he would make such an appeal that no

woman could resist it. She must know, she did knowwhat was the use of writing? He sat staring at the

blank prospect. Great heavens! what would become of his life if he lost the only woman in the world?

Probably the world would go on much the same. Why, listen to it! The band was playing on the lawn at four

o'clock in the morning. A party was breaking up after a night of german and a supper, and the revelers were

dispersing. The lively tunes of "Dixie," "Marching through Georgia," and "Home, Sweet Home," awoke the

echoes in all the galleries and corridors, and filled the whole encampment with a sad gayety. Dawn was

approaching. Good nights and farewells and laughter were heard, and the voice of a wanderer explaining to

the trees, with more or less broken melody, his fixed purpose not to go home till morning.

Stanhope King might have had a better though still a sleepless night if he had known that Mr. Meigs was

packing his trunks at that hour to the tune of "Home, Sweet Home," and if he had been aware of the scene at

the Benson cottage after he bade Irene goodnight. Mrs. Benson had a light burning, and the noise of the

carriage awakened her. Irene entered the room, saw that her mother was awake, shut the door carefully, sat

down on the foot of the bed, said, "It's all over, mother," and burst into the tears of a longrepressed nervous

"Mr. Meigs. I had to tell him that it couldn't be. And he is one of the best men I ever knew."

"Please don't scold me. It was no use. He ought to have seen that I did not care for him, except as a friend. I'm

"You are the strangest girl I ever saw." And Mrs. Benson dropped back on the pillow again, crying herself

When King came out to breakfast he encountered Mr. Benson, who told him that their friend Mr. Meigs had

gone off that morninghad a sudden business call to Boston. Mr. Benson did not seem to be depressed about

it. Irene did not appear, and King idled away the hours with his equally industrious companion under the

trees. There was no german that morning, and the hotel band was going through its repertoire for the benefit

of a champagne party on the lawn. There was nothing melancholy about this party; and King couldn't help

saying to Mrs. Farquhar that it hardly represented his idea of the destitution and depression resulting from the

"And I think," said the artist, who had been watching, from the little distance at which they sat, the table of

the revelers, "that they will succeed. Twentysix bottles of champagne, and not many more guests! What a

"Oh, you never will understand us!" said Mrs. Farquhar; "there is nothing spontaneous in you."

"And then it is all calculated. Think of Mr. Forbes counting the bottles! Such a dreadfully mercenary spirit!

Oh, I have been North. Because you are not so open as we are, you set up for being more virtuous."

"I don't mean anything of the sort. I just mean that conventionality isn't virtue. You yourself confessed that

you like the Southern openness right much, and you like to come here, and you like the Southern people as

"And now will you tell me, Mr. Prim, why it is that almost all Northern people who come South to live

become more Southern than the Southerners themselves; and that almost all Southern people who go North to

"No. Nor do I understand any more than Dr. Johnson did why the Scotch, who couldn't scratch a living at

home, and came up to London, always kept on bragging about their native land and abused the metropolis."

This sort of sparring went on daily, with the result of increasing friendship between the representatives of the

two geographical sections, and commonly ended with the declaration on Mrs. Farquhar's part that she should

never know that King was not born in the South except for his accent; and on his part that if Mrs. Farquhar

would conceal her delightful Virginia inflection she would pass everywhere at the North for a Northern

"I hear," she said, later, as they sat alone, "that Mr. Meigs has beat a retreat, saving nothing but his personal

baggage. I think Miss Benson is a great goose. Such a chance for an establishment and a position! You didn't

"Well, it is none of my business; but I hope you understand the responsibility of the situation. If you do not, I

want to warn you about one thing: don't go strolling off before sunset in the Lovers' Walk. It is the most

dangerous place. It is a fatal place. I suppose every turn in it, every tree that has a knoll at the foot where two

persons can sit, has witnessed a tragedy, or, what is worse, a comedy. There are legends enough about it to

fill a book. Maybe there is not a Southern woman living who has not been engaged there once at least. I'll tell

you a little story for a warning. Some years ago there was a famous belle here who had the Springs at her

feet, and half a dozen determined suitors. One of them, who had been unable to make the least impression on

her heart, resolved to win her by a stratagem. Walking one evening on the hill with her, the two stopped just

at a turn in the walkI can show you the exact spot, with a chaperonand he fell into earnest discourse

with her. She was as cool and repellant as usual. Just then he heard a party approaching; his chance had come.

The moment the party came in sight he suddenly kissed her. Everybody saw it. The witnesses discreetly

turned back. The girl was indignant. But the deed was done. In half an hour the whole Springs would know it.

She was compromised. No explanations could do away with the fact that she had been kissed in Lovers'

Walk. But the girl was game, and that evening the engagement was announced in the drawingroom. Isn't

However much Stanhope might have been alarmed at this recital, he betrayed nothing of his fear that evening

when, after walking to the spring with Irene, the two sauntered along and unconsciously, as it seemed, turned

up the hill into that winding path which has been trodden by generations of lovers with loitering stepssteps

easy to take and so hard to retrace! It is a delightful forest, the walk winding about on the edge of the hill, and

giving charming prospects of intervales, stream, and mountains. To one in the mood for a quiet hour with

The couple walked on, attempting little conversation, both apparently prepossessed and constrained. The

sunset was spoken of, and when Irene at length suggested turning back, that was declared to be King's object

in ascending the hill to a particular point; but whether either of them saw the sunset, or would have known it

from a sunrise, I cannot say. The drive to the Old Sweet was pleasant. Yes, but rather tiresome. Mr. Meigs

had gone away suddenly. Yes; Irene was sorry his business should have called him away. Was she very

sorry? She wouldn't lie awake at night over it, but he was a good friend. The time passed very quickly here.

Yes; one couldn't tell how it went; the days just melted away; the two weeks seemed like a day. They were

"And," he added, as if with an effort, "when the season is over, Miss Benson, I am going to settle down to

"Yes, I have arranged to go on with practice in my uncle's office. I remember what you said about a dilettante

They had come to the crown of the hill, and stood looking over the intervales to the purple mountains. Irene

was deeply occupied in tying up with grass a bunch of wild flowers. Suddenly he seized her hand.

She turned her face towards him; her lips trembled; her eyes were full of tears; there was a great look of

She was in his arms. He kissed her hair, her eyesah me! it is the old story. It had always been true. He

loved her from the first, at Fortress Monroe, every minute since. And shewell, perhaps she could learn to

love him in time, if he was very good; yes, maybe she had loved him a little at Fortress Monroe. How could

he? what was there in her to attract him? What a wonder it was that she could tolerate him! What could she

So this impossible thing, this miracle, was explained? No, indeed! It had to be inquired into and explained

over and over again, this absolutely new experience of two people loving each other.

She could speak now of herself, of her doubt that he could know his own heart and be stronger than the social

traditions, and would not mind, as she thought he did at Newportjust a little bitthe opinions of other

people. I do not by any means imply that she said all this bluntly, or that she took at all the tone of apology;

but she contrived, as a woman can without saying much, to let him see why she had distrusted, not the

sincerity, but the perseverance of his love. There would never be any more doubt now. What a wonder it all

I don't know why scoffers make so light of these partingsat the foot of the main stairs of the hotel gallery,

just as Mrs. Farquhar was descending. Irene's face was radiant as she ran away from Mrs. Farquhar.

"Bless you, my children! I see my warning was in vain, Mr. King. It is a fatal walk. It always was in our

family. Oh, youth! youth! "A shade of melancholy came over her charming face as she turned alone towards

Mrs. Farquhar, Colonel Fane, and a great many of their first and second cousins were at the station the

morning the Bensons and King and Forbes departed for the North. The gallant colonel was foremost in his

expressions of regret, and if he had been the proprietor of Virginia, and of the entire South added thereto, and

had been anxious to close out the whole lot on favorable terms to the purchaser, he would not have exhibited

greater solicitude as to the impression the visitors had received. This solicitude was, however, wholly in his

mannerand it is the traditionalmanner that has nearly passed awayfor underneath all this humility it

was plain to be seen that the South had conferred a great favor, sir, upon these persons by a recognition of

"I am not come to give you goodby, but au revoir," said Mrs. Farquhar to Stanhope and Irene, who were

standing apart. "I hate to go North in the summer, it is so hot and crowded and snobbish, but I dare say I shall

meet you somewhere, for I confess I don't like to lose sight of so much happiness. No, no, Miss Benson, you

need not thank me, even with a blush; I am not responsible for this state of things. I did all I could to warn

you, and I tell you now that my sympathy is with Mr. Meigs, who never did either of you any harm, and I

"I don't know any one, Mrs. Farquhar, who is so capable of repairing his injuries as yourself," said King.

"Thank you; I'm not used to such delicate elephantine compliments. It is just like a man, Miss Benson, to try

to kill two birds with one stone get rid of a rival by sacrificing a useless friend. All the same, au revoir."

"We shall be glad to see you," replied Irene, "you know that, wherever we are; and we will try to make the

"Oh, I shall hide my pride and go. If you were not all so rich up there! Not that I object to wealth; I enjoy it. I

think I shall take to that old prayer: 'May my lot be with the rich in this world, and with the South in the

I suppose there never was such a journey as that from the White Sulphur to New York. If the Virginia scenery

had seemed to King beautiful when he came down, it was now transcendently lovely. He raved about it, when

I saw him afterwardsthe Blue Ridge, the wheat valleys, the commercial advantages, the mineral resources

of the State, the grand old traditional Heaven knows what of the Old Dominion; as to details he was obscure,

and when I pinned him down, he was not certain which route they took. It is my opinion that the most costly

The rest of the party were in good spirits. Even Mrs. Benson, who was at first a little bewildered at the failure

"So you are engaged!" she said, when Irene went to her with the story of the little affair in Lovers' Walk. "I

suppose he'll like it. He always took a fancy to Mr. King. No, I haven't any objections, Irene, and I hope

you'll be happy. Mr. King was always very polite to meonly he didn't never seem exactly like our folks.

We only want you to be happy." And the old lady declared with a shaky voice, and tears streaming down her

Mr. Meigs, the refined, the fastidious, the man of the world, who had known how to adapt himself perfectly

to Mrs. Benson, might nevertheless have been surprised at her implication that he was "like our folks."

At the station in Jersey Citya place suggestive of love and romance and full of tender associationsthe

party separated for a few days, the Bensons going to Saratoga, and King accompanying Forbes to Long

Branch, in pursuance of an agreement which, not being in writing, he was unable to break. As the two friends

went in the early morning down to the coast over the level salt meadows, cut by bayous and intersected by

canals, they were curiously reminded both of the Venice lagoons and the plains of the Teche; and the artist

went into raptures over the colors of the landscape, which he declared was Oriental in softness and blending.

Long Branch and its adjuncts were planned for New York excursionists who are content with the ocean and

the salt air, and do not care much for the picturesque. It can be described in a phrase: a straight line of sandy

coast with a high bank, parallel to it a driveway, and an endless row of hotels and cottages. Knowing what the

American seaside cottage and hotel are, it is unnecessary to go to Long Branch to have an accurate picture of

it in the mind. Seen from the end of the pier, the coast appears to be all built upa thin, straggling city by the

sea. The line of buildings is continuous for two miles, from Long Branch to Elberon; midway is the West

End, where our tourists were advised to go as the best post of observation, a medium point of respectability

between the excursion medley of one extremity and the cottage refinement of the other, and equally

convenient to the races, which attract crowds of metropolitan betting men and betting women. The fine toilets

of these children of fortune are not less admired than their fashionable race course manners. The satirist who

said that Atlantic City is typical of Philadelphia, said also that Long Branch is typical of New York. What

Mr. King said was that the satirist was not acquainted with the good society of either place.

All the summer resorts get somehow a certain character, but it is not easy always to say how it is produced.

The Long Branch region was the resort of politicians, and of persons of some fortune who connect politics

with speculation. Society, which in America does not identify itself with politics as it does in England, was

not specially attracted by the newspaper notoriety of the place, although, fashion to some extent declared in

In the morning the artist went up to the pier at the bathing hour. Thousands of men, women, and children

were tossing about in the lively surf promiscuously, revealing to the spectators such forms as Nature had

given them, with a modest confidence in her handiwork. It seemed to the artist, who was a student of the

human figure, that many of these people would not have bathed in public if Nature had made them

selfconscious. All down the shore were pavilions and bathhouses, and the scene at a distance was not

unlike that when the water is occupied by schools of leaping mackerel. An excursion steamer from New York

landed at the pier. The passengers were not of any recognized American type, but mixed foreign races a

crowd of respectable people who take their rare holidays rather seriously, and offer little of interest to an

artist. The boats that arrive at night are said to bring a less respectable cargo.

It is a pleasant walk or drive down to Elberon when there is a sea breeze, especially if there happen to be a

dozen yachts in the offing. Such elegance as this wateringplace has lies in this direction; the Elberon is a

refined sort of hotel, and has near it a group of pretty cottages, not too fantastic for holiday residences, and

even the "greeny yellowy" ones do not much offend, for eccentricities of color are toned down by the sea

atmosphere. These cottages have excellent lawns set with brilliant beds of flowers; and the turf rivals that of

Newport; but without a tree or shrub anywhere along the shore the aspect is too unrelieved and

photographically distinct. Here as elsewhere the cottage life is taking the place of hotel life.

There were few handsome turnouts on the main drive, and perhaps the popular character of the place was

indicated by the use of omnibuses instead of carriages. For, notwithstanding Elberon and such fashion as is

there gathered, Long Branch lacks "style." After the White Sulphur, it did not seem to King alive with gayety,

nor has it any society. In the hotel parlors there is music in the evenings, but little dancing except by children.

Large women, offensively dressed, sit about the veranda, and give a heavy and "company" air to the

drawingrooms. No, the place is not gay. The people come here to eat, to bathe, to take the air; and these are

reasons enough for being here. Upon the artist, alert for social peculiarities, the scene made little impression,

for to an artist there is a limit to the interest of a crowd showily dressed, though they blaze with diamonds.

It was in search of something different from this that King and Forbes took the train and traveled six miles to

Asbury Park and Ocean Grove. These great summer settlements are separated by a sheet of fresh water

threequarters of a mile long; its sloping banks are studded with pretty cottages, its surface is alive with boats

gay with awnings of red and blue and green, and seats of motley color, and is altogether a fairy spectacle.

Asbury Park is the worldly correlative of Ocean Grove, and esteems itself a notch above it in social tone.

Each is a city of small houses, and each is teeming with life, but Ocean Grove, whose centre is the

campmeeting tabernacle, lodges its devotees in tents as well as cottages, and copies the architecture of Oak

Bluffs. The inhabitants of the two cities meet on the twomilelong plank promenade by the sea. Perhaps

there is no place on the coast that would more astonish the foreigner than Ocean Grove, and if he should

describe it faithfully he would be unpopular with its inhabitants. He would be astonished at the crowds at the

station, the throngs in the streets, the shops and stores for supplying the wants of the religious pilgrims, and

used as he might be to the promiscuous bathing along our coast, he would inevitably comment upon the

freedom existing here. He would see women in their bathing dresses, wet and clinging, walking in the streets

of the town, and he would read notices posted up by the campmeeting authorities forbidding women so clad

to come upon the tabernacle ground. He would also read placards along the beach explaining the reason why

decency in bathing suits is desirable, and he would wonder why such notices should be necessary. If,

however, he walked along the shore at bathing times he might be enlightened, and he would see besides a

certain simplicity of social life which sophisticated Europe has no parallel for. A peculiar custom here is

sandburrowing. To lie in the warm sand, which accommodates itself to any position of the body, and listen

to the dash of the waves, is a dreamy and delightful way of spending a summer day. The beach for miles is

strewn with these sandburrowers in groups of two or three or half a dozen, or single figures laid out like the

effigies of Crusaders. One encounters these groups sprawling in all attitudes, and frequently asleep in their

promiscuous beds. The foreigner is forced to see all this, because it is a public exhibition. A couple in bathing

suits take a dip together in the sea, and then lie down in the sand. The artist proposed to make a sketch of one

of these primitive couples, but it was impossible to do so, because they lay in a trench which they had

scooped in the sand two feet deep, and had hoisted an umbrella over their heads. The position was novel and

artistic, but beyond the reach of the artist. It was a great pity, because art is never more agreeable than when it

While this charming spectacle was exhibited at the beach, afternoon service was going on in the tabernacle,

and King sought that in preference. The vast audience under the canopy directed its eyes to a man on the

platform, who was violently gesticulating and shouting at the top of his voice. King, fresh from the scenes of

the beach, listened a long time, expecting to hear some close counsel on the conduct of life, but he heard

nothing except the vaguest emotional exhortation. By this the audience were apparently unmoved, for it was

only when the preacher paused to get his breath on some word on which he could dwell by reason of its

vowels, like wor1d or and, that he awoke any response from his hearers. The spiritual exercise of

prayer which followed was even more of a physical demonstration, and it aroused more response. The

officiating minister, kneeling at the desk, gesticulated furiously, doubled up his fists and shook them on high,

stretched out both arms, and pounded the pulpit. Among people of his own race King had never before seen

anything like this, and he went away a sadder if not a wiser man, having at least learned one lesson of

This vast city of the sea has many charms, and is the resort of thousands of people, who find here health and

repose. But King, who was immensely interested in it all as one phase of American summer life, was glad

It was the 22d of August, and the height of the season at Saratoga. Familiar as King had been with these

Springs, accustomed as the artist was to foreign Spas, the scene was a surprise to both. They had been told

that fashion had ceased to patronize it, and that its oldtime character was gone. But Saratoga is too strong

for the whims of fashion; its existence does not depend upon its decrees; it has reached the point where it

cannot be killed by the inroads of Jew or Gentile. In ceasing to be a society centre, it has become in a manner

metropolitan; for the season it is no longer a provincial village, but the meetingplace of as mixed and

heterogeneous a throng as flows into New York from all the Union in the autumn shopping period.

It was race week, but the sporting men did not give Saratoga their complexion. It was convention time, but

except in the hotel corridors politicians were not the feature of the place. One of the great hotels was almost

exclusively occupied by the descendants of Abraham, but the town did not at all resemble Jerusalem.

Innumerable boardinghouses swarmed with city and country clergymen, who have a wellfounded

impression that the waters of the springs have a beneficent relation to the bilious secretions of the year, but

the resort had not an oppressive air of sanctity. Nearly every prominent politician in the State and a good

many from other States registered at the hotels, but no one seemed to think that the country was in danger.

Hundreds of men and women were there because they had been there every year for thirty or forty years

back, and they have no doubt that their health absolutely requires a week at Saratoga; yet the village has not

the aspect of a sanitarium. The hotel diningrooms and galleries were thronged with large, overdressed

women who glittered with diamonds and looked uncomfortable in silks and velvets, and Broadway was gay

with elegant equipages, but nobody would go to Saratoga to study the fashions. Perhaps the most impressive

spectacle in this lowly world was the row of millionaires sunning themselves every morning on the piazza of

the States, solemn men in black broadcloth and white hats, who said little, but looked rich; visitors used to

pass that way casually, and the townspeople regarded them with a kind of awe, as if they were the kingpins

of the whole social fabric; but even these magnates were only pleasing incidents in the kaleidoscopic show.

The first person King encountered on the piazza of the Grand Union was not the one he most wished to see,

although it could never be otherwise than agreeable to meet his fair cousin, Mrs. Bartlett Glow. She was in a

fresh morning toilet, dainty, comme il faut, radiant, with that unobtrusive manner of "society" which made

the present surroundings, appear a trifle vulgar to King, and to his selfdisgust forced upon him the image of

"Yeswhy not?" And then she added, as if from the Newport point of view some explanation were

necessary: "My husband thinks he must come here for a week every year to take the waters; it's an old habit,

and I find it amusing for a few days. Of course there is nobody here. Will you take me to the spring? Yes,

Congress. I'm too old to change. If I believed the pamphlets the proprietors write about each other's springs I

Mrs. Bartlett Glow was not alone in saying that nobody was there. There were scores of ladies at each hotel

who said the same thing, and who accounted for their own presence there in the way she did. And they were

not there at all in the same way they would be later at Lenox. Mrs. Pendragon, of New Orleans, who was at

the United States, would have said the same thing, remembering the time when the Southern colony made a

very distinct impression upon the social life of the place; and the Ashleys, who had put up at the Congress

Hall in company with an old friend, a returned foreign minister, who stuck to the old traditionseven the

Paying their entrance, and passing through the turnstile in the pretty pavilion gate, they stood in the Congress

Spring Park. The band was playing in the kiosk; the dew still lay on the flowers and the green turf; the

miniature lake sparkled in the sun. It is one of the most pleasing artificial scenes in the world; to be sure,

nature set the great pinetrees on the hills, and made the graceful little valley, but art and exquisite taste have

increased the apparent size of the small plot of ground, and filled it with beauty. It is a gem of a place with a

character of its own, although its prettiness suggests some foreign Spa. Groups of people, having taken the

water, were strolling about the graveled paths, sitting on the slopes overlooking the pond, or wandering up

"Well," King retorted, with some spirit, "it is not a place where people pretend not to know each other, as if

"Oh, I see; hospitable, frank, cordialall that. Stanhope, do you know, I think you are a little demoralized this

"Well, all the South, pretty much. I didn't fall in love with all the belles; we were there only two weeks. Oh!

"Georgiana Randolph! Georgie! How did she look? We were at Madame Sequin's together, and a couple of

seasons in Paris. Georgie! She was the handsomest, the wittiest, the most fascinating woman I ever saw. I

"Oh, no. But we were very good friends. She is a very handsome woman perhaps you would expect me to

"Oh, the Storbes from New Orleans, the Slifers from Mobileno end of peoplesome from

"Oh, nothing. It's a free country. I hope, Stanhope, you didn't encourage her. You might make her very

"Engaged!" repeated Mrs. Glow, in a tone that implied a whole world of astonishment and improbability.

"Yes, and you are just in time to congratulate us. There they are!" Mr. Benson, Mrs. Benson, and Irene were

coming down the walk from the deer park. King turned to meet them, but Mrs. Glow was close at his side,

and apparently as pleased at seeing them again as the lover. Nothing could be more charming than the grace

and welcome she threw into her salutations. She shook hands with Mr. Benson; she was delighted to meet

Mrs. Benson again, and gave her both her little hands; she almost embraced Irene, placed a hand on each

shoulder, kissed her on the cheek, and said something in a low voice that brought the blood to the girl's face

When the party returned to the hotel the two women were walking lovingly arm in arm, and King was

following after, in the more prosaic atmosphere of Cyrusville, Ohio. The good old lady began at once to treat

King as one of the family; she took his arm, and leaned heavily on it, as they walked, and confided to him all

her complaints. The White Sulphur waters, she said, had not done her a mite of good; she didn't know but

she'd oughter see a doctor, but he said that it warn't nothing but indigestion. Now the White Sulphur agreed

with Irene better than any other place, and I guess that I know the reason why, Mr. King, she said, with a

faintly facetious smile. Meantime Mrs. Glow was talking to Irene on the one topic that a maiden is never

weary of, her lover; and so adroitly mingled praises of him with flattery of herself that the girl's heart went

"She is a charming girl," said Mrs. Glow to King, later. "She needs a little forming, but that will be easy when

she is separated from her family. Don't interrupt me. I like her. I don't say I like it. But if you will go out of

your set, you might do a great deal worse. Have you written to your uncle and to your aunt?"

"No; I don't know why, in a matter wholly personal to myself, I should call a family council. You represent

"Yes. Thanks to my happening to be here. Well, I wouldn't write to them if I were you. It's no use to disturb

the whole connection now. By the way, Imogene Cypher was at Newport after you left; she is more beautiful

"I am glad to hear it," said King, who did not fancy the drift their conversation was taking. "I hope she will

"Stanhope, I never said thatnever. I might have said she wasn't a bas bleu. No more is she. But she has

beauty, and a good temper, and money. It isn't the cleverest women who make the best wives, sir."

"Well, I'm not objecting to her being a wife. Only it does not follow that, because my uncle and aunts are in

"I said nothing about marriage, my touchy friend. I am not advising you to be engaged to two women at the

It was evident that she had taken a great fancy to the girl. They were always together; it seemed to happen so,

and King could hardly admit to himself that Mrs. Glow was de trop as a third. Mr. Bartlett Glow was very

polite to King and his friend, and forever had one excuse and another for taking them off with himthe races

or a lounge about town. He showed them one night, I am sorry to say, the inside of the Temple of Chance and

its decorous society, its splendid buffet, the quiet tables of rouge et noir, and the highly respectable

attendantsaged men, whitehaired, in evening costume, devout and almost godly in appearance, with faces

chastened to resignation and patience with a wicked world, sedate and venerable as the deacons in a

Presbyterian church. He was lonesome and wanted company, and, besides, the women liked to be by

One might be amused at the Saratoga show without taking an active part in it, and indeed nobody did seem to

take a very active part in it. Everybody was looking on. People drove, visited the springsin a vain

expectation that excessive drinking of the medicated waters would counteract the effect of excessive

gormandizing at the hotelssat about in the endless rows of armchairs on the piazzas, crowded the heavily

upholstered parlors, promenaded in the corridors, listened to the music in the morning, and again in the

afternoon, and thronged the stairways and passages, and blocked up the entrance to the ballrooms. Balls?

Yes, with dress de rigueur, many beautiful women in wonderful toilets, a few debutantes, a scarcity of young

And yet no society. But a wonderful agglomeration, the artist was saying. It is a robust sort of place. If

Newport is the queen of the wateringplaces, this is the king. See how well fed and fat the people are, men

and women large and expansive, richly dressed, prosperous looking! What a contrast to the family sort of

life at the White Sulphur! Here nobody, apparently, cares for anybody elsenot much; it is not to be

expected that people should know each other in such a heterogeneous concern; you see how comparatively

few greetings there are on the piazzas and in the parlors. You notice, too, that the types are not so

distinctively American as at the Southern resortfull faces, thick necksmore like Germans than

Americans. And then the everlasting white hats. And I suppose it is not certain that every man in a tall white

These big hotels are an epitome of expansive, gorgeous American life. At the Grand Union, King was No.

1710, and it seemed to him that he walked the length of the town to get to his room after ascending four

stories. He might as well, so far as exercise was concerned, have taken an apartment outside. And the

diningroom. Standing at the door, he had a vista of an eighth of a mile of small tables, sparkling with

brilliant service of glass and porcelain, chandeliers and frescoed ceiling. What perfect appointments! what

welltrained waiters!perhaps they were not waiters, for he was passed from one "officer" to another

"officer" down to his place. At the tables silent couples and restrained family parties, no hilarity, little talking;

and what a contrast this was to the happygolucky service and jollity of the White Sulphur! Then the

interior parks of the United States and the Grand Union, with corridors and cottages, closeclipped turf,

banks of flowers, forest trees, fountains, and at night, when the band filled all the air with seductive strains,

the electric and the colored lights, gleaming through the foliage and dancing on fountains and greensward,

made a scene of enchantment. Each hotel was a village in itself, and the thousands of guests had no more in

common than the frequenters of New York hotels and theatres. But what a paradise for lovers!

"It would be lonesome enough but for you, Irene," Stanhope said, as they sat one night on the inner piazza of

On another evening they were at the illumination of the Congress Spring Park. The scene seemed the creation

of magic. By a skillful arrangement of the colored globes an illusion of vastness was created, and the little

enclosure, with its glowing lights, was like the starry heavens for extent. In the mass of white globes and

colored lanterns of paper the eye was deceived as to distances. The allies stretched away interminably, the

pines seemed enormous, and the green hillsides mountainous. Nor were charming single effects wanting.

Down the winding walk from the hill, touched by a distant electric light, the loitering people, in couples and

in groups, seemed no more in real life than the supernumeraries in a scene at the opera. Above, in the

illuminated foliage, were doubtless a castle and a broad terrace, with a row of statues, and these gay

promenaders were ladies and cavaliers in an old time masquerade. The gilded kiosk on the island in the

centre of the miniature lake and the fairy bridge that leads to it were outlined by colored globes; and the lake,

itself set about with brilliants, reflected kiosk and bridge and lights, repeating a hundredfold the fantastic

scene, while from their island retreat the band sent out through the illumined night strains of sentiment and

gayety and sadness. In the intervals of the music there was silence, as if the great throng were too deeply

enjoying this feast of the senses to speak. Perhaps a foreigner would have been impressed with the decorous

respectability of the assembly; he would have remarked that there were no little tables scattered about the

ground, no boys running about with foaming mugs of beer, no noise, no loud talking; and how restful to all

Mrs. Bartlett Glow had the whim to devote herself to Mrs. Benson, and was repaid by the acquisition of a

great deal of information concerning the social and domestic, life in Cyrusville, Ohio, and the maternal

ambition for Irene. Stanhope and Irene sat a little apart from the others, and gave themselves up to the

witchery of the hour. It would not be easy to reproduce in type all that they said; and what was most

important to them, and would be most interesting to the reader, are the things they did not saythe half

exclamations, the delightful silences, the tones, the looks that are the sign language of lovers. It was Irene

who first broke the spell of this delightful mode of communication, and in a pause of the music said, "Your

cousin has been telling me of your relatives in New York, and she told me more of yourself than you ever

"Very likely. Trust your friends for that. I hope she gave me a good character."

"Oh, she has the greatest admiration for you, and she said the family have the highest expectations of your

career. Why didn't you tell me you were the child of such hopes? It half frightened me."

"Oh, I cannot tell you, except that she raised an image in my mind of an awful vision of ancient family and

exclusiveness, the most fastidious, delightful, conventional people, she said, very old family, looked down

upon Washington Irving, don't you know, because he wrote. I suppose she wanted to impress me with the

value of the prize I've drawn, dear. But I should like you just as well if your connections had not looked down

"Oh, dear, no. Much like other people. My aunts are the dearest old ladies, just a little nearsighted, you know,

about seeing people that are notwell, of course, they live in a rather small world. My uncle is a bachelor,

rather particular, not what you would call a genial old man; been abroad a good deal, and moved mostly in

our set; sometimes I think he cares more for his descent than for his position at the bar, which is a very

respectable one, by the way. You know what an old bachelor is who never has had anybody to shake him out

"Do you think," said Irene, a little anxiously, letting her hand rest a moment upon Stanhope's, "that they will

like poor little me? I believe I am more afraid of the aunts than of the uncle. I don't believe they will be as

"Of course they will like you. Everybody likes you. The aunts are just a little oldfashioned, that is all. Habit

has made them draw a social circle with a small radius. Some have one kind of circle, some another. Of

course my aunts are sorry for any one who is not descended from the Van Schlovenhovensthe old Van

Schlovenhoven had the first brewery of the colony in the time of Peter Stuyvesant. In New York it's a family

matter, in Philadelphia it's geographical. There it's a question whether you live within the lines of Chestnut

Street and Spruce Streetoutside of these in the city you are socially impossible: Mrs. Cortlandt told me that

two Philadelphia ladies who had become great friends at a summer resortone lived within and the other

without the charmed lineswent back to town together in the autumn. At the station when they parted, the

'inside' lady said to the other: 'Goodby. It has been such a pleasure to know you! I suppose I shall see you

The music ceased; the band were hurrying away; the people all over the grounds were rising to go, lingering a

little, reluctant to leave the enchanting scene. Irene wished, with a sigh, that it might never end; unreal as it

was, it was more native to her spirit than that future which her talk with Stanhope had opened to her

contemplation. An illdefined apprehension possessed her in spite of the reassuring presence of her lover and

her perfect confidence in the sincerity of his passion; and this feeling was somehow increased by the

appearance of Mrs. Glow with her mother; she could not shake off the uneasy suggestion of the contrast.

At the hour when the ladies went to their rooms the day was just beginning for a certain class of the habitues.

The parlors were nearly deserted, and few chairs were occupied on the piazzas, but the ghosts of another

generation seemed to linger, especially in the offices and barroom. Flitting about were to be seen the social

heroes who had a notoriety thirty and forty years ago in the newspapers. This driedup old man in a bronze

wig, scuffling along in list slippers, was a famous criminal lawyer in his day; this gentleman, who still wears

an air of gallantry, and is addressed as General, had once a reputation for successes in the drawingroom as

well as on the field of Mars; here is a genuine old beau, with the unmistakable selfconsciousness of one who

has been a favorite of the sex, but who has slowly decayed in the midst of his cosmetics; here saunter along a

couple of actors with the air of being on the stage. These people all have the "nightcap" habit, and drift along

towards the barroomthe last brilliant scene in the drama of the idle day, the necessary portal to the realm

This is a large apartment, brightly lighted, with a bar extending across one end of it. Modern taste is

conspicuous here, nothing is gaudy, colors are subdued, and its decorations are simple even the bar itself is

refined, substantial, decorous, wanting entirely the meretricious glitter and barbarous ornamentation of the

old structures of this sort, and the attendants have wholly laid aside the smart antics of the former bartender,

and the customers are swiftly and silently served by the deferential waiters. This is one of the most striking

There is a certain sort of lifewhether it is worth seeing is a question that we can see nowhere else, and for an

hour Mr. Glow and King and Forbes, sipping their raspberry shrub in a retired corner of the bar room, were

interested spectators of the scene. Through the padded swinging doors entered, as in a play, character after

character. Each actor as he entered stopped for a moment and stared about him, and in this act revealed his

characterhis conceit, his slyness, his bravado, his selfimportance. There was great variety, but practically

one prevailing type, and that the New York politician. Most of them were from the city, though the country

politician apes the city politician as much as possible, but he lacks the exact air, notwithstanding the black

broadcloth and the white hat. The city men are of two varietiesthe smart, perkynosed, vulgar young ward

worker, and the heavyfeatured, gross, fat old fellow. One after another they glide in, with an always

conscious air, swagger off to the bar, strike attitudes in groups, one with his legs spread, another with a foot

behind on tiptoe, another leaning against the counter, and so pose, and drink "My respects"all rather

solemn and stiff, impressed perhaps by the decorousness of the place, and conscious of their good clothes.

Enter together three stout men, a yard across the shoulders, each with an enormous development in front,

waddle up to the bar, attempt to form a triangular group for conversation, but find themselves too far apart to

talk in that position, and so arrange themselves side by sidea most distinguishedlooking party, like a

portion of a swellfront street in Boston. To them swaggers up a young sport, like one of Thackeray's figures

in the "Irish SketchBook"short, in a white hat, poor face, impudent manner, poses before the swell fronts,

and tosses off his glass. About a little table in one corner are three excessively "ugly mugs," leering at each

other and pouring down champagne. These men are all dressed as nearly like gentlemen as the tailor can

make them, but even he cannot change their hard, brutal faces. It is not their fault that money and clothes do

not make a gentleman; they are well fed and vulgarly prosperous, and if you inquire you will find that their

women are in silks and laces. This is a good place to study the rulers of New York; and impressive as they are

in appearance, it is a relief to notice that they unbend to each other, and hail one another familiarly as "Billy"

and "Tommy." Do they not ape what is most prosperous and successful in American life? There is one who in

makeup, form, and air, even to the cut of his sidewhiskers, is an exact counterpart of the great railway

king. Here is a heavyfaced young fellow in evening dress, perhaps endeavoring to act the part of a

gentleman, who has come from an evening party unfortunately a little "slewed," but who does not know how

to sustain the character, for presently he becomes very familiar and confidential with the dignified colored

waiter at the buffet, who requires all his native politeness to maintain the character of a gentleman for two.

If these men had millions, could they get any more enjoyment out of life? To have fine clothes, drink

champagne, and pose in a fashionable barroom in the height of the seasonis not this the apotheosis of the

"heeler" and the ward "worker"? The scene had a fascination for the artist, who declared that he never tired

watching the evolutions of the foreign element into the full bloom of American citizenship.

The intimacy between Mrs. Bartlett Glow and Irene increased as the days went by. The woman of society

was always devising plans for Irene's entertainment, and winning her confidence by a thousand evidences of

interest and affection. Pleased as King was with this at first, he began to be annoyed at a devotion to which he

could have no objection except that it often came between him and the enjoyment of the girl's society alone;

and latterly he had noticed that her manner was more grave when they were together, and that a little

They made an excursion one day to Lake Georgea poetical pilgrimage that recalled to some of the party

(which included some New Orleans friends) the romance of early days. To the Bensons and the artist it was

all new, and to King it was seen for the first time in the transforming atmosphere of love. To men of

sentiment its beauties will never be exhausted; but to the elderly and perhaps rheumatic tourist the draughty

steamboats do not always bring back the remembered delight of youth. There is no pleasanter place in the

North for a summer residence, but there is a certain element of monotony and weariness inseparable from an

excursion: travelers have been known to yawn even on the Rhine. It was a gray day, the country began to

show the approach of autumn, and the view from the landing at Caldwell's, the head of the lake, was never

more pleasing. In the marshes the cattails and the faint flush of color on the alders and soft maples gave a

character to the low shore, and the gentle rise of the hills from the water's edge combined to make a sweet

The tourists find the steamer waiting for them at the end of the rail, and if they are indifferent to the war

romances of the place, as most of them are, they hurry on without a glance at the sites of the famous old forts

St. George and William Henry. Yet the head of the lake might well detain them a few hours though they do

not care for the scalping Indians and their sometime allies the French or the English. On the east side the lake

is wooded to the shore, and the jutting points and charming bays make a pleasant outline to the eye.

Crosbyside is the ideal of a summer retreat, nestled in foliage on a pretty point, with its great trees on a

sloping lawn, boathouses and innumerable row and sail boats, and a lovely view, over the blue waters, of a

fine range of hills. Caldwell itself, on the west side, is a pretty treeplanted village in a break in the hills, and

a point above it shaded with great pines is a favorite rendezvous for pleasure parties, who leave the ground

strewn with egg shells and newspapers. The Fort William Henry Hotel was formerly the chief resort on the

lake. It is a long, handsome structure, with broad piazzas, and low evergreens and flowers planted in front.

The view from it, under the great pines, of the lake and the northern purple hills, is lovely. But the tide of

travel passes it by, and the few people who were there seemed lonesome. It is always so. Fashion demands

novelty; one class of summer boarders and tourists drives out another, and the people who want to be

sentimental at this end of the lake now pass it with a call, perhaps a sigh for the past, and go on to fresh

Lake George has changed very much within ten years; hotels and great boardinghouses line the shores; but

the marked difference is in the increase of cottage life. As our tourists sailed down the lake they were

surprised by the number of pretty villas with red roofs peeping out from the trees, and the occupation of every

island and headland by gay and often fantastic summer residences. King had heard this lake compared with

Como and Maggiore, and as a patriot he endeavored to think that its wild and sylvan loveliness was more

pleasing than the romantic beauty of the Italian lakes. But the effort failed. In this climate it is impossible that

Horicon should ever be like Como. Pretty hills and forests and temporary summer structures cannot have the

poetic or the substantial interest of the ancient villages and towns clinging to the hills, the old stone houses,

the vines, the ruins, the atmosphere of a long civilization. They do the lovely Horicon no service who

The lake has a character of its own. As the traveler sails north and approaches the middle of the lake, the

gems of green islands multiply, the mountains rise higher, and shouldering up in the sky seem to bar a further

advance; toward sunset the hills, which are stately but lovely, a silent assembly of round and sharp peaks,

with long, graceful slopes, take on exquisite colors, violet, bronze, and green, and now and again a bold rocky

bluff shines like a ruby in the ruddy light. Just at dusk the steamer landed midway in the lake at Green Island,

where the scenery is the boldest and most romantic; from the landing a parklike lawn, planted with big trees,

slopes up to a picturesque hotel. Lights twinkled from many a cottage window and from boats in the bay, and

The genius of Philadelphia again claims the gratitude of the tourist, for the Sagamore Hotel is one of the most

delightful hostelries in the world. A peculiar, interesting building, rambling up the slope on different levels,

so contrived that all the rooms are outside, and having a delightful irregularity, as if the house had been a

growth. Naturally a hotel so dainty in its service and furniture, and so refined, was crowded to its utmost

capacity. The artist could find nothing to complain of in the morning except that the incandescent electric

light in his chamber went out suddenly at midnight and left him in blank darkness in the most exciting crisis

of a novel. Green Island is perhaps a mile long. A bridge connects it with the mainland, and besides the hotel

it has a couple of picturesque stone and timber cottages. At the north end are the remains of the English

intrenchments of 1755signs of war and hate which kindly nature has almost obliterated with sturdy trees.

With the natural beauty of the island art has little interfered; near the hotel is the most stately grove of white

birches anywhere to be seen, and their silvery sheen, with occasional patches of sedge, and the tender sort of

foliage that Corot liked to paint, gives an exceptional refinement to the landscape. One needs, indeed, to be

toned up by the glimpses, under the trees, over the blue water, of the wooded craggy hills, with their shelf

like ledges, which are full of strength and character. The charm of the place is due to this combination of

Irene long remembered the sail of that morning, seated in the bow of the steamer with King, through scenes

of everchanging beauty, as the boat wound about the headlands and made its calls, now on one side and now

on the other, at the pretty landings and decorated hotels. On every hand was the gayety of summer lifea

striped tent on a rocky point with a platform erected for dancing, a miniature bark but on an island, and a

rustic arched bridge to the mainland, gaudy little hotels with winding paths along the shore, and at all the

landings groups of pretty girls and college lads in boating costume. It was wonderful how much these holiday

makers were willing to do for the entertainment of the passing travelers. A favorite pastime in this peaceful

region was the broom drill, and its execution gave an operatic character to the voyage. When the steamer

approaches, a band of young ladies in military ranks, clad in light marching costume, each with a broom in

place of a musket, descend to the landing and delight the spectators with their warlike manoeuvres. The

march in the broomdrill is two steps forward and one step back, a mode of progression that conveys the

notion of a pleasing indecision of purpose, which is foreign to the character of these handsome Amazons,

who are quite able to hold the wharf against all comers. This act of war in fancy, dress, with its two steps

forward and one back, and the singing of a song, is one of the most fatal to the masculine peace of mind in

Mrs. Bartlett Glow, to be sure, thought it would be out of place at the Casino; but even she had to admit that

the American girl who would bewitch the foreigner with her one, two, and one, and her flourish of broom on

Lake George, was capable of freezing his ardor by her cool good breeding at Newport.

There was not much more to be done at Saratoga. Mrs. Benson had tried every spring in the valley, and thus

anticipated a remedy, as Mr. Benson said, for any possible "complaint" that might visit her in the future. Mr.

Benson himself said that he thought it was time for him to move to a new piazza, as he had worn out half the

chairs at the Grand Union. The BartlettGlows were already due at Richfield; in fact, Penelope was impatient

to go, now that she had persuaded the Bensons to accompany her; and the artist, who had been for some time

grumbling that there was nothing left in Saratoga to draw except corks, reminded King of his agreement at

Bar Harbor, and the necessity he felt for rural retirement after having been dragged all over the continent.

On the last day Mr. Glow took King and Forbes off to the races, and Penelope and the Bensons drove to the

lake. King never could tell why he consented to this arrangement, but he knew in a vague way that it is

useless to attempt to resist feminine power, that shapes our destiny in spite of all our roughhewing of its

outlines. He had become very uneasy at the friendship between Irene and Penelope, but he could give no

reason for his suspicion, for it was the most natural thing in the world for his cousin to be interested in the

girl who was about to come into the family. It seemed also natural that Penelope should be attracted by her

nobility of nature. He did not know till afterwards that it was this very nobility and unselfishness which

Penelope saw could be turned to account for her own purposes. Mrs. Bartlett Glow herself would have said

that she was very much attached to Irene, and this would have been true; she would have said also that she

pitied her, and this would have been true; but she was a woman whose world was bounded by her own social

order, and she had no doubt in her own mind that she was loyal to the best prospects of her cousin, and, what

was of more importance, that she was protecting her little world from a misalliance when she preferred

Imogene Cypher to Irene Benson. In fact, the Bensons in her set were simply an unthinkable element. It

disturbed the established order of things. If any one thinks meanly of Penelope for counting upon the heroism

of Irene to effect her unhappiness, let him reflect of how little consequence is the temporary happiness of one

or two individuals compared with the peace and comfort of a whole social order. And she might also well

make herself believe that she was consulting the best interests of Irene in keeping her out of a position where

she might be subject to so many humiliations. She was capable of crying over the social adventures of the

heroine of a love story, and taking sides with her against the world, but as to the actual world itself, her

practical philosophy taught her that it was much better always, even at the cost of a little heartache in youth,

The lake at Saratoga is the most picturesque feature of the region, and would alone make the fortune of any

other wateringplace. It is always a surprise to the stranger, who has bowled along the broad drive of five

miles through a pleasing but not striking landscape, to come suddenly, when he alights at the hotel, upon

what seems to be a "fault," a sunken valley, and to look down a precipitous, grassy, treeplanted slope upon a

lake sparkling at the bottom and reflecting the enclosing steep shores. It is like an aquamarine gem

countersunk in the green landscape. Many an hour had Irene and Stanhope passed in dreamy contemplation

of it. They had sailed down the lake in the little steamer, they had whimsically speculated about this and that

couple who took their ices or juleps under the trees or on the piazza of the hotel, and the spot had for them a

thousand tender associations. It was here that Stanhope had told her very fully the uneventful story of his life,

and it was here that she had grown into full sympathy with his aspirations for the future.

It was of all this that Irene thought as she sat talking that day with Penelope on a bench at the foot of the hill

by the steamboat landing. It was this very future that the woman of the world was using to raise in the mind

of Irene a morbid sense of her duty. Skillfully with this was insinuated the notion of the false and

contemptible social pride and exclusiveness of Stanhope's relations, which Mrs. Bartlett Glow represented as

implacable while she condemned it as absurd. There was not a word of opposition to the union of Irene and

Stanhope: Penelope was not such a bungler as to make that mistake. It was not her cue to definitely suggest a

sacrifice for the welfare of her cousin. If she let Irene perceive that she admired the courage in her that could

face all these adverse social conditions that were conjured up before her, Irene could never say that Penelope

had expressed anything of the sort. Her manner was affectionate, almost caressing; she declared that she felt a

sisterly interest in her. This was genuine enough. I am not sure that Mrs. Bartlett Glow did not sometimes

waver in her purpose when she was in the immediate influence of the girl's genuine charm, and felt how

sincere she was. She even went so far as to wish to herself that Irene had been born in her own world.

It was not at all unnatural that Irene should have been charmed by Penelope, and that the latter should

gradually have established an influence over her. She was certainly kindhearted, amiable, bright, engaging. I

think all those who have known her at Newport, or in her New York home, regard her as one of the most

charming women in the world. Nor is she artificial, except as society requires her to be, and if she regards the

conventions of her own set as the most important things in life, therein she does not differ from hosts of

excellent wives and mothers. Irene, being utterly candid herself, never suspected that Penelope had at all

exaggerated the family and social obstacles, nor did it occur to her to doubt Penelope's affection for her. But

she was not blind. Being a woman, she comprehended perfectly the indirection of a woman's approaches, and

knew well enough by this time that Penelope, whatever her personal leanings, must feel with her family in

regard to this engagement. And that she, who was apparently her friend, and who had Stanhope's welfare so

much at heart, did so feel was an added reason why Irene was drifting towards a purpose of selfsacrifice.

When she was with Stanhope such a sacrifice seemed as impossible as it would be cruel, but when she was

with Mrs. Bartlett Glow, or alone, the subject took another aspect. There is nothing more attractive to a noble

woman of tender heart than a duty the performance of which will make her suffer. A false notion of duty has

It was under this impression that Irene passed the last evening at Saratoga with Stanhope on the piazza of the

hotelan evening that the latter long remembered as giving him the sweetest and the most contradictory and

After weeks of the din of Strauss and Gungl, the soothing strains of the Pastoral Symphony. Now no more the

kettledrum and the ceaseless promenade in showy corridors, but the oaten pipe under the spreading maples,

the sheep feeding on the gentle hills of Otsego, the carnival of the hoppickers. It is time to be rural, to adore

the country, to speak about the dew on the upland pasture, and the exquisite view from Sunset Hill. It is quite

English, is it not? this passion for quiet, refined country life, which attacks all the summer revelers at certain

periods in the season, and sends them in troops to Richfield or Lenox or some other peaceful retreat, with

their simple apparel bestowed in modest fourstory trunks. Come, gentle shepherdesses, come, sweet youths in

white flannel, let us tread a measure on the greensward, let us wander down the lane, let us pass under the

festoons of the hopvines, let us saunter in the paths of sentiment, that lead to love in a cottage and a house in

Every wateringplace has a character of its own, and those who have given little thought to this are surprised

at the endless variety in the American resorts. But what is even more surprising is the influence that these

places have upon the people that frequent them, who appear to change their characters with their

surroundings. One woman in her season plays many parts, dashing in one place, reserved in another, now gay

and active, now listless and sentimental, not at all the same woman at Newport that she is in the Adirondack

camps, one thing at Bar Harbor and quite another at Saratoga or at Richfield. Different tastes, to be sure, are

suited at different resorts, but fashion sends a steady procession of the same people on the round of all.

The charm of Richfield Springs is in the character of the landscape. It is a limestone region of gentle slopes

and fine lines; and although it is elevated, the general character is refined rather than bold, the fertile valleys

in pleasing irregularity falling away from rounded wooded hills in a manner to produce the impression of

peace and repose. The lay of the land is such that an elevation of a few hundred feet gives a most extensive

prospect, a view of meadows and upland pastures, of lakes and ponds, of forests hanging in dark masses on

the limestone summits, of fields of wheat and hops, and of distant mountain ranges. It is scenery that one

grows to love, and that responds to one's every mood in variety and beauty. In a whole summer the pedestrian

will not exhaust the inspiring views, and the drives through the gracious land, over hills, round the lakes, by

woods and farms, increase in interest as one knows them better. The habitues of the place, year after year, are

In this smiling country lies the pretty village of Richfield, the rural character of which is not entirely lost by

reason of the hotels, cottages, and boardinghouses which line the broad principal street. The centre of the

town is the old Spring House and grounds. When our travelers alighted in the evening at this mansion, they

were reminded of an English inn, though it is not at all like an inn in England except in its atmosphere of

comfort. The building has rather a colonial character, with its long corridors and pillared piazzas; built at

different times, and without any particular plans except to remain oldfashioned, it is now a big, rambling

white mass of buildings in the midst of mapletrees, with so many stairs and passages on different levels, and

so many nooks and corners, that the stranger is always getting lost in it turning up in the luxurious

smokingroom when he wants to dine, and opening a door that lets him out into the park when he is trying to

go to bed. But there are few hotels in the country where the guests are so well taken care of.

This was the unbought testimony of Miss Lamont, who, with her uncle, had been there long enough to

acquire the common anxiety of sojourners that the newcomers should be pleased, and who superfluously

explained the attractions of the place to the artist, as if in his eyes, that rested on her, more than one attraction

was needed. It was very pleasant to see the good comradeship that existed between these two, and the frank

expression of their delight in meeting again. Here was a friendship without any reserve, or any rueful

misunderstandings, or necessity for explanations. Irene's eyes followed them with a wistful look as they went

off together round the piazza and through the parlors, the girl playing the part of the hostess, and inducting

The height of the season was over, she said; there had been tableaux and charades, and broomdrills, and

readings and charity concerts. Now the season was on the sentimental wane; every night the rooms were full

of whistplayers, and the days were occupied in quiet strolling over the hills, and excursions to Cooperstown

and Cherry Valley and "points of view," and visits to the fields to see the hoppickers at work. If there were a

little larking about the piazzas in the evening, and a group here and there pretending to be merry over tall

glasses with ice and straws in them, and lingering goodnights at the stairways, why should the aged and

rheumatic make a note of it? Did they not also once prefer the dance to hobbling to the spring, and the taste of

Of course the raison d'etre of being here is the sulphur spring. There is no doubt of its efficacy. I suppose it is

as unpleasant as any in the country. Everybody smells it, and a great many drink it. The artist said that after

using it a week the blind walk, the lame see, and the dumb swear. It renews youth, and although the analyzer

does not say that it is a "love philter," the statistics kept by the colored autocrat who ladles out the fluid show

that there are made as many engagements at Richfield as at any other summer fair in the country.

There is not much to chronicle in the peaceful flow of domestic life, and, truth to say, the charm of Richfield

is largely in its restfulness. Those who go there year after year converse a great deal about their liking for it,

and think the time well spent in persuading new arrivals to take certain walks and drives. It was impressed

upon King that he must upon no account omit a visit to Rum Hill, from the summit of which is had a noble

prospect, including the Adirondack Mountains. He tried this with a walking party, was driven back when near

the summit by a thunder, storm, which offered a series of grand pictures in the sky and on the hills, and took

refuge in a farmhouse which was occupied by a band of hoppickers. These adventurers are mostly young

girls and young men from the cities and factory villages, to whom this is the only holiday of the year. Many

of the pickers, however, are veterans. At this season one meets them on all the roads, driving from farm to

farm in lumber wagons, carrying into the dull rural life their slang, and "Captain Jinks" songs, and shocking

free manners. At the great hop fields they lodge all together in big barracks, and they make lively for the time

whatever farmhouse they occupy. They are a "rough lot," and need very much the attention of the poet and

the novelist, who might (if they shut their eyes) make this season as romantic as vintagetime on the Rhine,

or "moonshining " on the Southern mountains. The hop field itself, with its tall poles draped in graceful vines

which reach from pole to pole, and hang their yellowing fruit in pretty festoons and arbors, is much more

Mrs. Bartlett Glow found many acquaintances here from New York and Philadelphia and Newport, and, to do

her justice, she introduced Irene to them and presently involved her in so many pleasure parties and

excursions that she and King were scarcely ever alone together. When opportunity offered for a stroll a deux,

the girl's manner was so constrained that King was compelled to ask the reason of it. He got very little

satisfaction, and the puzzle of her conduct was increased by her confession that she loved him just the same,

"But something has come between us," he said. "I think I have the right to be treated with perfect frankness."

"So you have," she replied. "There is nothingnothing at least that changes my feeling towards you."

"No, not that, either, never that;" and her voice showed excitement as she turned away her head. "But don't

you know, Stanhope, you have not known me very long, and perhaps you have been a little hasty, andhow

shall I say it?if you had more time to reflect, when you go back to your associates and your active life, it

"Why, Irene, I have no prospects without you. I love you; you are my life. I don't understand. I am just yours,

and nothing you can do will ever make it any different for me; but if you want to be free"

"No, no," cried the girl, trying in vain to restrain her agitation and her tears, "not that. I don't want to be free.

But you will not understand. Circumstances are so cruel, and if, Stanhope, you ever should regret when it is

too late! It would kill me. I want you to be happy. And, Stanhope, promise me that, whatever happens, you

Of course he promised, he declared that nothing could happen, he vowed, and he protested against this

ridiculous phantom in her mind. To a man, used to straightforward cuts in love as in any other object of his

desire, this feminine exaggeration of conscientiousness is wholly incomprehensible. How under heavens a

woman could get a kink of duty in her mind which involved the sacrifice of herself and her lover was past his

The morning after this conversation, the most of which the reader has been spared, there was an excursion to

Cooperstown. The early start of the tallyho coaches for this trip is one of the chief sensations of the quiet

village. The bustle to collect the laggards, the importance of the conductors and drivers, the scramble up the

ladders, the ruses to get congenial seatneighbors, the fine spirits of everybody evoked by the fresh morning

air, and the elevation on top of the coaches, give the start an air of jolly adventure. Away they go, the big

redandyellow arks, swinging over the hills and along the wellwatered valleys, past the twin lakes to

Otsego, over which hangs the romance of Cooper's tales, where a steamer waits. This is one of the most

charming of the little lakes that dot the interior of New York; without bold shores or anything sensational in

its scenery, it is a poetic element in a refined and lovely landscape. There are a few fishinglodges and

summer cottages on its banks (one of them distinguished as "Sinners' Rest"), and a hotel or two famous for

dinners; but the traveler would be repaid if there were nothing except the lovely village of Cooperstown

embowered in maples at the foot. The town rises gently from the lake, and is very picturesque with its church

spires and trees and handsome mansions; and nothing could be prettier than the foreground, the gardens, the

allees of willows, the long boat wharves with hundreds of rowboats and sailboats, and the exit of the

Susquehanna River, which here swirls away under drooping foliage, and begins its long journey to the sea.

The whole village has an air of leisure and refinement. For our tourists the place was pervaded by the spirit of

the necromancer who has woven about it a spell of romance; but to the ordinary inhabitants the long

residence of the novelist here was not half so important as that of the very distinguished citizen who had

made a great fortune out of some patent, built here a fine house, and adorned his native town. It is not so very

many years since Cooper died, and yet the boatmen and loungers about the lake had only the faintest

impression of the manthere was a writer by that name, one of them said, and some of his family lived near

the house of the great man already referred to. The magician who created Cooperstown sleeps in the old

Englishlooking churchyard of the Episcopal church, in the midst of the graves of his relations, and there is

a wellworn path to his headstone. Whatever the common people of the town may think, it is that grave that

draws most pilgrims to the village. Where the hillside cemetery now is, on the bank of the lake, was his farm,

which he visited always once and sometimes twice a day. He commonly wrote only from ten to twelve in the

morning, giving the rest of the time to his farm and the society of his family. During the period of his libel

suits, when the newspapers represented him as morose and sullen in his retirement, he was, on the contrary,

in the highest spirits and the most genial mood. "Deerslayer" was written while this contest was at its height.

Driving one day from his farm with his daughter, he stopped and looked long over his favorite prospect on

the lake, and said, "I must write one more story, dear, about our little lake. At that moment the "Deerslayer "

was born. He was silent the rest of the way home, and went immediately to his library and began the story.

The party returned in a moralizing vein. How vague already in the village which his genius has made known

over the civilized world is the fame of Cooper! To our tourists the place was saturated with his presence, but

the new generation cares more for its smart prosperity than for all his romance. Many of the passengers on

the boat had stopped at a lakeside tavern to dine, preferring a good dinner to the associations which drew our

sentimentalists to the spots that were hallowed by the necromancer's imagination. And why not? One cannot

live in the past forever. The people on the boat who dwelt in Cooperstown were not talking about Cooper,

perhaps had not thought of him for a year. The ladies, seated in the bow of the boat, were comparing notes

about their rheumatism and the measles of their children; one of them had been to the funeral of a young girl

who was to have been married in the autumn, poor thing, and she told her companion who were at the

funeral, and how they were dressed, and how little feeling Nancy seemed to show, and how shiftless it was

not to have more flowers, and how the bridegroom bore upwell, perhaps it's an escape, she was so weakly.

The day lent a certain pensiveness to all this; the season was visibly waning; the soft maples showed color,

the orchards were heavy with fruit, the mountainash hung out its red signals, the hopvines were yellowing,

and in all the fence corners the goldenrod flamed and made the meanest highroad a way of glory. On Irene

fell a spell of sadness that affected her lover. Even Mrs. BartlettGlow seemed touched by some regret for

the fleeting of the gay season, and the top of the coach would have been melancholy enough but for the high

spirits of Marion and the artist, whose gayety expanded in the abundance of the harvest season. Happy

The summer was really going. On Sunday the weather broke in a violent storm of wind and rain, and at

sunset, when it abated, there were portentous gleams on the hills, and threatening clouds lurking about the

sky. It was time to go. Few people have the courage to abide the breaking of the serenity of summer, and

remain in the country for the more glorious autumn days that are to follow. The Glows must hurry back to

Newport. The Bensons would not be persuaded out of their fixed plan to "take in," as Mr. Benson expressed

it, the White Mountains. The others were going to Niagara and the Thousand Islands; and when King told

Irene that he would much rather change his route and accompany her, he saw by the girl's manner that it was

best not to press the subject. He dreaded to push an explanation, and, foolish as lovers are, he was wise for

once in trusting to time. But he had a miserable evening. He let himself be irritated by the lightheartedness of

Forbes. He objected to the latter's whistling as he went about his room packing up his traps. He hated a fellow

that was always in high spirits. "Why, what has come over you, old man?" queried the artist, stopping to take

a critical look at his comrade. "Do you want to get out of it? It's my impression that you haven't taken sulphur

On Monday morning there was a general clearing out. The platform at the station was crowded. The

palacecars for New York, for Niagara, for Albany, for the West, were overflowing. There was a pile of

trunks as big as a city dwellinghouse. Babycarriages cumbered the way; dogs were under foot, yelping and

rending the tender hearts of their owners; the porters staggered about under their loads, and shouted till they

were hoarse; farewells were said; rendezvous madealas! how many half fledged hopes came to an end on

that platform! The artist thought he had never seen so many pretty girls together in his life before, and each

At Utica the train was broken up, and its cars despatched in various directions. King remembered that it was

at Utica that the younger Cato sacrificed himself. In the presence of all the world Irene bade him goodby. "It

will not be for long," said King, with an attempt at gayety. "Nothing is for long," she said with the same

manner. And then added in a low tone, as she slipped a note into his hand," Do not think ill of me."

King opened the note as soon as he found his seat in the car, and this was what he read as the train rushed

In the car for Niagara was an Englishman of the receptive, guileless, thin type, inquisitive and overflowing

with approval of everything Americana type which has now become one of the common features of travel

in this country. He had light hair, sandy sidewhiskers, a face that looked as if it had been scrubbed with soap

and sandpaper, and he wore a sickly yellow travelingsuit. He was accompanied by his wife, a stout, resolute

matron, in heavy boots, a sensible stuff gown, with a lot of cotton lace fudged about her neck, and a broad

brimmed hat with a vegetable garden on top. The little man was always in pursuit of information, in his

guidebook or from his fellowpassengers, and whenever he obtained any he invariably repeated it to his

wife, who said "Fancy!" and "Now, really!" in a rising inflection that expressed surprise and expectation.

The conceited American, who commonly draws himself into a shell when he travels, and affects indifference,

and seems to be losing all natural curiosity, receptivity, and the power of observation, is pretty certain to

undervalue the intelligence of this class of English travelers, and get amusement out of their peculiarities

instead of learning from them how to make everyday of life interesting. Even King, who, besides his national

crust of exclusiveness, was today wrapped in the gloom of Irene's letter, was gradually drawn to these simple,

unpretending people. He took for granted their ignorance of Americaignorance of America being one of

the branches taught in the English schoolsand he soon discovered that they were citizens of the world.

They not only knew the Continent very well, but they had spent a winter in Egypt, lived a year in India, and

seen something of China and much of Japan. Although they had been scarcely a fortnight in the United

States, King doubted if there were ten women in the State of New York, not professional teachers, who knew

as much of the flora of the country as this plainfeatured, rich voiced woman. They called King's attention

to a great many features of the landscape he had never noticed before, and asked him a great many questions

about farming and stock and wages that he could not answer. It appeared that Mr. Stanley Stubbs,

StokeCrudenfor that was the name and address of the present discoverers of Americahad a herd of

short horns, and that Mrs. Stubbs was even more familiar with the herdbook than her husband. But before

the fact had enabled King to settle the position of his new acquaintance satisfactorily to himself, Mrs. Stubbs

"Your great English poet is very much read here," King said, by way of being agreeable.

"So we have heard," replied Mrs. Stubbs. "Mr. Stubbs reads Tennyson beautifully. He has thought of giving

some readings while we are here. We have been told that the Americans are very fond of readings."

"Yes," said King, "they are devoted to them, especially readings by Englishmen in their native tongue. There

is a great rage now for everything English; at Newport hardly anything else is spoken."

Mrs. Stubbs looked for a moment as if this might be an American joke; but there was no smile upon King's

face, and she only said, "Fancy! You must make a note of Newport, dear. That is one of the places we must

see. Of course Mr. Stubbs has never read in public, you know. But I suppose that would make no difference,

"You know, Mr. King, we find some of the Americans so clever. We have been surprised, really. It makes us

"Oh, no. We just want to study the people and the government, and see the principal places. We were told

that Albany is the capital, instead of New York; it's so odd, you know. And Washington is another capital.

And there is Boston. It must be very confusing." King began to suspect that he must be talking with the editor

of the Saturday Review. Mr. Stubbs continued: "They told us in New York that we ought to go to Paterson on

the Island of Jersey, I believe. I suppose it is as interesting as Niagara. We shall visit it on our return. But we

came over more to see Niagara than anything else. And from there we shall run over to Chicago and the

Yosemite. Now we are here, we could not think of going back without a look at the Yosemite."

King said that thus far he had existed without seeing the Yosemite, but he believed that next to Chicago it

It was dark when they came into the station at Niagaradark and silent. Our American tourists, who were

accustomed to the clamor of the hackmen here, and expected to be assaulted by a horde of wild Comanches

in plain clothes, and torn limb from baggage, if not limb from limb, were unable to account for this silence,

and the absence of the common highwaymen, until they remembered that the State had bought the Falls, and

the agents of the government had suppressed many of the old nuisances. It was possible now to hear the roar

This unaccustomed human stillness was ominous to King. He would have welcomed a Niagara of

importunity and imprecations; he was bursting with impatience to express himself; it seemed as if he would

die if he were silent an hour longer under that letter. Of course the usual American relief of irritability and

impatience suggested itself. He would telegraph; only electricity was quick enough and fiery enough for his

mood. But what should he telegraph? The telegraph was not invented for lovemaking, and is not adapted to

it. It is ridiculous to make love by wire. How was it possible to frame a message that should be commercial

on its face, and yet convey the deepest agony and devotion of the sender's heart? King stood at the little

telegraph window, looking at the despatcher who was to send it, and thought of this. Depressed and intent as

he was, the whimsicality of the situation struck him. What could he say? It illustrates our sheeplike habit of

expressing ourselves in the familiar phrase or popular slang of the day that at the instant the only thing King

could think of to send was this: "Hold the fort, for I am coming." The incongruity of this made him smile, and

he did not write it. Finally he composed this message, which seemed to him to have a businesslike and

innocent aspect: "Too late. Impossible for me to change. Have invested everything. Expect letter."

Mechanically he counted the words when he had written this. On the fair presumption that the company

would send "everything" as one word, there were still two more than the conventional ten, and, from force of

habit, he struck out the words " for me." But he had no sooner done this than he felt a sense of shame. It was

contemptible for a man in love to count his words, and it was intolerable to be haggling with himself at such a

crisis over the expense of a despatch. He got cold over the thought that Irene might also count them, and see

that the cost of this message of passion had been calculated. And with recklessness he added: "We reach the

King found Niagara pitched to the key of his lacerated and tumultuous feelings. There were few people at the

Cataract House, and either the bridal season had not set in, or in America a bride has been evolved who does

not show any consciousness of her new position. In his present mood the place seemed deserted, the figures

of the few visitors gliding about as in a dream, as if they too had been subdued by the recent commission

which had silenced the drivers, and stopped the mills, and made the park free, and was tearing down the

presumptuous structures along the bank. In this silence, which emphasized the quaking of the earth and air,

there was a sense of unknown, impending disaster. It was not to be borne indoors, and the two friends went

On the edge of the rapids, above the hotel, the old bathhouse was in process of demolition, its shaking

piazza almost overhanging the flood. Not much could be seen from it, but it was in the midst of an elemental

uproar. Some electric lamps shining through the trees made high lights on the crests of the rapids, while the

others near were in shadow and dark. The black mass of Goat Island appeared under the lightning flashes in

the northwest sky, and whenever these quick gleams pierced the gloom the frail bridge to the island was

outlined for a moment, and then vanished as if it had been swept away, and there could only be seen sparks of

light in the houses on the Canadian shore, which seemed very near. In this unknown, which was rather felt

than seen, there was a sense of power and of mystery which overcame the mind; and in the black night the

roar, the cruel haste of the rapids, tossing white gleams and hurrying to the fatal plunge, begat a sort of terror

in the spectators. It was a power implacable, vengeful, not to be measured. They strolled down to Prospect

Park. The gate was closed; it had been the scene of an awful tragedy but a few minutes before. They did not

know it, but they knew that the air shuddered, and as they skirted the grounds along the way to the

footbridge the roar grew in their stunned ears. There, projected out into the night, were the cables of steel

holding the frail platform over the abyss of night and terror. Beyond was Canada. There was light enough in

the sky to reveal, but not to dissipate, the appalling insecurity. What an impious thing it seemed to them, this

trembling structure across the chasm! They advanced upon it. There were gleams on the mill cascades below,

and on the mass of the American Fall. Below, down in the gloom, were patches of foam, slowly circling

around in the eddy no haste now, just sullen and black satisfaction in the awful tragedy of the fall. The

whole was vague, fearful. Always the roar, the shuddering of the air. I think that a man placed on this bridge

at night, and ignorant of the cause of the aerial agitation and the wild uproar, could almost lose his reason in

the panic of the scene. They walked on; they set foot on Her Majesty's dominions; they entered the Clifton

Housequite American, you know, with its new bar and office. A subdued air about everybody here also,

and the same quaking, shivering, and impending sense of irresponsible force. Even "two fingers," said the

artist, standing at the bar, had little effect in allaying the impression of the terror out there. When they

returned the moon was coming up, rising and struggling and making its way slowly through ragged masses of

colored clouds. The river could be plainly seen now, smooth, deep, treacherous; the falls on the American

side showed fitfully like patches of light and foam; the Horseshoe, mostly hidden by a cold silver mist,

occasionally loomed up a white and ghostly mass. They stood for a long time looking down at the foot of the

American Fall, the moon now showing clearly the plunge of the heavy columna column as stiff as if it

were melted silverhushed and frightened by the weird and appalling scene. They did not know at that

moment that there where their eyes were riveted, there at the base of the fall, a man's body was churning

about, plunged down and cast up, and beaten and whirled, imprisoned in the refluent eddy. But a body was

there. In the morning a man's overcoat was found on the parapet at the angle of the fall. Someone then

remembered that in the evening, just before the park gate closed, he had seen a man approach the angle of the

wall where the overcoat was found. The man was never seen after that. Night first, and then the hungry water,

swallowed him. One pictures the fearful leap into the dark, the midway repentance, perhaps, the despair of

the plunge. A body cast in here is likely to tarry for days, eddying round and round, and tossed in that terrible

maelstrom, before a chance current ejects it, and sends it down the fierce rapids below. King went back to the

hotel in a terror of the place, which did not leave him so long as he remained. His room quivered, the roar

filled all the air. Is not life real and terrible enough, he asked himself, but that brides must cast this experience

The morning light did not efface the impressions of the night, the dominating presence of a gigantic, pitiless

force, a blind passion of nature, uncontrolled and uncontrollable. Shut the windows and lock the door, you

could not shut out the terror of it. The town did not seem safe; the bridges, the buildings on the edge of the

precipices with their shaking casements, the islands, might at any moment be engulfed and disappear. It was a

I suspect King was in a very sensitive mood; the world seemed for the moment devoid of human sympathy,

and the savageness and turmoil played upon his bare nerves. The artist himself shrank from contact with this

overpowering display, and said that he could not endure more than a day or two of it. It needed all the

sunshine in the face of Miss Lamont and the serenity of her cheerful nature to make the situation tolerable,

and even her sprightliness was somewhat subdued. It was a day of big, broken, highsailing clouds, with a

deep blue sky and strong sunlight. The slight bridge to Goat Island appeared more presumptuous by daylight,

and the sharp slope of the rapids above it gave a new sense of the impetuosity of the torrent. As they walked

slowly on, past the now abandoned papermills and the other human impertinences, the elemental turmoil

increased, and they seemed entering a world the foundations of which were broken up. This must have been a

good deal a matter of impression, for other parties of sightseers were coming and going, apparently unawed,

and intent simply on visiting every point spoken of in the guidebook, and probably unconscious of the

allpervading terror. But King could not escape it, even in the throng descending and ascending the stairway

to Luna Island. Standing upon the platform at the top, he realized for the first time the immense might of the

downpour of the American Fall, and noted the pale green color, with here and there a violet tone, and the

white cloud mass spurting out from the solid color. On the foamcrested river lay a rainbow forming nearly a

complete circle. The little steamer Maid of the Mist was coming up, riding the waves, dashed here and there

by conflicting currents, but resolutely steaming onsuch is the audacity of manand poking her

venturesome nose into the boiling foam under the Horseshoe. On the deck are pigmy passengers in oilskin

suits, clumsy figures, like arctic explorers. The boat tosses about like a chip, it hesitates and quivers, and

then, slowly swinging, darts away down the current, fleeing from the wrath of the waters, and pursued by the

Surely it is an island of magic, unsubstantial, liable to go adrift and plunge into the canon. Even in the forest

path, where the great tree trunks assure one of stability and long immunity, this feeling cannot be shaken off.

Our party descended the winding staircase in the tower, and walked on the shelf under the mighty ledge to the

entrance of the Cave of the Winds. The curtain of water covering this entrance was blown back and forth by

the wind, now leaving the platform dry and now deluging it. A woman in the pathway was beckoning

frantically and calling to a man who stood on the platform, entirely unconscious of danger, looking up to the

green curtain and down into the boiling mist. It was Mrs. Stubbs; but she was shouting against Niagara, and

her husband mistook her pantomime for gestures of wonder and admiration. Some moments passed, and then

the curtain swung in, and tons of water drenched the Englishman, and for an instant hid him from sight. Then,

as the curtain swung back, he was seen clinging to the handrail, sputtering and astonished at such treatment.

He came up the bank dripping, and declaring that it was extraordinary, most extraordinary, but he wouldn't

have missed it for the world. From this platform one looks down the narrow, slippery stairs that are lost in the

boiling mist, and wonders at the daring that built these steps down into that hell, and carried the frail walk of

planks over the bowlders outside the fall. A party in oilskins, making their way there, looked like lost men

and women in a Dante Inferno. The turbulent waters dashed all about them; the mist occasionally wrapped

them from sight; they clung to the rails, they tried to speak to each other; their gestures seemed motions of

despair. Could that be Eurydice whom the rough guide was tenderly dragging out of the hell of waters, up the

stony path, that singular figure in oilskin trousers, who disclosed a pretty face inside her hood as she

emerged? One might venture into the infernal regions to rescue such a woman; but why take her there? The

group of adventurers stopped a moment on the platform, with the opening into the misty cavern for a

background, and the artist said that the picture was, beyond all power of the pencil, strange and fantastic.

There is nothing, after all, that the human race will not dare for a new sensation.

The walk around Goat Island is probably unsurpassed in the world for wonder and beauty. The Americans

have every reason to be satisfied with their share of the fall; they get nowhere one single grand view like that

from the Canada side, but infinitely the deepest impression of majesty and power is obtained on Goat Island.

There the spectator is in the midst of the war of nature. From the point over the Horseshoe Fall our friends,

speaking not much, but more and more deeply moved, strolled along in the lovely forest, in a rural solemnity,

in a local calm, almost a seclusion, except for the everpresent shuddering roar in the air. On the shore above

the Horseshoe they first comprehended the breadth, the great sweep, of the rapids. The white crests of the

waves in the west were coming out from under a black, lowering sky; all the foreground was in bright

sunlight, dancing, sparkling, leaping, hurrying on, converging to the angle where the water becomes a deep

emerald at the break and plunge. The rapids above are a series of shelves, bristling with jutting rocks and

lodged trunks of trees, and the wildness of the scene is intensified by the ragged fringe of evergreens on the

Over the whole island the mist, rising from the caldron, drifts in spray when the wind is rable; but on this day

the forest was bright and cheerful, and as the strollers went farther away from the Great Fall; the beauty of the

scene began to steal away its terror. The roar was still dominant, but far off and softened, and did not crush

the ear. The triple islands, the Three Sisters, in their picturesque wildness appeared like playful freaks of

nature in a momentary relaxation of the savage mood. Here is the finest view of the river; to one standing on

the outermost island the great flood seems tumbling out of the sky. They continued along the bank of the

river. The shallow stream races by headlong, but close to the edge are numerous eddies, and places where one

might step in and not be swept away. At length they reached the point where the river divides, and the water

stands for an instant almost still, hesitating whether to take the Canadian or American plunge. Out a little way

from the shore the waves leap and tumble, and the two currents are like racehorses parted on two ways to

the goal. Just at this point the water swirls and lingers; having lost all its fierceness and haste, and spreads

itself out placidly, dimpling in the sun. It may be a treacherous pause, this water may be as cruel as that

which rages below and exults in catching a boat or a man and bounding with the victim over the cataract; but

the calm was very grateful to the stunned and buffeted visitors; upon their jarred nerves it was like the peace

"The preacher might moralize here," said King. "Here is the parting of the ways for the young man; here is a

moment of calm in which he can decide which course he will take. See, with my hand I can turn the water to

"Yes," said the artist, "your figure is perfect. Whichever side the young man takes, he goes to destruction."

"Or," continued King, appealing to Miss Lamont against this illogical construction, "this is the maiden at the

"You two practical people would spoil any illustration in the world. You would divest the impressive drop of

water on the mountain summit, which might go to the Atlantic or to the Pacific, of all moral character by

The relief from the dread of Niagara felt at this point of peace was only temporary. The dread returned when

the party approached again the turmoil of the American Fall, and fell again under the influence of the

merciless haste of the flood. And there every islet, every rock, every point, has its legend of terror; here a

boat lodged with a man in it, and after a day and night of vain attempts to rescue him, thousands of people

saw him take the frightful leap, throwing up his arms as he went over; here a young woman slipped, and was

instantly whirled away out of life; and from that point more than one dazed or frantic visitor had taken the

One seems in less personal peril on the Canadian side, and has more the feeling of a spectator and less that of

a participant in the wild uproar. "Perhaps there is more sense of force, but the majesty of the scene is relieved

by a hundred shifting effects of light and color. In the afternoon, under a broken sky, the rapids above the

Horseshoe reminded one of the seashore on a very stormy day. Impeded by the rocks, the flood hesitated and

even ran back, as if reluctant to take the final plunge! The sienna color of the water on the table contrasted

sharply with the emerald at the break of the fall. A rainbow springing out of the centre of the caldron arched

clear over the American cataract, and was one moment bright and the next dimly seen through the mist,

which boiled up out of the foam of waters and swayed in the wind. Through this veil darted adventurous

birds, flashing their wings in the prismatic colors, and circling about as if fascinated by the awful rush and

thunder. With the shifting wind and the passing clouds the scene was in perpetual change; now the American

Fall was creamy white, and the mist below dark, and again the heavy mass was gray and sullen, and the mist

like silver spray. Perhaps nowhere else in the world is the force of nature so overpowering to the mind, and as

the eye wanders from the chaos of the fall to the far horizon, where the vast rivers of rapids are poured out of

If our travelers expected to escape the impression they were under by driving down to the rapids and

whirlpool below, they were mistaken. Nowhere is the river so terrible as where it rushes, as if maddened by

its narrow bondage, through the canon. Flung down the precipice and forced into this contracted space, it

fumes and tosses and rages with vindictive fury, driving on in a passion that has almost a human quality in it.

Restrained by the walls of stone from being destructive, it seems to rave at its own impotence, and when it

reaches the whirlpool it is like a hungry animal, returning and licking the shore for the prey it has missed. But

it has not always wanted a prey. Now and again it has a wreck or a dead body to toss and fling about.

Although it does not need the human element of disaster to make this canon grewsome, the keepers of the

show places make the most of the late Captain Webb. So vivid were their narratives that our sympathetic

party felt his presence continually, saw the strong swimmer tossed like a chip, saw him throw up his hands,

saw the agony in his face at the spot where he was last seen. There are several places where he disappeared,

each vouched for by credible witnesses, so that the horror of the scene is multiplied for the tourist. The late

afternoon had turned gray and cold, and dashes of rain fell as our party descended to the whirlpool. As they

looked over the heapedup and foaming waters in this eddy they almost expected to see Captain Webb or the

suicide of the night before circling round in the maelstrom. They came up out of the gorge silent, and drove

King found no telegram from Irene, and the place seemed to him intolerable. The artist was quite ready to go

on in the morning; indeed, the whole party, although they said it was unreasonable, confessed that they were

almost afraid to stay longer; the roar, the trembling, the pervading sense of a blind force and rage, inspired a

nameless dread. The artist said, the next morning at the station, that he understood the feelings of Lot.

The occupation of being a red man, a merchant of baskets and beadwork, is taken up by so many traders with

a brogue and a twang at our watering places that it is difficult for the traveler to keep alive any sentiment

about this race. But at a station beyond Lewiston our tourists were reminded of it, and of its capacity for

adopting our civilization in its most efflorescent development. The train was invaded by a band of Indians, or,

to speak correctly, by an Indian band. There is nothing in the world like a brass band in a country town; it

probably gives more pleasure to the performers than any other sort of labor. Yet the delight it imparts to the

listeners is apt to be tempered by a certain sense of incongruity between the peaceful citizens who compose it

and the bellicose din they produce. There is a note of barbarism in the brassy jar and clamor of the

instruments, enhanced by the bewildering ambition of each player to force through his piece the most noise

and jangle, which is not always covered and subdued into a harmonious whole by the whang of the bass

There was nothing of this incongruity between this band of Tuscaroras and their occupation. Unaccustomed

to associate the North American Indian with music, the traveler at once sees the natural relation of the Indians

with the brass band. These Tuscaroras were stalwart fellows, broad faced, biglimbed, serious, and they

carried themselves with a clumsy but impressive dignity. There was no uniformity in their apparel, yet each

one wore some portion of a martial and resplendent dressan ornamented kepi, or a scarlet sash, or big

golden epaulets, or a military coat braided with yellow. The leader, who was a giant, and carried the smallest

instrument, outshone all the others in his incongruous splendor. No sooner had they found seats at one end of

the car than they unlimbered, and began through their various reluctant instruments to deploy a tune.

Although the tune did not get well into line, the effect was marvelous. The car was instantly filled to bursting.

Miss Lamont, who was reading at the other end of the car, gave a nervous start, and looked up in alarm. King

and Forbes promptly opened windows, but this gave little relief. The trombone pumped and growled, the

trumpet blared, the big brass instrument with a calyx like the monstrous tropical water lily quivered and

howled, and the drum, banging into the discord, smashed every tympanum in the car. The Indians looked

pleased. No sooner had they broken one tune into fragments than they took up another, and the car roared and

rattled and jarred all the way to the lonely station where the band debarked, and was last seen convoying a

The incident, trivial in itself, gave rise to serious reflections touching the capacity and use of the red man in

modern life. Here is a peaceful outlet for all his wild instincts. Let the government turn all the hostiles on the

The railway along the shore of Lake Ontario is for the most part monotonous. After leaving the picturesque

highlands about Lewiston, the country is flat, and although the view over the lovely sheet of blue water is

always pleasing, there is something bleak even in summer in this vast level expanse from which the timber

has been cut away. It may have been mere fancy, but to the tourists the air seemed thin, and the scene,

artistically speaking, was cold and colorless. With every desire to do justice to the pretty town of Oswego,

which lies on a gentle slope by the lake, it had to them an outofdoors, unprotected, remote aspect. Seen

from the station, it did not appear what it is, the handsomest city on Lake Ontario, with the largest starch

It was towards evening when the train reached Cape Vincent, where the steamer waited to transport

passengers down the St. Lawrence. The weather had turned cool; the broad river, the low shores, the long

islands which here divide its lakelike expanse, wanted atmospheric warmth, and the tourists could not

escape the feeling of lonesomeness, as if they were on the other side of civilization, rather than in one of the

great streams of summer frolic and gayety. It was therefore a very agreeable surprise to them when a

traveling party alighted from one of the cars, which had come from Rome, among whom they recognized

"I knew my education never could be complete," said that lady as she shook hands, "and you never would

consider me perfectly in the Union until I had seen the Thousand Islands; and here I am, after many Yankee

"My dear, perhaps your uncle could tell you that I saw enough of Niagara when I was a young lady, during

the war. The cruelest thing you Yankees did was to force us, who couldn't fight, to go over there for

sympathy. The only bearable thing about the fall of Richmond was that it relieved me from that Fall. But

"If you mean the Bensons," said he, with a rather rueful countenance, "I believe they have gone to the White

"Oh, not lost, but gone before. You believe? If you knew the nights I have lain awake thinking about you two,

The steamer was moving off, taking a wide sweep to follow the channel. The passengers were all engaged in

ascertaining the names of the islands and of the owners of the cottages and clubhouses. "It is a kind of

information I have learned to dispense with," said Mrs. Farquhar. And the tourists, except three or four

resolutely inquisitive, soon tired of it. The islands multiplied; the boat wound in and out among them in

narrow straits. To sail thus amid rocky islets, hirsute with firs, promised to be an unfailing pleasure. It might

have been, if darkness had not speedily fallen. But it is notable how soon passengers on a steamer become

indifferent and listless in any sort of scenery. Where the scenery is monotonous and repeats itself mile after

mile and hour after hour, an intolerable weariness falls upon the company. The enterprising group who have

taken all the best seats in the bow, with the intention of gormandizing the views, exhibit little staying power;

either the monotony or the wind drives them into the cabin. And passengers in the cabin occupying chairs and

"I always think," said Mrs. Farquhar, "that I am going to enjoy a ride on a steamer, but I never do. It is

impossible to get out of a draught, and the progress is so slow that variety enough is not presented to the eye

to keep one from ennui." Nevertheless, Mrs. Farquhar and King remained on deck, in such shelter as they

could find, during the three hours' sail, braced up by the consciousness that they were doing their duty in

regard to the enterprise that has transformed this lovely stream into a highway of display and enjoyment.

Miss Lamont and the artist went below, frankly confessing that they could see all that interested them from

the cabin windows. And they had their reward; for in this little cabin, where supper was served, a drama was

going on between the cook and the two waitingmaids and the cabin boy, a drama of love and coquetry and

jealousy and hope deferred, quite as important to those concerned as any of the wateringplace comedies, and

The evening was dark, and the navigation in the tortuous channels sometimes difficult, and might have been

dangerous but for the lighthouses. The steamer crept along in the shadows of the low islands, making

frequent landings, and never long out of sight of the illuminations of hotels and cottages. Possibly by reason

of these illuminations this passage has more variety by night than by day. There was certainly a fascination

about this alternating brilliancy and gloom. On nearly every island there was at least a cottage, and on the

larger islands were great hotels, campmeeting establishments, and houses and tents for the entertainment of

thousands of people. Late as it was in the season, most of the temporary villages and solitary lodges were

illuminated; colored lamps were set about the grounds, Chinese lanterns hung in the evergreens, and on half a

dozen lines radiating from the belfry of the hotel to the ground, while all the windows blazed and scintillated.

Occasionally as the steamer passed these places of irrepressible gayety rockets were let off, Bengallights

were burned, and once a cannon attempted to speak the joy of the sojourners. It was like a continued Fourth

of July, and King's heart burned within him with national pride. Even Mrs. Farquhar had to admit that it was

a fairy spectacle. During the months of July and August this broad river, with its fantastic islands, is at night

simply a highway of glory. The worldlings and the campmeeting gatherings vie with each other in the

display of colored lights and fireworks. And such places as the Thousand Islands Park, Wellesley and Wesley

parks, and so on, twinkling with lamps and rosy with pyrotechnics, like sections of the sky dropped upon the

earth, create in the mind of the steamer pilgrim an indescribable earthly and heavenly excitement. He does

not look upon these displays as advertisements of rival resorts, but as generous contributions to the hilarity of

It is, indeed, a marvelous spectacle, this view for thirty or forty miles, and the simple traveler begins to

realize what American enterprise is when it lays itself out for pleasure. These miles and miles of cottages,

hotels, parks, and campmeetings are the creation of only a few years, and probably can scarcely be

paralleled elsewhere in the world for rapidity of growth. But the strongest impression the traveler has is of the

public spirit of these summer sojourners, speculators, and religious enthusiasts. No man lives to himself

alone, or builds his cottage for his selfish gratification. He makes fantastic carpentry, and paints and decorates

and illuminates and shows fireworks, for the genuine sake of display. One marvels that a person should come

here for rest and pleasure in a spirit of such devotion to the public weal, and devote himself night after night

for months to illuminating his house and lighting up his island, and tearing open the sky with rockets and

shaking the air with powder explosions, in order that the river may be continually en fete.

At halfpast eight the steamer rounded into view of the hotels and cottages at Alexandria Bay, and the

The Thousand Islands Hotel, and the Crossman House, where our party found excellent accommodations,

were blazing and sparkling like the spectacular palaces in an opera scene. Rows of colored lamps were set

thickly along the shore, and disposed everywhere among the rocks on which the Crossman House stands;

lights glistened from all the islands, from a thousand row boats, and in all the windows. It was very like

If Alexandria Bay was less enchanting as a spectacle by daylight, it was still exceedingly lovely and

picturesque; islands and bays and winding waterways could not be better combined for beauty, and the

structures that taste or ambition has raised on the islands or rocky points are well enough in keeping with the

general holiday aspect. One of the prettiest of these cottages is the Bonnicastle of the late Dr. Holland, whose

spirit more or less pervades this region. It is charmingly situated on a projecting point of gray rocks veined

with color, enlivened by touches of scarlet bushes and brilliant flowers planted in little spots of soil,

contrasting with the evergreen shrubs. It commands a varied and delicious prospect, and has an air of repose

I am sorry to say that while Forbes and Miss Lamont floated, so to speak, in all this beauty, like the

lighthearted revelers they were, King was scarcely in a mood to enjoy it. It seemed to him fictitious and a

little forced. There was no message for him at the Crossman House. His restlessness and absentmindedness

could not escape the observation of Mrs. Farquhar, and as the poor fellow sadly needed a confidante, she was

"I hate slang," she said, when he had painted the situation black enough to suit Mrs. Bartlett Glow even, "and

I will not give my sex away, but I know something of feminine doubtings and subterfuges, and I give you my

judgment that Irene is just fretting herself to death, and praying that you may have the spirit to ride

roughshod over her scruples. Yes, it is just as true in this prosaic time as it ever was, that women like to be

carried off by violence. In their secret hearts, whatever they may say, they like to see a knight batter down the

tower and put all the garrison except themselves to the sword. I know that I ought to be on Mrs. Glow's side.

It is the sensible side, the prudent side; but I do admire recklessness in love. Probably you'll be

uncomfortable, perhaps unhappy you are certain to be if you marry to please society and not yourself

but better a thousand times one wild rush of real passion, of self forgetting love, than an age of stupid,

conventional affection approved by your aunt. Oh, these calculating young people!" Mrs. Farquhar's voice

trembled and her eyes flashed. "I tell you, my friend, life is not worth living in a conventional stagnation.

You see in society how nature revenges itself when its instincts are repressed."

Mrs. Farquhar turned away, and King saw that her eyes were full of tears. She stood a moment looking away

over the sparkling water to the soft islands on the hazy horizon. Was she thinking of her own marriage?

Death had years ago dissolved it, and were these tears, not those of mourning, but for the great experience

possible in life, so seldom realized, missed forever? Before King could frame, in the tumult of his own

thoughts, any reply, she turned towards him again, with her usual smile, half of badinage and half of

"Come, this is enough of tragedy for one day; let us go on the Island Wanderer, with the other excursionists,

The little steamer had already its load, and presently was under way, puffing and coughing, on its usual

afternoon trip among the islands. The passengers were silent, and appeared to take the matter seriously a

sort of linenduster congregation, of the class who figure in the homely dialect poems of the Northern bards,

Mrs. Farquhar said. They were chiefly interested in knowing the names of the successful people who had

built these fantastic dwellings, and who lived on illuminations. Their curiosity was easily gratified, for in

most cases the owners had painted their names, and sometimes their places of residence, in staring white

letters on conspicuous rocks. There was also exhibited, for the benefit of invalids, by means of the same

white paint, here and there the name of a medicine that is a household word in this patentright generation.

So the little steamer sailed, comforted by these remedies, through the strait of Safe Nervine, round the bluff

of Safe Tonic, into the open bay of Safe Liver Cure. It was a healing voyage, and one in which enterprise was

so allied with beauty that no utilitarian philosopher could raise a question as to the market value of the latter.

The voyage continued as far as Gananoque, in Canada, where the passengers went ashore, and wandered

about in a disconsolate way to see nothing. King said, however, that he was more interested in the place than

in any other he had seen, because there was nothing interesting in it; it was absolutely without character, or a

single peculiarity either of Canada or of the United States. Indeed, this north shore seemed to all the party

It was, of course, a delightful sail, abounding in charming views, up "lost channels," through vistas of

gleaming water overdrooped by tender foliage, and now and then great stretches of sea, and always islands,

"Too many islands too much alike," at length exclaimed Mrs. Farquhar, "and too many tasteless cottages and

The performance is, indeed, better than the prospectus. For there are not merely the poetical Thousand

Islands; by actual count there are sixteen hundred and ninetytwo. The artist and Miss Lamont were trying to

sing a fine song they discovered in the Traveler's Guide, inspired perhaps by that sentimental ditty, "The Isles

It seemed to King that a poem might be constructed more in accordance with the facts and with the scientific

Aside from the pyrotechnics, the chief occupations of this place are boating and fishing. Boats

aboundrowboats, sailboats, and steam launches for excursion parties. The river consequently presents

an animated appearance in the season, and the prettiest effects are produced by the white sails dipping about

among the green islands. The favorite boat is a canoe with a small sail stepped forward, which is steered

without centreboard or rudder, merely by a change of position in the boat of the man who holds the sheet.

While the fishermen are here, it would seem that the long, snaky pickerel is the chief game pursued and

caught. But this is not the case when the fishermen return home, for then it appears that they have been

dealing mainly with muskallonge, and with bass by the way. No other part of the country originates so many

excellent fish stories as the Sixteen Hundred and Ninetytwo Islands, and King had heard so many of them

that he suspected there must be fish in these waters. That afternoon, when they returned from Gananoque he

"I beg your pardon. I'm a stranger here. I'd like to try my hand at a muskallonge. About how do they run here

"Well," said the fisherman, relenting a little, "that depends upon who takes you out. If you want a little sport,

I can take you to it. They are running pretty well this season, or were a week ago."

"Well, they are scarcer than they were, unless you know where to go. I call forty pounds light for a

muskallonge; fifty to seventy is about my figure. If you ain't used to this kind of fishing, and go with me,

you'd better tie yourself in the boat. They are a powerful fish. You see that little island yonder? A

muskallonge dragged me in this boat four times round that island one day, and just as I thought I was tiring

King thought he had heard something like this before, and he engaged the man for the next day. That evening

was the last of the grand illuminations for the season, and our party went out in the Crossman steamlaunch

to see it. Although some of the cottages were vacated, and the display was not so extensive as in August, it

was still marvelously beautiful, and the night voyage around the illuminated islands was something long to be

There were endless devices of colored lamps and lanterns, figures of crosses, crowns, the Seal of Solomon,

and the most strange effects produced on foliage and in the water by red and green and purple fires. It was a

night of enchantment, and the hotel and its grounds on the dark background of the night were like the stately

But the season was drawing to an end. The hotels, which could not find room for the throngs on Saturday

night, say, were nearly empty on Monday, so easy are pleasureseekers frightened away by a touch of cold,

forgetting that in such a resort the most enjoyable part of the year comes with the mellow autumn days. That

night at ten o'clock the band was scraping away in the deserted parlor, with not another person in attendance,

without a single listener. Miss Lamont happened to peep through the windowblinds from the piazza and

discover this residuum of gayety. The band itself was half asleep, but by sheer force of habit it kept on, the

fiddlers drawing the perfunctory bows, and the melancholy clarionet men breathing their expressive sighs. It

The morning was lowering, and a steady rain soon set in for the day. No fishing, no boating; nothing but

drop, drop, and the reminiscence of past pleasure. Mist enveloped the islands and shut out the view. Even the

spirits of Mrs. Farquhar were not proof against this, and she tried to amuse herself by reconstructing the

season out of the specimens of guests who remained, who were for the most part young ladies who had duty

"It could not have been," she thought, "ultrafashionable or madly gay. I think the good people come here;

"Oh, there is a fast enough life at some of the hotels in the summer," said the artist.

"Very likely. Still, if I were recruiting for schoolmarms, I should come here. I like it thoroughly, and mean to

be here earlier next year. The scenery is enchanting, and I quite enjoy being with 'Proverbial Philosophy'

Late in the gloomy afternoon King went down to the office, and the clerk handed him a letter. He took it

eagerly, but his countenance fell when he saw that it bore a New York postmark, and had been forwarded

from Richfield. It was not from Irene. He put it in his pocket and went moodily to his room. He was in no

Ten minutes after, he burst into Forbes's room with the open letter in his hand.

"Yes I can. The proprietor says he will send us across to Redwood to catch the night train for Ogdensburg."

"But how about the Lachine Rapids? You have been talking about those rapids for two months. I thought that

"But don't you see that it isn't safe for the Lamonts and Mrs. Farquhar to go there?"

"I suppose not; I never thought of that. You have dragged me all over the continent, and I didn't suppose there

was any way of escaping the rapids. But what is the row now? Has Irene telegraphed you that she has got

"MY DEAR STANHOPE,We came back to town yesterday, and I find a considerable arrears of business

demanding my attention. A suit has been brought against the Lavalle Iron Company, of which I have been the

attorney for some years, for the possession of an important part of its territory, and I must send somebody to

Georgia before the end of this month to look up witnesses and get ready for the defense. If you are through

your junketing by that time, it will be an admirable opportunity for you to learn the practical details of the

business . . . . Perhaps it may quicken your ardor in the matter if I communicate to you another fact. Penelope

wrote me from Richfield, in a sort of panic, that she feared you had compromised your whole future by a rash

engagement with a young lady from Cyrusville, Ohioa Miss Bensonand she asked me to use my

influence with you. I replied to her that I thought that, in the language of the street, you had compromised

your future, if that were true, for about a hundred cents on the dollar. I have had business relations with Mr.

Benson for twenty years. He is the principal owner in the Lavalle Iron Mine, and he is one of the most

sensible, sound, and upright men of my acquaintance. He comes of a good old New England stock, and if his

daughter has the qualities of her father and I hear that she has been exceedingly well educated besides she is

"Hoping that you will be able to report at the office before the end of the month,

"Well, that's all right," said the artist, after a pause. "I suppose the world might go on if you spend another

night in this hotel. But if you must go, I'll bring on the women and the baggage when navigation opens in the

The White Mountains are as high as ever, as fine in sharp outline against the sky, as savage, as tawny; no

other mountains m the world of their height so well keep, on acquaintance, the respect of mankind. There is a

quality of refinement in their granite robustness; their desolate, bare heights and skyscraping ridges are rosy

in the dawn and violet at sunset, and their profound green gulfs are still mysterious. Powerful as man is, and

pushing, he cannot wholly vulgarize them. He can reduce the valleys and the show "freaks" of nature to his

own moral level, but the vast bulks and the summits remain for the most part haughty and pure.

Yet undeniably something of the romance of adventure in a visit to the White Hills is wanting, now that the

railways penetrate every valley, and all the physical obstacles of the journey are removed. One can never

again feel the thrill that he experienced when, after a weary allday jolting in the stagecoach, or plodding

hour after hour on foot, he suddenly came in view of a majestic granite peak. Never again by the new rail can

he have the sensation that he enjoyed in the ascent of Mount Washington by the old bridlepath from

Crawford's, when, climbing out of the woods and advancing upon that marvelous backbone of rock, the

whole world opened upon his awed vision, and the pyramid of the summit stood up in majesty against the

sky. Nothing, indeed, is valuable that is easily obtained. This modern experiment of putting us through the

worldthe world of literature, experience, and travelat excursion rates is of doubtful expediency.

I cannot but think that the White Mountains are cheapened a little by the facilities of travel and the

multiplication of excellent places of entertainment. If scenery were a sentient thing, it might feel indignant at

being vulgarly stared at, overrun and trampled on, by a horde of tourists who chiefly value luxurious hotels

and easy conveyance. It would be mortified to hear the talk of the excursionists, which is more about the

quality of the tables and the beds, and the rapidity with which the "whole thing can be done," than about the

beauty and the sublimity of nature. The mountain, however, was made for man, and not man for the

mountain; and if the majority of travelers only get out of these hills what they are capable of receiving, it may

be some satisfaction to the hills that they still reserve their glories for the eyes that can appreciate them.

Perhaps nature is not sensitive about being run after for its freaks and eccentricities. If it were, we could

account for the catastrophe, a few years ago, in the Franconia Notch flume. Everybody went there to see a

bowlder which hung suspended over the stream in the narrow canon. This curiosity attracted annually

thousands of people, who apparently cared more for this toy than for anything else in the region. And one

day, as if tired of this misdirected adoration, nature organized a dam on the side of Mount Lafayette, filled it

with water, and then suddenly let loose a flood which tore open the canon, carried the bowlder away, and

spread ruin far and wide. It said as plainly as possible, you must look at me, and not at my trivial accidents.

But man is an ingenious creature, and nature is no match for him. He now goes, in increasing number, to see

where the bowlder once hung, and spends his time in hunting for it in the acres of wreck and debris. And in

order to satisfy reasonable human curiosity, the proprietors of the flume have been obliged to select a

In his college days King had more than once tramped all over this region, knapsack on back, lodging at

chance farmhouses and secondclass hotels, living on viands that would kill any but a robust climber, and

enjoying the life with a keen zest only felt by those who are abroad at all hours, and enabled to surprise

Nature in all her varied moods. It is the chance encounters that are most satisfactory; Nature is apt to be

whimsical to him who approaches her of set purpose at fixed hours. He remembered also the jolting

stagecoaches, the scramble for places, the exhilaration of the drive, the excitement of the arrival at the

hotels, the sociability engendered by this juxtaposition and jostle of travel. It was therefore with a sense of

personal injury that, when he reached Bethlehem junction, he found a railway to the Profile House, and

another to Bethlehem. In the interval of waiting for his train he visited Bethlehem Street, with its mile of

caravansaries, big boardinghouses, shops, and city veneer, and although he was delighted, as an American,

with the "improvements" and with the air of refinement, he felt that if he wanted retirement and rural life, he

might as well be with the hordes in the depths of the Adirondack wilderness. But in his impatience to reach

his destination he was not sorry to avail himself of the railway to the Profile House. And he admired the

ingenuity which had carried this road through nine miles of shabby firs and balsams, in a way absolutely

devoid of interest, in order to heighten the effect of the surprise at the end in the sudden arrival at the

Franconia Notch. From whichever way this vast white hotel establishment is approached, it is always a

surprise. Midway between Echo Lake and Profile Lake, standing in the very jaws of the Notch, overhung on

the one side by Cannon Mountain and on the other by a bold spur of Lafayette, it makes a contrast between

the elegance and order of civilization and the untouched ruggedness and sublimity of nature scarcely

The hotel was still full, and when King entered the great lobby and office in the evening a very animated

scene met his eye. A big fire of logs was blazing in the ample chimneyplace; groups were seated about at

ease, chatting, reading, smoking; couples promenaded up and down; and from the distant parlor, through the

long passage, came the sound of the band. It was easy to see at a glance that the place had a distinct character,

freedom from conventionality, and an air of reposeful enjoyment. A large proportion of the assembly being

residents for the summer, there was so much of the family content that the transient tourists could little

King found here many acquaintances, for fashion follows a certain routine, and there is a hidden law by

which the White Mountains break the transition from the seacoast to Lenox. He was therefore not surprised

to be greeted by Mrs. Cortlandt, who had arrived the day before with her usual train.

"Mrs. Pendragon and the Bensons. But I didn't suppose I could tell you any news about the Bensons."

"I have been out of the way of the newspapers lately. Did you happen to hear where they have gone?"

"Somewhere around the mountains. You need not look so indifferent; they are coming back here again. They

are doing what I must do; and I wish you would tell me what to see. I have studied the guidebooks till my

"That depends. If you simply want to enjoy yourselves, stay at this hotelthere is no better placesit on the

piazza, look at the mountains, and watch the world as it comes round. If you want the best panoramic view of

the mountains, the Washington and Lafayette ranges together, go up to the Waumbec House. If you are after

the best single limited view in the mountains, drive up to the top of Mount Willard, near the Crawford

Housea delightful place to stay in a region full of associations, Willey House, avalanche, and all that. If

you would like to take a walk you will remember forever, go by the carriage road from the top of Mount

Washington to the Glen House, and look into the great gulfs, and study the tawny sides of the mountains. I

don't know anything more impressive hereabouts than that. Close to, those granite ranges have the color of

the hide of the rhinoceros; when you look up to them from the Glen House, shouldering up into the sky, and

rising to the cloudclapped summit of Washington, it is like a purple highway into the infinite heaven. No,

you must not miss either Crawford's or the Glen House; and as to Mount Washington, that is a duty."

King said he would like nothing better. Inquiry failed to give him any more information of the whereabouts

of the Bensons; but the clerk said they were certain to return to the Profile House. The next day the party

which had been left behind at Alexandria Bay appeared, in high spirits, and ready for any adventure. Mrs.

Farquhar declared at once that she had no scruples about going up Washington, commonplace as the trip was,

for her sympathies were now all with the common people. Of course Mount Washington was of no special

importance, now that the Black Mountains were in the Union, but she hadn't a bit of prejudice.

King praised her courage and her patriotism. But perhaps she did not know how much she risked. He had

been talking with some habitue's of the Profile, who had been coming here for years, and had just now for the

first time been up Mount Washington, and they said that while the trip was pleasant enough, it did not pay for

the exertion. Perhaps Mrs. Farquhar did not know that mountainclimbing was disapproved of here as

seabathing was at Newport. It was hardly the thing one would like to do, except, of course, as a mere lark,

Mrs. Farquhar said that was just the reason she wanted to go. She was willing to make any sacrifice; she

considered herself just a missionary of provincialism up North, where people had become so cosmopolitan

that they dared not enjoy anything. She was an enemy of the Boston philosophy. What is the Boston

The party that was arranged for this trip included Mrs. Cortlandt and her bevy of beauty and audacity, Miss

Lamont and her uncle, Mrs. Farquhar, the artist, and the desperate pilgrim of love. Mrs. Farquhar vowed to

Forbes that she had dragged King along at the request of the proprietor of the hotel, who did not like to send a

guest away, but he couldn't have all the trees at Profile Lake disfigured with his cutting and carving. People

were running to him all the while to know what it meant with "I. B.," " I. B.," " I. B.," everywhere, like a

From the junction to Fabyan's they rode in an observation car, all open, and furnished with movable chairs,

where they sat as in a balcony. It was a picturesque load of passengers. There were the young ladies in trim

travelingsuits, in what is called compact fighting trim; ladies in mourning; ladies in winter wraps; ladies in

Scotch wraps; young men with shawlstraps and operaglasses, standing, legs astride, consulting maps and

imparting information; the usual sweet pale girl with a bundle of cattails and a decorative intention; and the

nonchalant young man in a striped English boating cap, who nevertheless spoke American when he said

As they were swinging slowly along the engine suddenly fell into a panic, puffing and sending up shrill

shrieks of fear in rapid succession. There was a sedate cow on the track. The engine was agitated, it shrieked

more shrilly, and began backing in visible terror. Everybody jumped and stood up, and the women clung to

the men, all frightened. It was a beautiful exhibition of the sweet dependence of the sex in the hour of danger.

The cow was more terrible than a lion on the track. The passengers all trembled like the engine. In fact, the

only calm being was the cow, which, after satisfying her curiosity, walked slowly off, wondering what it was

The cogwheel railway is able to transport a large number of excursionists to the top of the mountain in the

course of the morning. The tourists usually arrive there about the time the mist has crept up from the valleys

and enveloped everything. Our party had the common experience. The Summit House, the Signal Station, the

old Tiptop House, which is lashed down with cables, and rises ten feet higher than the highest crag, were all

in the clouds. Nothing was to be seen except the dim outline of these buildings.

"I wonder," said Mrs. Farquhar, as they stumbled along over the slippery stones, "what people come here

"Just what we came for," answered Forbes to say they have been on top of the mountain."

They took refuge in the hotel, but that also was invaded by the damp, chill atmosphere, wrapped in and

pervaded by the clouds. From the windows nothing more was to be seen than is visible in a Russian steam

bath. But the tourists did not mind. They addressed themselves to the business in hand. This was registering

their names. A daily newspaper called Among the Clouds is published here, and every person who gets his

name on the register in time can see it in print before the train goes. When the train descends, every passenger

has one of these twocent certificates of his exploit. When our party entered, there was a great run on the

room was a hot stove, which was more attractive than the cold clouds, but unable to compete in interest with

the register. The artist, who seemed to be in a sardonic mood, and could get no chance to enter his name,

watched the scene, while his friends enjoyed the view of the stove. After registering, the visitors all bought

notepaper with a chromo heading, "Among the Clouds," and a natural wildflower stuck on the corner, and

then rushed to the writingroom in order to indite an epistle "from the summit." This is indispensable.

After that they were ready for the Signal Station. This is a great attraction. The sergeant in charge looked

bored to death, and in the mood to predict the worst kind of weather. He is all day beset with a crowd craning

their necks to look at him, and bothered with ten thousand questions. He told King that the tourists made his

life miserable; they were a great deal worse than the blizzards in the winter. And the government, he said,

Occasionally there was an alarm that the mist was getting thin, that the clouds were about to break, and a rush

was made outofdoors, and the tourists dispersed about on the rocks. They were all on the qui vine to see

the hotel or the boardinghouse they had left in the early morning. Excursionists continually swarmed in by

rail or by carriage road. The artist, who had one of his moods for wanting to see nature, said there were too

many women; he wanted to know why there were always so many women on excursions. "You can see

nothing but excursionists; whichever way you look, you see their backs." These backs, looming out of the

At length something actually happened. The curtain of cloud slowly lifted, exactly as in a theatre; for a

moment there was a magnificent view of peaks, forests, valleys, a burst of sunshine on the lost world, and

then the curtain dropped, amid a storm of "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" and intense excitement. Three or four times, as

if in response to the call of the spectators, this was repeated, the curtain lifting every time on a different

scene, and then it was all over, and the heavy mist shut down on the registered and the unregistered alike. But

everybody declared that they preferred it this way; it was so much better to have these wonderful glimpses

The excursionists byandby went away out of the clouds, gliding breathlessly down the rails. When snow

covers this track, descent is sometimes made on a toboggan, but it is such a dangerous venture that all except

the operatives are now forbidden to try it. The velocity attained of three and a half miles in three minutes may

seem nothing to a locomotive engineer who is making up time; it might seem slow to a lover whose

sweetheart was at the foot of the slide; to ordinary mortals a mile a minute is quite enough on such an incline.

Our party, who would have been much surprised if any one had called them an excursion, went away on foot

down the carriage road to the Glen House. A descent of a few rods took them into the world of light and sun,

and they were soon beyond the little piles of stones which mark the spots where tourists have sunk down

bewildered in the mist and died of exhaustion and cold. These little mounds help to give Mount Washington

its savage and implacable character. It is not subdued by all the roads and rails and scientific forces. For days

it may lie basking and smiling in the sun, but at any hour it is liable to become inhospitable and pitiless, and

How delightful it was to saunter down the winding road into a region of peace and calm; to see from the safe

highway the great giants in all their majesty; to come to vegetation, to the company of familiar trees, and the

haunts of men! As they reached the Glen House all the line of rugged mountainpeaks was violet in the

reflected rays. There were people on the porch who were looking at this spectacle. Among them the eager

"Yes, there she is," cried Mrs. Farquhar; "and thereoh, what a treacherous North is Mr. Meigs also."

It was true. There was Mr. Meigs, apparently domiciled with the Benson family. There might have been a

scene, but fortunately the porch was full of loungers looking at the sunset, and other pedestrians in couples

and groups were returning from afternoon strolls. It might be the crisis of two lives, but to the spectator

nothing more was seen than the everyday meeting of friends and acquaintances. A couple say goodnight at

the door of a drawingroom. Nothing has happenednothing except a look, nothing except the want of

pressure of the hand. The man lounges off to the smokingroom, cool and indifferent; the woman, in her

chamber, falls into a passion of tears, and at the end of a wakeful night comes into a new world, hard and cold

and uninteresting. Or the reverse happens. It is the girl who tosses the thing off with a smile, perhaps with a

sigh, as the incident of a season, while the man, wounded and bitter, loses a degree of respect for woman, and

In the space of ten steps King passed through an age of emotions, but the strongest one steadied him. There

was a general movement, exclamations, greetings, introductions. King was detained a moment by Mr. and

Mrs. Benson; he even shook hands with Mr. Meigs, who had the tact to turn immediately from the group and

talk with somebody else; while Mrs. Farquhar and Miss Lamont and Mrs. Cortlandt precipitated themselves

upon Irene in a little tempest of cries and caresses and delightful feminine fluttering. Truth to say, Irene was

so overcome by these greetings that she had not the strength to take a step forward when King at length

approached her. She stood with one hand grasping the back of the chair. She knew that that moment would

decide her life. Nothing is more admirable in woman, nothing so shows her strength, as her ability to face in

public such a moment. It was the critical moment for Kinghow critical the instant was, luckily, he did not

then know. If there had been in his eyes any doubt, any wavering, any timidity, his cause would have been

lost. But there was not. There was infinite love and tenderness, but there was also resolution, confidence,

possession, mastery. There was that that would neither be denied nor turned aside, nor accept any subterfuge.

If King had ridden up on a fiery steed, felled Meigs with his "mailed hand," and borne away the fainting girl

on his saddle pommel, there could have been no more doubt of his resolute intention. In that look all the mists

of doubt that her judgment had raised in Irene's mind to obscure love vanished. Her heart within her gave a

great leap of exultation that her lover was a man strong enough to compel, strong enough to defend. At that

instant she knew that she could trust him against the world. In that moment, while he still held her hand, she

experienced the greatest joy that woman ever knowsthe bliss of absolute surrender.

She had it in his presence, and read it in his eyes. With the delicious sense thrilling her that she was no longer

her own master there came a new timidity. She had imagined that if ever she should meet Mr. King again, she

should defend her course, and perhaps appear in his eyes in a very heroic attitude. Now she only said,

That evening there was a little dinner given in a private parlor by Mr. Benson in honor of the engagement of

his daughter. It was great larks for the young ladies whom Mrs. Cortlandt was chaperoning, who behaved

with an elaboration of restraint and propriety that kept Irene in a flutter of uneasiness. Mr. Benson, in

mentioning the reason for the "little spread," told the story of Abraham Lincoln's sole response to Lord

Lyons, the bachelor minister of her majesty, when he came officially to announce the marriage of the Prince

of Wales"Lord Lyons, go thou and do likewise; " and he looked at Forbes when he told it, which made

Miss Lamont blush, and appear what the artist had described her to Kingthe sweetest thing in life. Mrs.

Benson beamed with motherly content, and was quite as tearful as ungrammatical, but her mind was practical

and forecasting. "There'll have to be," she confided to Miss Lamont, "more curtains in the parlor, and I don't

know but new paper." Mr. Meigs was not present. Mrs. Farquhar noticed this, and Mrs. Benson remembered

that he had said something about going down to North Conway, which gave King an opportunity to say to

Mrs. Farquhar that she ought not to despair, for Mr. Meigs evidently moved in a circle, and was certain to

cross her path again. "I trust so," she replied. " I've been his only friend through all this miserable business."

The dinner was not a great success. There was too much selfconsciousness all round, and nobody was witty

The next morning King took Irene to the Crystal Cascade. When he used to frequent this pretty spot as a

college boy, it had seemed to him the ideal place for a love scenemuch better than the steps of a hotel. He

said as much when they were seated at the foot of the fall. It is a charming cascade fed by the water that

comes down Tuckerman's Ravine. But more beautiful than the fall is the stream itself, foaming down through

the bowlders, or lying in deep limpid pools which reflect the sky and the forest. The water is as cold as ice

and as clear as cut glass; few mountain streams in the world, probably, are so absolutely without color. "I

followed it up once," King was saying, by way of filling in the pauses with personal revelations, "to the

source. The woods on the side are dense and impenetrable, and the only way was to keep in the stream and

climb over the bowlders. There are innumerable slides and cascades and pretty falls, and a thousand beauties

and surprises. I finally came to a marsh, a thicket of alders, and around this the mountain closed in an

amphitheatre of naked perpendicular rock a thousand feet high. I made my way along the stream through the

thicket till I came to a great bank and arch of snowit was the last of Julyfrom under which the stream

flowed. Water dripped in many little rivulets down the face of the precipicesafter a rain there are said to be

a thousand cascades there. I determined to climb to the summit, and go back by the Tiptop House. It does

not look so from a little distance, but there is a rough, zigzag sort of path on one side of the amphitheatre, and

I found this, and scrambled up. When I reached the top the sun was shining, and although there was nothing

around me but piles of granite rocks, without any sign of a path, I knew that I had my bearings so that I could

either reach the house or a path leading to it. I stretched myself out to rest a few moments, and suddenly the

scene was completely shut in by a fog. [Irene put out her hand and touched King's.] I couldn't tell where the

sun was, or in what direction the hut lay, and the danger was that I would wander off on a spur, as the lost

usually do. But I knew where the ravine was, for I was still on the edge of it."

"Why," asked Irene, trembling at the thought of that danger so long ago "why didn't you go back down the

"Because," and King took up the willing little hand and pressed it to his lips, and looked steadily in her

eyes"because that is not my way. It was nothing. I made what I thought was a very safe calculation,

starting from the ravine as a base, to strike the Crawford bridlepath at least a quarter of a mile west of the

house. I hit itbut it shows how little one can tell of his course in a fog I struck it within a rod of the house!

Ah me! how real and still present the peril seemed to the girl! "You will solemnly promise me, solemnly, will

The promise was given. "I have a note," said King, after the promise was recorded and sealed, "to show you.

The next day they explored the wonders of the Notch, and the next were back in the serene atmosphere of the

Profile House. How lovely it all was; how idyllic; what a bloom there was on the hills; how amiable

everybody seemed; how easy it was to be kind and considerate! King wished he could meet a beggar at every

turn. I know he made a great impression on some elderly maiden ladies at the hotel, who thought him the

most gentlemanly and good young man they had ever seen. Ah! if one could always be in love and always

They went one day by invitation, Irene and Marion and King and the artistas if it made any difference

where they wentto Lonesome Lake, a private pond and fishinglodge on the mountaintop, under the

ledge of Cannon. There, set in a rim of forest and crags, lies a charming little lakewhich the mountain

holds like a mirror for the sky and the clouds and the sailing hawksfull of speckled trout, which have had

to be educated by skillful sportsmen to take the fly. From this lake one sees the whole upper range of

Lafayette, gray and purple against the sky. On the bank is a log cabin touched with color, with great

While dinner was preparing, the whole party were on the lake in boats, equipped with fishing apparatus, and

if the trout had been in half as willing humor as the fisher, it would have been a bad day for them. But

perhaps they apprehended that it was merely a bridal party, and they were leaping all over the lake, flipping

their tails in the sun, and scorning all the visible wiles. Fish, they seemed to say, are not so easily caught as

There appeared to be a good deal of excitement in the boat that carried the artist and Miss Lamont. It was

flyfishing under extreme difficulties. The artist, who kept his flies a good deal of the time out of the boat,

frankly confessed that he would prefer an honest worm and hook, or a net, or even a grapplingiron. Miss

Lamont, with a great deal of energy, kept her line whirling about, and at length, on a successful cast, landed

the artist's hat among the waterlilies. There was nothing discouraging in this, and they both resumed

operations with cheerfulness and enthusiasm. But the result of every other cast was entanglement of each

other's lines, and King noticed that they spent most of their time together in the middle of the boat, getting out

of snarls. And at last, drifting away down to the outlet, they seemed to have given up fishing for the more

interesting occupation. The clouds drifted on; the fish leaped; the butcherbird called from the shore; the sun

was purpling Lafayette. There were kinks in the leader that would not come out, the lines were inextricably

tangled. The cook made the signals for dinner, and sent his voice echoing over the lake time and again before

these devoted anglers heard or heeded. At last they turned the prow to the landing, Forbes rowing, and

Marion dragging her hand in the water, and looking as if she had never cast a line. King was ready to pull the

boat on to the float, and Irene stood by the landing expectant. In the bottom of the boat was one poor little

"It belongs to both of us," said Forbes, who seemed to have some difficulty in adjusting his oars.

"Both of us," said Marion, stepping out of the boat; "we really did." There was a heightened color in her face

and a little excitement in her manner as she put her arm round Irene's waist and they walked up to the cabin.

"Yes, it is true, but you are not to say anything about it yet, dear, for Mr. Forbes has to make his way, you

When they walked down the mountain the sun was setting. Halfway down, at a sharp turn in the path, the

trees are cut away just enough to make a frame, in which Lafayette appears like an idealized picture of a

mountain. The sun was still on the heights, which were calm, strong, peaceful. They stood gazing at this

heavenly vision till the rose had deepened into violet, and then with slow steps descended through the

In October no region in the North has a monopoly of beauty, but there is a certain refinement, or it may be a

repose, in the Berkshire Hills which is in a manner typical of a distinct phase of American fashion. There is

here a note of country life, of retirement, suggestive of the old fashioned "countryseat." It is differentiated

from the caravansary or the cottage life in the great wateringplaces. Perhaps it expresses in a sincerer way

an innate love of rural existence. Perhaps it is only a whim of fashion. Whatever it may be, there is here a

moment of pause, a pensive air of the closing scene. The estates are ample, farms in fact, with a sort of villa

and park character, woods, pastures, meadows. When the leaves turn crimson and brown and yellow, and the

frequent lakes reflect the tender sky and the glory of the autumn foliage, there is much driving over the hills

from country place to country place; there are lawntennis parties on the high lawns, whence the players in

the pauses of the game can look over vast areas of lovely country; there are open air fetes, chance meetings

at the clubhouse, chats on the highway, walking excursions, leisurely dinners. In this atmosphere one is on

the lookout for an engagement, and a wedding here has a certain eclat. When one speaks of Great Barrington

or Stockbridge or Lenox in the autumn, a certain idea of social position is conveyed.

Did Their Pilgrimage end on these autumn heights? To one of them, I know, the colored landscape, the

dreamy atmosphere, the unique glory that comes in October days, were only ecstatic suggestions of the life

that opened before her. Love is victorious over any mood of nature, even when exquisite beauty is used to

heighten the pathos of decay. Irene raved about the scenery. There is no place in the world beautiful enough

to have justified her enthusiasm, and there is none ugly enough to have killed it.

I do not say that Irene's letters to Mr. King were entirely taken up with descriptions of the beauty of Lenox.

That young gentleman had gone on business to Georgia. Mr. and Mrs. Benson were in Cyrusville. Irene was

staying with Mrs. Farquhar at the house of a friend. These letters had a great deal of Lovers' Latin in

themenough to have admitted the writer into Yale College if this were a qualification. The letters she

received were equally learned, and the fragments Mrs. Farquhar was permitted to hear were so interrupted by

these cabalistic expressions that she finally begged to be excused. She said she did not doubt that to be in

love was a liberal education, but pedantry was uninteresting. Latin might be convenient at this stage; but later

One of these letters southward described a wedding. The principals in it were unknown to King, but in the

minute detail of the letter there was a personal flavor which charmed him. He would have been still more

charmed could he have seen the girl's radiant face as she dashed it off. Mrs. Farquhar watched her with a

pensive interest awhile, went behind her chair, and, leaning over, kissed her forehead, and then with slow step

and sad eyes passed out to the piazza, and stood with her face to the valley and the purple hills. But it was a

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