Evening Star Newspaper, May 13, 1882, Page 7

r . MUSICAL AND DRAMATIG. THE NEW PLAYS NEXT SEASON—THE MET.O-DRAMA. AREAD—OPERATIC NOTES—MRS. SEGUIN AGAIN La BELLE RUSSE— wivew, ETC. —The season is ending in driblets. On the ‘18th (Thursday) Minnie Frye appears at the Na- tional. —“The Widow,” so successfully performed here by the Hess company, was produced Mon- day night at the New York Standard, with Mrs. Zelda Seguin (Wallace) in the title role, and | Castie as tie tenor. The singing was good, but | the opera was not li — Miss Alice Hosmer is at home in Washing- ton, the Harrisons, with whom she has been successfully engaged since November last, hav- | ing closed their season in Boston. The Boston | speak very hichiy of her abilities, among which, the Boston Gloje says: “Alice Hosmer has fine musical and histrionic abilities. Her voice is strong and pure. and she is a very pleas | ing actress, scoring a complete success here.” — Miss Annie Louise Cary has written the Management of the Cieveland vocal festival, to Occur the coming week, that she expects to be able to fill her engagement there. — Joseph Bradford has dramatized Mallock’s “Romance of the Nineteenth Century,” but it is thought doubtful if anybody in this country can y the part of Cynthia Waiters, unless Clara is takes it, — The news comes all the way from Paris that Eéwin Booth will opea his London engagement | at the Adelphi July 1 alda” bad its 200th performance at the New York Madison Square this week, and the usual souvenir was given. | — They have had a meeting in London to or- ganize an actors’ fund. The lord mayor pre- | sided. and Irving, Boucicauit, Toole and other je speeches. i] hn T. Raymond will have a new comedy ear, Which Brooks & Dickson have kought for him in Europe. He says he has made $40,000 | thus far this season. i — Rossi's business was so small in San Fran- cisco after the first night that he threw up his engagement in disgust. Fhe lias deserved a bet- ter reception in America. — “Odette” has been produced at the London Haymarket with Modjeska in the chief part, but the piece was hissed and Modjeska was unequal | to the aifecting last scene. — Charles R. Thorne, jr. Union Square Theater, New York, for good, and | will not act with the company in Boston. He saysche does not intend to act again for a long time, as he and his wife have an assured income of $12,000 a year, and they want to enjoy them- | selves. — Booth’s theater at New York has reverted to the Ames estate, beeanse the new buyers failed to pay the first installment of $125,000. The house has therefore been leased to John Stetson for another year, and longer if it Is not old, at $25,000 a year. — We shall certainly be swamped with opera next year. Word now comes from Europe that Pauline Lucca has been engaged for a tour in this country next season. Patti, Nilsson, and | Lucca, with all the lesser lights, will surely give | ‘US a8 Much opera as we can survive. | Maggie Mitchell is just now terminating the | moet successful season she has known for nine | years. Her profits for the season have been close on to $40,000. —he N.Y. Music refers to Mr. James Mor- | rissey as that ethereal combination of lather and taffy who has just come six hundred miles to ‘assure you how much he likes the payfer, and | what a pity it is that you allow those disagree- able little paracraphs to occasionally appear about him. as he always was such a good friend of yours. —HMile. Aimée is to return to this country as an English singing opera bouffe artist next / season, and with a strong company to support her. There will be some curiosity to hear a transiation of some of her former brilliant in- terpolated points in the dialogues of her repor- —It is reported that Manager J. M. Hill has | secured Adelaide Detchon, and will star her next season. Miss Detchon is an Ohio girl (from | Cleveland), and is one of the beauties of the | stage. She was for a couple of seasons with | Wallack, and lately made a very successful stel- Jar debut in Brooklyn. — Rose Stella is an actress performing in “The Colonel.” Her husband is Harry Froom, agent for the company. In Boston she gave a _ toanumber of Harvard students at | her hotel. The husband found the party assem- | Died on arriving in town, and his presence was | objected to by the guests, who had supposed | Rose to be unmarried. He thereupon knocked | her down, perhaps to demonstrate his relation- and there was a neral rumpus, after whieh she packed her tranks and moved away. —Robert G. Morris, of the New York Even- fing Telegram, author of Frank Mordauat's “Old | Shipmates,” has written a melodrama which will be brought out early next season by Jonn P. Sunth, late of “The Tourists.” It is called “The Pulse of the City,” and containstour sensational scenes—all of them faithful transeripts of places gbout New York—which will, it is expected, make the piece a certain success. —Of Gilbert and Sullivan's new opera the Spirit of te Times says: As with “Patience” £0 with the new opera by Gilbert and SuHivan, togunotir of the plot may be found in the “Bab has finally left the Once a fairy, Ught and airy, Married with a mortal; Men, ot ua Never, never | Pass the tairy portal. Siyt, Wing, she to Ealing | Made a daily journey; There she found him, Cents round him— | (He was an attorney). ‘The offspring of this marria: | and an air of holi THE BEAUTIFUL QUAKERESS OF SANDY SPRING. IN FOUR CHAPTERS. L THE WAY OF IT. Mechanicsville is a clump of half a dozen buildings where the Washington pike and that leading from Rockville to Laurel intersects— both macadamized roads. It is an important point m the midst of a beautifully cultivated region, where have been planted the pleasant seats of the Friends, for many generations. No portfon of the country within tie same distance of the capital of the republic presents so many | attractions to the cultivated eye; and no people anywhere, for culture, amenity and character, have higher claims to considerations. Not much can be said of the ville. There is a good deal j of debris about its two slovenly-kept stores, and two or three mechanic's shops, left until it has become a partot the place. No sidewalk ordin- ance Is enforced. The merchants own their own store buildings. There is a granger hall near the corners south; a venerable Episcopal church under the old oaks, a few rods west for outside Marylanders. It is twenty miles north of Wash- ington and eight miles from the nearest railroad station. Daily stages bring mails and passen- gers; and for many years several of itssurround- ing Quaker homesteads have been open to summer boarders from Washington, and the seclusion, loveliness, fine air, and health of the neighborhood render it a favored resort for many of the best. The comers and goers from the capital, in the season, help to lend aniination to Mechanicsville y festivity to the neighbor- heed. The white is of lovely Olney can be n through the embowering trees, a hundred ards or so from it to the rij looking east; and the tops of Fair Hill's crowning trees, fur- ther to the left—both favorite resorts of health and rest see of the capital. A little incident occurred at the close of a June Saturday, at the Mechanicsvi'le postoffice | —also a store—which attracted the notice of the half-dozen men who happened to be there at the time. Willa Dorset hat been set down in the neighborhood by her father’s carriage during tie afternoon, which was to call for her later. For some reason it failed to do so. A city girl would ! hought nothing of the walk, To Willa, as to any young lady of theregion, it-was quite an enterprise. She lingered; the carriage did not appear, and she started, while it was still light, to return. On the platform she met Denbigh, a young man whom she knew, and whom she would and would not see. That the meeting was embarrassing to her waa apparent. | A gentleman he was, as his manner showed. That the meeting was a pleasure to him he did not care to conceal, though the young girl's re- ception ot him was not assuring. . He appre- ea the situation. She would have avoided him. “You are alone, Miss Dorset, and must per- mit me.” was what he said, and he walked away by her side, with his hat in his hand. “The poor «irl was perplexed,” said the post- master tothe men who witnessed the meeting and departure. “She acted as if she was glad to see him, though,” remarked another. es ‘as and she wasn't,” observed a third, as they stood looking at the pair walking away together. “The first time they met was right here,” said the postmaster, a fresh-faced, white-haired man. A shrewd observer was he of what was going on. “That wassome time in February. He has been awaytwo months. This is the first time he has been back. Iam right sorry he came. Her father knows all about it—all that is said, and so does she.” “What Is it, anyway?” asked the third speaker, an outsider. “No one knows with certainty. appeared here last winter, and made his head- quarters at Higgins’. No one knew him or where he came from. A well-dressed, well-ap- pearing young man as you wish to see. He was up here one morning, and Willa rode up her mare, which cast a shoe, and she left her at the blacksmith’s shop to have another set. The fellow had been at the shop the day before, and seemed to take an interest In watching the work, and was there again, looking on, when she left her mare. and of course saw she was alone; and so, when the shoe was set, he led the mare back to the store. where she was wait- ing with her skirt on her arm, tripping about as you know she would. He knew exactly how to do such a thing in a way that no lady could help being pleased with. It was a treat to see how he manazed it. When she was in her saddle, he just lifted his hat, barely glancing at her. never speaking a word. Well, she got something at the store—some light thing that made a little bundle, and when the boy handed it up to her he kind of pitched it at her. Her mare suddenly shied, jumped to one side, and so unexpectedly to her that she was pitched out of hersaddle. It was as quick as could be, but the chap was near by and on the watch. He sprang forward and she was thrown right into his arms. You never saw anything neater than it was. He set her on her feet and He suddenly held her a half minute, till the frightened, blush- | - ing thing began to laugh.” “Well pleased. of course,” observed the sec- ond of the two men. “She couldn't be displeased,” replied the post- master. “The boy caught up the mare and led her The chap set her on again, and she rode . That was the beginning of their ac- quaintance. Well, they met here two or three times after that. ‘She usually rode up for the papers. , ayes,” sald the second speaker; “she came for the mail and he for the female,” which was received with a laugh, as this man’s things usually were. ell,” continued the postmaster, “her father was up here within three or four days, and I in- trodus Denbigh to him. He invited the chap to call there, and he went, of course. He hada hor ‘rom Washington, it was said, and went out with her almost every day. They seemed vastly taken with each other, and everybody was taken with him, and everything seemed ail right. “They was as handsome a couple as ever rode lawyer, becomes Lord Cha: love with one of the wards in C has to decide upon his own qualifications, and hear himseif argue his own case. This is Gil- | enough. Manacers Henderson and Carte will open the Standard with this opera next season, if it shall have been previously | produced in London. If not, they will open | with “The Sorcerer,” which has not been heard here, except in the Lingard version, at the | ¥ closes hisseason at Hooley’s ‘Theater, Chicago, next week. His success with “The Colonel” has emboldened him to come | y. ina | play called man of means, wh: —Mr. Pavid Belasco has written a very strong Grama in “La Belle Russe.” So strong i intrigue, an element to which modern theater- §RCrS are comparative strangers, that | the tues of Wailach’s theater, N. Y., opened | their eyes and screwed their intellects up to a | Bew point of appreciation with wonder when it | was produced on Monday night last. | —The Dramatic Times, of New York, says: “The melodramatic fever will run higher next | Season than ever. Wa k's will open with “Taken from Life,” the Union Square with the | “Black Flag.” Daiy’s th ankind,” | Booth’s probably with Sim’s new melodrama. | Mr. Coiville wiil find some *ieater in which to luce Merritt and Row: ry nd | . Leonard Grover's y,"_ though now | almost in litigation, will, no doubt, see the | ght, for it isa spféndid | ‘and several combi go out with new plays of th ‘Thro: “Oftentimes,” says Oliver Wendell Holmes, “I have seen a tall ship glide by against the tide as if drawn by an invisible tow line with a handred strong arms pulling it. Her sails unfarled, her streamers drooping. she had neither side wheel | stern wheel; still she moved on stately in ph. as with her own hfe. But [| the other side of the ship, hidden | zreat bulk that swam so majesti- as alittle toilsome steam tug, fire and arms of iron, that was tugging it bravely on I knew that if the Nittle steasn tu untwin arms and left the ship it would wallow and ro! away. and drift | and thither, and go oif with the eftaent | tide no-maa knows where. And so I have | known mere than one venius high-Jeck,full- | red. wirle-salled, yay-pennoaed, who. bat | and brave warm-beat- fog beart ofthe falthfal little wife, that nestled close to"him go that no wind gor were could! part thes, would have sone dow ‘Stream azul been heard of no more.” | im.” said the unfortunate Biblical reader, in Montgom’ry county,” said a bystander, en- thusiastically, to which there was a general as- sent. Willa being the admitted beauty of that section. . Weil,” said the for estter resamiing “things: run on in this way for two or three weeks, when he suddenly disappeared. and then everybody said how unwise it was for the Dorsets to let things go on as they had, though no one thought of it before. ‘Things ran on till he ran off,” said the wit of the party, himself an outsider, as most of the group were. “Yes; he came in the night and went in the night, like Job’s gourd,” said the first speaker. “Well. Job had all sorts, but I never heard of his rasin’ gourds before. I always understood that the old whaler Jonah did something in hard shells,” replied the wag, which was greeted with | a laugh, and provoked ironical comments upon the first speaker. “Well,” said the postmaster, “whoever planted the gourds, this young man was not heard of here again till this morning, when he came back fresh and suling as a rose. “What is it about him, anyway?” inquired our ane speaker. = Did you ever hear of that great robbery of peg Februany ?” the Treasury, which occurred asked the postmaster, in answer. “Oh. he was studying the Old Testament,” interjected the wag. The postmaster continued : “That was planned by an outsider, a man | mamed Denny. who was tracked off this way No one knew him here, till, as was thought, saw a Washington officer here one day, and lit out. This is supposed to be Denny.” **And Willa’s eyes have drawn back. I have heard It said that a girl's eyes will draw further and stronger than any other force in na- ture. I rather fancy the chap,” said our face- tious man,-now serious. “He ain't Denny. He would never have comé here, so near.” “Some think this was the sory place for such aman. No one would expect would come here, and he could keep the ran of things in Washington,” replied the 3 “That force o' nater must a took a twist onto , Whose speech was received with a laugh. ie was looking for some of Jeb’s rd .” was the reply which raised a eli, he'd better not dangle round here was the remark of another of the party “He had better not remain overFirst-day,”sald the prudent postmaster. “I suspect he hasbeen 3 said the man of parts. “He comes back to see Miss Willa, "Sach men don’t steal.” be “Our Beopie are well toward and sone ol not,” “Pil bet take him, » of ue of Job ‘The conditions of the wager were settled and ‘Then an article in a ‘achington paper waste- ferred to and discussed. It stated that the sup- posed robber had been seen the day before, near the city, going north on horseback. “@h, that was not this chap. He came to stay,” said his friend. “He came to go,” replied his ant nist. I will go you @ box on’t,” said the confident man. “A dozen is all I want,” was the reply. And then, with many good-natured comments, the neighbors mounted their horses and rode to their several homes. Many of the elder and most of the young men and women ride on horseback and are well mounted and expert horsemen. - il. WHAT WILLA DID, AND HOW SHE DID IT. In one direction the forest approaches the little ville to within 400 or 500 yards. Toward this lay the young girl's way. Her first feeling of surprise on meeting the youth was not un- mixed with pleasure. Then came another thought, with repulsion and dread. She was amazed that he should attempt to walk with her, which deepened to a sense of personal in- sult. She was very young, with no experience of the world; timid, yet having abundant latent spirit and much mental quickness. Something of her feelings her manner conveyed to her en- forced attendant, who was not destitute of ap- preheasion. His questions as to herself had the scantiest answers. Those of her parents were ungraciously disposed of. She spoke only to give the shortest answers. Fhe young man (certainly quite a young man) seemed surprised and hurt by her air and an- swers, and finally he said : ara. surprises you unpleasantly, Miss nee might say the same of thy going,” There was the best reason for that,” he an- “So men say,” cooly. “What do men say?” a little eagerly. “That thee had good reason for thy going.” “O, some time I wan't to tell you of that. 't think it involves dishonor.” ‘hee owes me no explanation,” decisivel: owe one to myself,” a good deal vex They walked along inany yards in silence. “My return is unpleasant to you, Miss Dor- set,” he said, repeating himself. hee says that,” shortly. ‘And thee does not contradict it ?” “I was taught to contradict no one,” and an- other period ot silence ensued, broken by the youth. “Miss Dorset, you are not pleased at seeing me?” “If thee must repeat that, I must say thee ob- serves justly.” “Little penetration is necessary to see it”— gloomily. At the margin of the wood a well-made road deviating from the pike, led to the Dorset homestead, not very remote. Few homesteads stand on or very near the public roads, any- where in Maryland. Into this Willa entered, = atended by the young man, who now asked : him, nother ans Bint, BESy ee you he dou't ap asay lacey! | “Miss Dorset, may I ask what men do say of me?” She hesitated an instant and answered : “That thee does not go by thy right name in these parts.” “Ido go by my right name”—spiritedly and then adding: ‘‘As far as it goes.” “Yes, they say that thee and thy name parted company by the way.” “You speak shrewdly, Miss Dorset. name nothing to you?” “It seems to be nothing, or worse, to thee,” sharply. “Can you not imagine that a young man might be romantic, might meet a young lady, and might wish to try to win her, without his name, or apart of it, and such advantage as that might give him, and trust to himself what he is alone?” 5 - “When his personal advantages are so great, Mr. Denbigh.” “Oh, Willa! you Know I am not a shallow coxcomb.” “T acquit thee of that. The maidens of the Friends are not sought in thy way,” coldly. “How are they sought, tell me? and I will seek you in your own way. “Thee would trust to thyself. Now thee would have me teach thee how to woo.” At these words he stepped before her, say: “0, Willa! you know I love you with my w! heart, as a man loves when he would win a In your heart you do not think ily There was no doubt of the intense sincerity and fervor of his words. She dropped her head and would have passedhim. ‘Do not pass me thus coldly and finally.” “Does thee think it manly to stop me in this way,” with much spirit. He stepped aside, with—“pardon my rude- ness.” He continued to walk by her when she said: “I do not know what there was in my former conduct to warrant thee in addressing me thus. If there was anything, I grieve.” “Tam not so vain, Miss Dorset, as toimagine, because a young lady is civil to me, that she is in love with me.” “‘Does thee think it right to thus address a young gisl without the consent of her pa- rents?” “I was invited to your father’s house, and paid you open attention. They knew what my feelings for you were. I will gladly go to them now if you will permit me.” “Nay, nay! Let our acquaintance end here,” she said with dignity. They approached the gate at the entrance of the homestead grounds, which were well kept. “One word,” said the persistent young man, laying a hand on the gate fastening. “One word ere we part. Ask your true woman’s heart— has it not one little—the taintest throb for me?” This was said movingly and in a voice plaintive and tremulous. “The daughters of the Friends do not ques- tion their hearts at the command of—of—the stranger,” with dignity. The young man opened the gate, saying coldly and proudly as he did so: ‘My love lies onthe ground over which you are to pass. Place your feet upon it, and stamp it into the earth.” ‘The poor child was evidently moved. She hesitated. then lifted her skirts, stepped daintily to one side, as if to avoid something, passed the gateway without raising her eyes or speaking, and ran up the walk leading to the near house. The young man closed the gate, and turned back as Willa’s father approached it from an- other way, who passed him, with a slight incli- nation of the head, in silence. “Just a trifle cool,’ as the grasshopper said to the Icicte, when he tried his teeth on it,” was the young man's soliloquy, as he turned back in the road. The twilight was deepening into confirmed is my night in the forest,ana the wood and margins of | P the fields were filled with the harsh notes of the katydids. Unheeding outward things, the thoucht of the rejected lover was on what con- cerned him more, and finally expressed itseif in words. “I always suspected I had a touch of the de- cided fool, but I never before felt it all through me.” Mother, your son is done for, and well done, according to the Macbethian rule, for “twas done aoe y.” The cries of the katydids attracted his atten- tion. “Yes, that is it. Call it through the wood all the live long night: ‘Willa did!’ ‘Willa did!" ‘Willa did it!” I can swear to that.” He went on musingly and his thoughts took another turn, which he gave us the benefit of. “Of course they have heard of It, and that ac- counts for the funny looks of men ie here. They would regard it as one of the deadly sins. She would not believe it, if’--and leaving the sentence unfinished he walked on into the heart of the old wood and of the young night. Til. YIRST DAY AT THE MEETING-HOUSE. Sandy Spring is the headquarters of the Friends community. There is the meeting- house, & lyceum building, an insurance office, & store, post office, shops, and residences. It stands some two miles east of Mechanicsville, on the Laurel road. The meeting-house, a plain, strong, brick edifice, a century old, stands south of the road, and just under some fine old eastern bit the Fagin of an extensive native forest, which it faces, with a small cleared area in front in the village-and forming a continuous sion to the nances, have such joyous ways when assembled for worship as the Friends, All days are a season of worship, of which the Sab- bath is the first. With them it is truly a holl- day. As they rode up this et they alight- ed and spent the first minutes outside in kindly greetings, while the horses were secured under the sheds or tied to the smaller trees. The elders allin the ancient costumes of the first Quakers, which was merely the puritan dress of their time, and never changed. The men, with their calm, earnest, cheerful faces; the elderly matrons, wearing the serene swectnessand love- liness which comes of lives fashioned by ‘the inner light.” The most beautiful and lovely old women are found among thé Quakers, as well a8 the most genuine ladies. The youths and maidens were nearly all in the ey costume of the well-to-do of the world. Many of the girls were comely and draped in the fashion and something of’ the style of the Capital. They were all intimates, and most of them related, as comes to be the case in peculiar communities. The meeting was Joyous, and many minutes were spent in the open air of the forest in the interchange of greetings, inquiries, good wishes, and eral Conversation before entering the meeting housé. into which the elderly and most of the middle aged withdrew, leaving the younger in uffestrained conversa- tion outside. A close observer would have noted something unusual in the air and tone of the assemblage oh this thorning; voices in earnest inquiry, and moments’ of sileace, as of Le al opal enbigh was known to ‘them all. Many of them had seen him with Willa, and many a fair oung quakeress would not have greatly ob- Jectea to ocoupying her place’ In his attentions and regards. Allthat was known or had been said of him in connection with her, and other things, all knew. They knew he had disap- fea and the supposed reason. Everybody | new of his return, and everybody soon learned that he met her the evening before, and walked home with her, and left her at the gate. . It transpired also that officers came into ‘the | neighborhood for his arrest during the night, and were on the lookout for him. Yet, whether arrested or escaped, no one yet kne It was wondered whether the Dorsets would be at the meeting. It was said they would not, and while the buzz was loudest they drove up. Willa was with them, and the young girls gath- ered about her, some to look at and talk avout her, but the most to indirectly sympathize with, support and protect her. She was cool and col- lected, felt that she must be there. At about the time of the latest arrivals two strangers got out of a carriage. left a little dis- tant from the meeting-house, leoked carelessly about them, approached the veranda and paused, when one ot them was recognized as a famous Washington detective. This fiashed over the eager group and produced a sensation. The officer’s acquaintance approached and spoke to | him, and many of the younger men gathered about near them. It was seen at once that Den- | bigh had not been arrested, and that the officers may have expected to meet him at the Sandy Spring meeting-house. A greater sensation awaited the assembled Friends, among whom were several outsiders. Within three or four minutes after the arrival of the detectives Denbigh himself was discovered leisurely riding through the woods along a road from the southwest, approaching the meeting- house. A general irrepressible “That is him!” was followed by a profound silence, which grew toa painful expectancy. At the first exclaina- tion the two officers looked up, glanced at the approaching horseman, looked at each other, and laughed. “Tt is rough on him, and on us, too,” .aid the principal of the two, whom his companion called Mack, and who addressed him as Pard. “Well, but they do look a little bit alike at a distance,” replied the Pard. “He looks about as muchi Itke handsome man does liki yu, Pard. “No, he don't, though,” was the reply. “He calls himself Denbigh here, and that sounds like Denny, and helped the ‘blunder—as | if Denny wouldn't even change his name! You know this one was keeping dark three or four months ago, and: this place wouldn't answer his purpose for that,” said Mack in explana- tion. ‘Which of the young ladles has he been at- tentive to her he asked, turning to the young men about him. ‘The one who just now aat down by the tree there,” answered one of them, with a jesture in Willa’s direction. : “That explains it,” was thé response of Mack, who asked the question at hazard. In the meantime Denbigh dismounted, tied his horse to a small tree, andi approached the meeting house, passing near the little scared group about Willa, who, unable to sustain her- self, sank onto a seat near an old oak. Ashe i became aware of her presence: he lifted bis hat and passed her without word or look. All eyes were on him, with glances at the officers; those | remote from them expecting his i jiate ar— rest; and the young companions of Willa gath- ared closely about her, as if to screen her eyes from the spectacle. As he passed the cluster of girls the detective approached him, laughing. He saw them and turned toward them, when they lifted their hats with the most profound respect. He knew | Mack, shook hands with him, nodded to his pard, and kept on his way to the. meeting house, which he entered. ‘ “Why,” Denny as a exclaimed one of the group. about Willa, “he goes straight up to that awful Mr, Mack! What a cool, proud way he has. Oh! they take off their hats to him! and he shakes hands with Mr. Mack! 0, [shall die! There! he turns laughing, away, and goes toward the meeting-house, and they let him go! Did you ever,ever,ever!” as of course they never did,and that was all there was of it, save a great sense of relief. and a general rush into the mecting- house after Denbigh. The rare Benjamin Hallowell, one of the rarest men, an intrinsically great man, the silver-tonzued preacher of the Hicksite Friends, was sleeping in his grave uader the oaks, a few yards to the right and back from the meeting- house. The service this morning will be a silent and otherwise an inexpressibly reverent wor- stip and waiting, and we will remain to note the outside happenings in the open air. ‘The oificers followed to the veranda, and gat down on the steps. “That is him,” said the young man, who still anticipated a catastrophe, as did a half-score who remained outside. “Yes-that's*him, sure enough, but not Denny,” replied Mack. ine thee going to take ’im?” asked the chal p. ‘Take the devil!” immensely disgusted. “This would be the very place to find him,” sald the wag of the night before, who was resent. “How would you like to place the nippers on. ‘im, Mack?” asked the Pard. “Who? The devil? I would as soon pot them | on President Arthur as him,” with a nod of his head towards the meeting-house. “Who is he, anyway?” asked the first speaker. “You say he calls himself Denbigh here. He may be what phases him,” with a trucculent stare, as if that was the business of none but the party himself. “So she, under the tree, is the lucky one?” he went on to say. ‘Well she is a fair excuse. If she hooks him it will be what no Washington woman can do.” “And they haye all tried,” said the Pard. “Is he rich?” ‘Is he rich?” with another stare. ‘Well, Pard, let’s be off,” and they walked away in the direc: tion of their carriage, with the air of men who had been sold, when their own sagacity should have protected them, In the meantime Willa and her group had arated. The most of them went into the m immensely relieved, did , and with a special friend she Pat THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, SATURDAY, MAY 13, 1882—DOUBLE SHEET. “* He quoted some lines from an old ballad.” “0, how romantic!” turning to look after the retiring young man. ‘I hope they are sg now they have driven him away from “Nay, nay; I drove him awa myself.” Her "friend accompanied her back to her mother’s carriage, which she entered, and they drove away. The Friends remained ‘in groups for a few minutes, talking over the SS en o cidents of the day, and then dispersed carriages and horses, and soon the grim old meeting-house was left to the silent keeping of the solitary wood. If, in fancy, we follow the various groups to thelr widely dispersed and beautiful homes, and observe them for the rest of the day, we should find them devoting it to family reunions, neigh- borhood gatherings, calls, visiting and pleasant social converse. Iv. FAIR HILL. Mra. Lozier was the next sensation of the Sandy Spring community, which seldom permits itself to go beyond a sensation, where it is not taken by surprise, as in the case of Denbigh, destined to remain a mystery for some weeks. She applied for rooms at Fair Hill so late that the mistress was perplexed and a little dismayed. She found her, as she had some others of whom she had heard, one of the easiest to please. That she who had been conspicuous at the great watering places in this country and in Europe should content herself with ruralizing so near home, created comment at the She was charmed with Fair Hill, and guest, from the first, became something more than boarding-house keeper and boarder. Mrs. Lozier was a belle in her young lady days, a social queen in her married years; lost her husband, went to Europe, returned, married a second time, and was a second time a widow. While retaining much of her earlier prestige, she contented herself with a smaller and more select circle. With a wide experience, she had extracted its best, while she cherished a vein of the romance of her girlhood. She had lived the life of which her new friend of Fair Hill had only heard and read, yet they had much in common. Both were shrewd ob- servers, and each appreciated the best in the other. Mrs. Lozier was charmed with the ram- bling old brick and wooden house (brick brought from England), its stairways, warped floors, and many nooks: was fond of hearing of its ol time importance, its traditions, and even talke of restoring its lost ghost legend of whi at least still haunted the within the later years almost seen or come very near hearing it. There Fair Hill, wh with the guests at Olney, made the days festive, especially when Joined by the | male compliments of husbands and lovers from | Young girl In blissful tears, between her lover the Capital. Acquaintances were soon made with the families of the neighborhood, espe- cially the younger members, among whom were many lovely and accomplished girls, and eligible young men—gentlemen, though tillers of land. Conspicuous among these was Willa Dorset,wno early attracted the notice of Mrs. Lozier, who seemed at once to distinguish her by marked in- terest and attention. So beautiful, sweet, fresh and modest, possessed of rare, shy, good sense, graceful and apt in all her girlish ways. Mrs. Lozier had with her an elderly lady companion, and maid, and soon attracted to herself the young girls’ liking. She was the companion of the ladies’ drives and walks, read charmingly, had a delicious voice, and sang with much effect several little airs. The Dorsets, people of fine culture, were pleased and flattered by the great lady's notice, and between her and them there come to be much mutual esteem. Something there was of pensive, just a flitting shade of sadness at times noticeable in the look and manner of the young girl,which her friend came to observe, and upon which she sometimes playfully rallied her, and which usually called up a delicious increase of color, followed by an unwonted palor. More than once the true-hearted Indy said—‘“never pany Willa, I will some time bring you a lover.” Nothing was sald by any one to Mrs. Lozier of the Denbigh affair, to which no reference was ever made in the presence ofthe young girl. It was supposed, however, that in the precious child’s heart she cherished the memory of the rejected lover.and his last words to her, the ominous quotation from Rokeby. The summer ran its course through July, and deep into August, and the social world of the Friends and their guests flowed pleasantly along, with no incidents graver than an occasional pic- nic, evening lawn party, theatricals, dances, or an excursion to some neighboring point of mild interest, enlivened by fiirtations among the young people and rather coloriess gossip of the seniors. From the rear of the main building at Fair Hillis an ell, the ground floor of which was once a spacious school-room for young ladies. This had been transmuted into a parlor, a danc- ing-room and on occasions a theater. Thesun lngers longest among the tree tops over Fair Hill. It was already twilight below. Mrs. Lozier and Willa were alone in the large room. + Everybody else was out under the trees in front of the house. The young girl had been reading to her friend and the tale had depressed her. She laid the book by. 2d “Sing me your song of the violet,” sald her watchful friend, who had by a little finesse detained her in the room. There was a wistrul expression In the girl's eyes, as if she would rather not; then she arose, proceeded to the piano, on which she accom- panted herself, and rendered with touching effect the exquisite air, burdened with the fol- lowing words: “In the grass the violet low, Ope’s timid her heart to the sun, Her heart tothe sun. ‘The sun’s love, with passionate flow, Lights earth and stars with golden glow, Vile the violet loves but one, Loves but ene, Loves one, ‘Heart and soul drink the golden ray, From the great SES eye, Y e jun's coming ves Ib aw ‘When closes her heart todles” Closes As the child’s voice died away with the re- train, she became conscious of the presence of some other person, who had stolen in while she was singing. “Ere she turned from the piano, Mrs. Lozier, who had risen, approached, bent over her and kissed her cheek, saying: “i told you I would bring you a lover. “O, who is here?” cried the girl, Holga her feet, and turning suddenly she faced bigh. She sank slowly into her seat again. “My son, Samuel Denbigh Lozier,” said the mother, not quite prepared for the effect on the surprised, almost overcome chil ‘Indeed—indeed, Mrs. Lozier,” cried the girl, covering her face with her hands. The woman bent tenderly over her again. “You do not hate him?” she whispered. “Hate? 0, Mrs. Lozier!” in the same tone. with AG is so unhappy;. you will love him a ler” “They ray,” sald the young girl, not raisi that fly into their han “O, that is It?” kissing her fondly. «They told tales of him to my father, but I did not believe them,” she said, with her face still turned downward. ing, which she, thor walked away into the forest, wandering aim- lessly about, until the meeting dissolved Itself by that common impulse or silent consent which terminates the sessions of worship. igh came in some way tq understand the ; under which he he was Indig- of him, and 4 ris l g i HF and several had | a pleasant company that summer at | ives me.” “And thee would not say one when that would have made all clear, mn. “And so did I,” natvely, with lowered face. 0, you blessed! Precious! If I pained thee when I went, let me try to bless thee with m; life's devotion now, when I come back,” ing her form of in his fervor. They stood silent under the for a half-minute. “Dost love me, Willa?” “Do Llove thee? Dost The young man bent his head and proffered his lips—*Kiss me, then.” The girl cast her eyes shyly around. “TI never kissed even my father’s lips. Thy gracious mo- ther—” she paused. “Well, my gracious mother,” laughing. “Might not approve,” refusing to meet his eyes. “Would you ask your own mother?” “Tam less in awe of her.” “Did not my blessed mother come here on purpose to seek your love, you, and all—for my sake—for me—and then tell me when I might come?” 0, Denbigh! how unworthy I am.” “Unworthy! when we think you are more than worthy,” again proffering his lips. aces as importunate asa beggar at the am a beggar,” laughing. As they thus stood, the coy one still hesitat- ing, Mrs. Lozier approached, and without de- signing it, surprised them. “Oh, here is my gracious mother,” said the youth, turning to her. “I asked her for a kiss, and she said I'am as importunate as a beggar at the door-bell,” laughing. “T don’t doubt that,” said the lady. “We are taught to be miserly of kisses,” said the coy one, the dimples in her cheeks overflow- ing with color. “You are wise, sweet little miser,” said the mother, “yet it may be wiser to give,” she ad- ded, turning her face from them toward the | house, while her ample person covered them from the observation of any idle and curious enough to watch them. “You blessed, heavenly mother,” was Den- bigh’s response to his mother’s words. When the gracious lady turned to them again, they were standing very close, withan arm about a consenting waist. The three moved together about the lawn, the and his"mother. Later, the Lozier carriage was driven around, Willa was placed on the cushions, and attended by Denbigh was driven towards her home. It sopped ‘at the roadway in the wood and the lovers walked over the path of Denbigh’s re- turn, a rejected loveron that June night, and he told her of the mocking jeers of the katydids, who chanted in different tones on this ripe sum- mer evening. The return of Denbigh, as the son of Mrs. Lozier, to claim the love of Willa, is still the talkand wonder of Sandy Spring.’ And not a shaded, winding old road under the trees which abound there, but what in the succeeding days saw the happy ones in some of their many horseback excursions. "Ere Christmas time there was a famous wed- ding, and Willa spent the winter in the Capital. The next she will go abroad. Washington, D. C. —————— Saturday Smiles. —Anew regime. Mr. Threefingers of Wash- ington, D. C., gathered courage the other day to say to Mrs. Three! “Wife, I must have that night-key now. This isn'ta Hayes admin- istration."—Louisville-Courier-Journal. —Adam, of all husbands, was the least hen- ‘ked. Whenever Eve would begin to remind im of his shortcomings, he had only to say, “Madame, I hope you haven't forgotten that little affair of the apple.” ‘anted, a distinguished and healthy. looking man to be a ‘cured patient’ in a doctor waiting-room. Address I. B. R., Poste Res- tante.”—French Advertisement. —A nice-looki oung man, who seated him- selt in a well-fill forth Side car, held in be- tween his jewelled fingers the stump of a cigar, giving out its dying fumes. They are not a pleasant odor, even to old smo! ‘and in this case was specially vicious, One bright little miss, @ dozen years old, saucily remarked, to be heard: “‘Ifhe will throw it away, I will pick him up a r stump as soon as we get up to the park.” Tt was not long before that young man went to the front platform to see a man.—Cleveland Herald. —Live within your income. It’s terrible hard work to live without it.—Philadelphia Chronicle- Herald, —“Does the world miss any one?” asks a gloomy writer. Just at the present that large portion of ie world ‘known as Soyees Howgate; we don’t suppose answ Norristown Herald. —“Waiter,” he said, suddenly looking up after ling full five minutes with a piece of meat, “waiter, what do they do with these so- called beefsteaks when we get through with them?” The waiter was a trifle disconcerted, but said le ate them. “Incredible!” ex- claimed the ; “I cannot believe you!’ Hotel Mail. “Yes,” said the country member, “I went to that variety show because I felt sure there'd be nobody there who knew me! Durned if pretty much the whole legislature wasn’t there!”— Boston Post. =— Rev. Samuel R. Wilson, of Madison, Saye he would rather stand alone with Paul than with the women. Well, we guess we won't ‘THERE Is Bur JAMAICA GINGER IN THE MARKET, q ; ; ; FRED'K BROWNS DHTLADELPHIA, « All others are Imitations or made to eell on the reputin tion of the Original, and may do harm, while FREDE- RICK BROWN'S PHILADELPHIA, will always be @ blessing tn SPRING, SUMMER, AUTUMN, ani in al STOMACH DISORDERS, For SLEEPLESSNESS, For SUDDEN CHILLS, WHEN DRENCHED DURING THE EQUINOX, WHEN COLD IN WINTER, WHEN DISTRESSED IN SUMMER, Buy a bottle of your Druggist or your Grocer for 50 Cents, (insist on having the GENUINE given you— *REDERICK BROWN'S PETLADELPHIA,) and you will secure an article which will serve you well—ALL THE YEAR ROUND. a Yost rtae's CELEBRATED OUISIANA STATE LOTTERY. UN: ENTED ATTRACTION! PREV EE HALF A MILLION DISTRIBUTED! LOUISIANA STATE LOTTERY COMPANY, i in 1868 for twenty-five years laturetbr Edgcabonal aud Chasviate’ purpose Foti ‘of | $1,000,000—to which @ reserve fund a bey ‘ore ovlar vote ttn franchise = part of the it State Constitution December 2d, A. D-, 1879. ITS GRAND SINGLE NUMBER DRAWINGS WILL TAKE PLACE MONTHLY. IT NEVER SCALES OR POSTPO! ‘Look at the following distribution: GRAND PROMENADE CONCERT, During which will take the idSra GLAND MO: AxD THE EXTRAORDINARY SEMI-ANNUAL DRAWING, AT NEW OKLEANS, “ TUESDAY, JUNE 13, 1882, ‘Under the * stand in with Brother Wilson. Wefear it would be a little lonesome out in the next world with Just him and Paul.. Journal. — “I see a great many pictures of goats hang- ing up in the windows, lately,” said a New Ha- ven woman to her husband. “Is it a goat fes- tival or something of that sort?” “No, my dear,” replied her husband; *‘it is—it is—well, it is—I believe it has something to do with beer or some such thing;” and he tried to look innocent, but it was no use. She fixed her eye him and sald: “I saw into one of those ‘atores,” Register. and thor you'd know.””—New Haven A MEDICINE FOR WOMAN. 5 SEEESESS $58 S2585828E58 4 ga EB Bes: ts 5i Z ‘e ‘all drawung are sold and drawn ond vata. LW REE FR. NO ADVANCE IN LUMBER a WILLET & LIBBEY’s. SAME PRICES AS LAST YEAR ‘Wo have 6,000,009 feetef Lumber, carried over from ‘last year, and we will sell every foot of tt at old prices, - Se Dachata Ordinary Cobe.nnee.. SM