The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1871-05-29

i
| A wide expanse of moor, growing crimson with
the heath blooms, which were already beginning
to burst into blossom, was dotted here and
there with hocks of the diminutive mountain
sheep, and herds of shaggy black and dun
cattle, at once sulen, picturesque, and intract-
able. The widespread panorama was inter-
sected in all directions by winding mountain
streams, which, although running very low on
account of the extreme heat of the weather, yet
retained sufficient water in their channels to
supply the browsing focks and herds, and to
add greatly to the beauty of the wild and eX-
quisite picture. The sun, not yet fully risen,
hung q great globe of gold over the few scat
tered frs which crowned some of the hill-tops,
and, dispensing the mists as he ascended, gave
promise of magnificent day.
The young artist, dashing the hair from his
brow, stood gazing on the lovely scene with a
rapt intensity of gaze and thought, only known
to those hard brain and hand toilers of the great
Babylon, to whom 1t is rarely given to snatch a
few hours from the turmoil of city existence,
and commune with nature in her own sOlitudes.
He looked back at the little rose-bowered cot
tage, which he had left mile behind him, and
almost felt that he could be content to resign
forever the golden dream of ambition, and, with
the friend of his heart and the wife of his bosom
for companions, pass in this sweet and solitary
spot tranquil, if an unanbitious existence.
But moments reflection awoke him from the
dream, aud recalled his wandering imagination
to the realities of life.
81 must not lose the fine effects of those early
mountain mists" he murmured to himself ITO
Unattainable balance no bankers book. All,
well J" Then choosing favorable situation, he
began the outline of sketch of sunrise on the
Welsh mountains.
The artists heart was in the work, and it grew
under his loving fingers. 1t was already half
colored, when soft yet unmistakable express
sion of surprise caused him to drop his brush
and look hastily round.
few yards behind him stood a young lady.
She was of dazzling fair complexion, just in
the slightest degree tinged by sun brown, and
was rather tall of figure than otherwise. Her
eyes were large, liquid, and of a melting tender
ness, their color blue. Her small queenly head,
covered with sunny chestnut braids, was grace
fully set on slender white neck. Her smile
was of surprising beauty-it lit up her whole
face-and her hands and feet were exceedingly
small and beautifully proportioned.
This fair girl, who was apparently about twenty
years of age, wore plain white dress, with
tartan scarf and sash, and white straw hat
simply trimmed with purple and white heath
blossoms. She might have passed for Ellen in
the Lady Of the Lake.
80 dear, am sure beg your pardon" said
the lady.
"Anne Boleyn, by Jove!" thought the gentle
man; but he said as he glanced at the sketch
book she held in her hand-"Nay, beg yours,
if, as guess, l have occupied the place from
which you intended to sketch?"
as she saw Reginald Ashe begin putting to-
| gether his palette and brushes. "Mine is no
sketch, it is merely scratch. l was never
taught: In fact, this is my first attempt"
| But Reginald had risen.
20, do pray finish your painting" said the
| young girl. Il shall he sodistressed!" And she
really looked so."' ''May glance at it3" she
20 yes, 1 shall be most happy" said the
yeung man, looking at her with an artists eye
Beautiful" cried she.
Beautiful indeed!" echoed he But the lady
meant the sketch, and the artist meant the
lady.
1t is perfectly wonderful, when people have a
| taste in common, how quickly they manage to
make friends over it. Bring two enthusiastic
musicians, painters, or politicians together for
as ney
their lives. 1t is no wonder, then, that the ac-
quaintanceship progresses rapidly, when on the the
girl, and on the other handsome and clever
young man of fascinating manners.
Reginald found himself explaining and sug-
gesting to the young girl, as if he had been
He ran through the gamut of 'outline, 'tone, "
"coloring" and ''chiaro oscuro, with glib pro-
iciency. Nor did his fair pupil appear by any
means 10th to learn. 1t must be said in
her excuse Qf any of our bewitching town
bred ladies who read this pronounce her a
"beld thing'O, that Belgravian etiquette has
not as yet been introduced into
| the Welsh mountains-and long may it be ere it
is so! Lillian Wrasse (for it was the Rector's
daughter) was speaking to stranger without
an Introduction, it is true; but then mutual
love for art drew them together, and the young
lady spoke and acted in every way as only a
true gentlewoman can do.
| Meanwhile having finished his own sketch, the
artist was examining that OF Miss Wrasse, and
pointing out to her in what respects 1t was def
cient 1t was a crude affair, as might have been
expected from an untaught hand; but rude as it
was IL nevertheless bore evidences within ii OF
true artistic instincts. Lillian was pleased with
the artists appreciation of what was good in her
sketch, tempered as it was by honest censure OF
that which WAS bad.
II like to be told my faults, she said "Papa
says my drawing is perfection; but ! know,
feel it is not. o, thank you for telling me-"
Reginald was amused yet pleased. How diff
ferent was this unsophisticated girl from his fair
London acquaintances, with whom, to question
the perfection of anything they did, was to put
oneself under the ban of perpetual exile from
circles polite.
Nobody ever taught me, you see," said
Lillian; 80, l should like to have a master"
"And should like to be he," thought Reg
inald. But he did not say SO. He knew tue
proprieties. Yet he was more than half in love
with this charming. Welsh maid already. A
pang shot through his heart as he reflected that
this chance meeting would probably be the last,
since he knew not who the young lady was.
Did similar reflection possibly cross Lilian's
mind 1t is not improbable.
The sun had by this time risen high in the
heavens, and Miss Wrasse hastily prepared to
turn her footsteps homewards.
81 am so much obliged to yeu for your hints,
she said, adjusting her red plaid scarf; II shall
be sure to profit by them"
80, do not thank me-" he said, with glow
on his handsome face. SIT has been such a
pleasure" Then, unable to resist the tempta-
ton, he added, May l not hope We shall
meet"
But with graceful bow, she turned away
her blushing face and was gone.
The artist stood a few moments watching
the tall slight hgure as, with white dress hut-
tering, it slowly descended from the hill slope
hall II