The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1874-07-14
lFrom the New York; Tribune.l
The Best of Good COmDany,

As the July days grow hotter, and The
tiger lilies in the hedges yellow and blaze,
aud the juices Of apple aud grape become
akin 10 wine, the fine intOxieatiOn mounts
into the heads of our pretty girls ana ther
lovers. They dance and fiutter and fit from
Newport to the White Mountains, or from
the cheaper slrf OF Deal to the less genteel
peaks OF the Cheat. The social correspond
ent urges hms elf ailei them, waxing into
white heats OF enthusiasm, now over the
charms OF the maidens, now over the new
dresses OF their mothers. That debutante
may count herself unknown TO fame who has
not once at least in the season seen herself
written down among the galaxy in the local
newspaper, and blushed with delight 10 find
the world OF America knew that her new
silk was fiounced with ehantily, and that
match was limited at between herself and
Colonel A. Not that tulle rlcling would
not have been p;ettier for her gown, OF that
the colonel is The less tipsy old bore. But
IN these days OF July madness the wsest
thirst after fashionable distinction. As we
pace soleninly out of the hotel parlors at the
branch, where we have devoutly attended
Sunday service. our souls are kindled with
rapture not at any divine communiOns, but
because Mrs. A, who leads the ton at hume,
has whispered an invitation to lunch tn-msr-
row. The grave old chemist b. stands in the
doorway Though the dreary doorway through
the dreary gayeiy Of ball at Newport aud
pulls his gray mouStache, easing himself first
on one foot and then the other, like Ounce
at school, because a pretty little De.le has
given him her fan 10 hold. He was black
smith ten years ago; she is Judge C.'s
daughter. He may have learned how to
sway the forces OF nature. and to compel
their eternal secrets from the elements, but
he cannot hold up his bead before the blue
blood OF his native village. There are the
parson and his wife, at home, good, sensible.
GOd-iearlng folks, pocing over the county
paper with delight wherein Miss NJ. is set
down as the belle Of the little local springs.
Is not M. their Mary? This rage tor senteel
nntoriety does SO heat and madden the Amer
lean blood when the holidays OF the summer
solstice appear, that one is tempted 10 fear
tha; if we had less hard work to do as a peO-
pile and had leisure to develop cur natural
selves, we would be baser toades of rank than
any Of the ''eifete nations Of Europe" Odd
ly enough, however, there are summer resorts
where al the company are noble, which are
never mentioned in our social reports. They
are not difficult OF access, either; horse or 4
good pair Of leet in stout shoes will carry you
TO them. Wherever the grass begins 10
soften the streets into country lanes or the
dandeons to yellow the wagon-iCts, are tito
signs to point you TO them. You may find
this gooi company just now in Jersey, where
the pines nestle half way up to the blue
overhead, and the brown needles make u
soft bed beneath you, and cobwebs swing TO
and tro red in the silent daylight from the
old cracked trunks; the pink stars Of the pip
sissiwa thrust themselves up through the
moss, which is graz and brittle in the sea air,
and fill the sunshine and salt wind with n
subtle rare perfume. Down in the codntiy
roads OF Virginia they wait for you in great
banks of tangled grape vine and blackberries,
where the elder blossoms show eathering
the trumpet creeper, holding the heat OF sum
mer in its myriad scarlet eornucopias. All
about these hedges the hummins birds liter
ally swarm, resting their breasts on the out
SIDE of the red hO,u and piercing the green
calyx with their quiverirg bills. The Bald
Eagle hills blush and soften through all their
Srlmness into pink as rare as q madens
cheek with the northern laurel; the tan-cOl-
ored streams oozing out OF the roots Of the
pine ale edged with rare firms; the fairy pill
lrs Ot the Indian pine hide under the wet
brown sods. Along the banks of the Osio
the iron weed covers the unsightly farm
fences with It's stately purple, the go,den-rod
throws its crown, the mullein its golden scep-
tire; every dung-hlll is heaped WITH imperial
resalia. On theCarolinian mountains the
great scarlet rhodudendrou keeps up still the
led file Of war; the balsam wraps the heights
.sith funeral black. From FioriVa swamps
10 Maine pire woods these bieh-bted kiuS-
folk have donned their iairest robes and set
themselves with jewels; the lights never go
out in their audience chambers, The AIR is
never foul, the music never silent. No mat
ter who was our grandfather, we are welcome.
No matter how shabby our coat, how un-
lucky our last venture in The ket, nor
even how guilty our consciences. these hosts
at least have the curious secret OF compel-
ing us to forget il all and sending Us bome
at peace with Col and ourselves. Shall we
contine ourselves to hotels and hops all
summer, and turn our bacNs on this noble
cOmDanVp