New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1874-07-10
THE REST or GOOD COMPANY.

THE BEST OF GOOD COMPANY.
AS the July days grow hotter, and the tiger
lilies in the hedges yellow and blaze, and the
juices of apple and grape become akin to
wine. the fine intOXicatiOn mounts into the
heads of our pretty girls and their lovers
They dance and hutter and fit from Newport
TO the White Mountains, or from the cheaper
surf of Deal to the less genteel peaks OF the
Cheat. The social correspondent urges him
self after Them waxing INTO white heats OF
enthusiasm. now over the charms of the maid
ems, 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 starry galaxy in the local news
paper, and blushed with delight to find that
the world of America knew that her new silk
was founced with chantilly, and that match
was limited at between herself and Col. a
Net that tulle ruching would not have been
prettier for her gown, or that the Colonel Is
the less a tpsy Old bore.
But in these days of July madness the
wiscst thirst after fashionable distinction.
As we pace sOlemnly out of the hotel parlorS
at the Branch, where we have deyoutly at
tended Sunday service, our souls are kildled
with rapture not at any divine cOmmunlons,
but because Mrs. A., who leads the ton at
home has whispered an invitation to lunch
Tomorrow. The grave old chemist b. stands
in the doorway through the dreary gayety
of a ball at Newport and pulls his gray mus
tache, easing himself first on one foot ana
then the other, like Ounce at school, because
n pretty little belle has given him her ian TO
hold. He was a blacksmith ten years ago;
she is Judge C.'s daughter; he may have
learned how to sway the forces of nature and
IN comnel their eternal secrets from the ele-
ments but he cannot hold up his head before
the blue blood of his native village. There
are the parson and his wife, at home good
sensible Od-fearing folks, porting over the
county paper with delight wherein Miss NJ. Is
set down as the belle of the little local springs
Is not NJ. their Mary
This rage for gentee notoriety does so heat
and madden the American blood when the
HOLIDAYS of the Summer sOlstice appear, that
one is tempted to fear that If we had less
hard work to do as a people and had leisure
to develop our natural selves we would be
baser toadies of rank than any of the "effete
"nations of Europe Oddly enough, how
ever. there are Summer resorts where all the
company are noble, which are never mentioned
in our social reports. They are not difficult OF
access, either horse or Il good pair of feet
in stout shoes will carry you to them.
Wherever the grass begins to soften the streets
into country lanes or the dandellons to yellow
the wagon-ruts, are the signs to point you 10
them. You may find this good company just
now in Jersey, where the pines nestle half
way up to the blue overhead, and the brown
needles make a soft bed beneath you, and
cobwebs swing to and fro red In the silent
daylight from the old cracked trunks the pink
stars of the pipsissiwa thrust themselves up
through the moss, which is gray and brittle
in the sea air, and fill the sunshine and salt
wind with subtle rare perfume. Down III the
country roads Of Virginia they wait for you
in great banks of tangled grape-vines and
blackberries, where the der-bl0ssoms show
feathering white against long, triumphant
stretches of the trumpet creeper, holding the
heat Of Summer in its myriad scarlet cornu-
copias. All about these hedges the hummlng-
birds literally swarm, resting their breasts on
the outside of the red horn and piercing the
green calyx with their quivering bills. The
! Raid Eagle hills blush and soften through all
their grimness into a pink as rare as
malden's check with the Northern laurel; the
tan-colored streams oOzing out of the roots OF
the pine are edged with rare ferns; the fairy
pillars of the Indian pipe hide under the wet
brown sods. Along the banks of the Ohio the
iron weed covers the unsightly farm fences
with its stately purple, the gOlden-rod throws
its crown, the mullen its golden scepter; every
dunghill is heaped with imperial regalla. On
the Carolnian Mountains the great scarlet
rhododendron keeps up still the red fire OF
war the balsam wraps the Nights with
| funeral black.
From Florida swamps to Maine pine woods
these high-bred kinsfolk have donned their
| fairest 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 matter who was our grandfather,
we are welcome. No matter how shabby
our coat, how unlucky our last venture in the
market, nor even how guilty our consciences,
these hosts at least have the curious secret of
compelling us to forget it all and sending us
homo at peace with God and ourselves. Shall
we contine ourselves to hotels and hops all
| Summer and turn our backs on this noble
company
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The State University of Mississippi has had an
| exceedingly narrow escape, aud as we are publish