The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1877-05-03
THE YELLOW GATE.

E-MINEKvA's STORY Daw
Jane said that she was obliged to be
careful in avoiding the night air, and
would therefore 20 home instead Of
parading about in the moonlight. The
whole statement was fib. Jane did not
fear the damp in the least, and was as
fond of summer moonlight Us any lady
of forty-five, with a bunch Of gray curls
on either side of her thin face, may be
permitted TO indulge in soft sentiment.
But there are martyrs who do not walk
on heated ploughshares, or pass through
the fire Of other than daily trials in life.
Minerals happiness had been elderly
James care from the cradle
1t was a sultry August evening, ren
dered luminous by the full moon; the
town of Baden-Baden lay in the valley
twinkling with stars of lamps, and in
closed by the mysterious shadow-land of
Black Forest stretching along the slopes
of neighboring hills. The Conversation
Haus had been the scene Of gayety. for
hours; groups of Germans had slipped
coffee at the adjacent cafe; groups of
Russians had retained, their striking in
dividuality of race amidstthe travelling
English and American throng while the
towns-peoplc inspected the whole
with the shrewd speculation of
the watering-place resident. All
the charm of Arts most lavish
decorations, aided by the most beautiful
setting of Nature, was still to be found
here. The banquet table glittered with
its ornaments of crystal, flowers, and
rich plate; butthe viands, highly season.
ed with excitement of gain, loss, rap
ture, and swift despair, had been swept
away Baden-Baden, robbed Of its
gambling, yawns now in the summer
night. The music waited from that
orchestra pavilion, where the gas Jets
gather to the semblance of a gigantic
bunch of grapes, was delightful to the
listening ear. Now the softly modu-
lated tones were audible only in most
subdued harmony, and again a melan-
choly horn pealed out sustained note
that seemed TO wander into the forest
depths seeking the ghostly echo of some
wild huntsman's bugle. -
Minerva had been silent, even pen
sive, during the evening" mood not
unbecoming fair young widow in
weeds, with brown curl Hanging down.
her back. Herbert Wilson at least
seemed to sustain himself in the gloam-
ing by studying her delicate profile with
little conversation. Elderly Jane saw
it all quite plainly. Minerva was a
beauty, and very amiable, with a surface
seldom rippled, because the velvet
smoothness of her disposition was rarely
disturbed Somebody had been in love
with her since the age offomteen, when
the eldest boy in the academy at home
had bought a package of candy as vo-
tive offering after beholding her in white
muslin and pink ribbons. Elderly Jane
could not understand it, as men were
able to exist very comfortably without
her own society. Here was this artist,
Herbert Wilson, whom they had met at
Rome, traversing THE route of his pre-
decessors, and discovering real artistic
talent in Minerals sketches of land
scapes, which may have been attributable
to the grace of the amateur, the sweep
of her silky eyelashes,s the delicious
hours spent on the margin of Swiss
lakes.
al hope he may prove as good hus-
band as poor Harry, for believe she
means to marry him. Minerva as weak, y
reflected elderly Jane, and rose abrupt
ly from her seat.
Poor Harry was Minerals first mate,
and not considered half good enoughfor
her when he was alive. :. ~ ~
The lovers expressed surprise on
learning her decision to depart. How
anxious they were about her health, and
how glad to be rid of her! She was
such a good old Jane to feel herself de
trop on a moonlight night, only Minerva
must go home with her-welL at least
escort her to the yellow gate. Jane
smiled rather grimly in the darkness,
and consented. The trio passed be-
tween the rank of booths, brilliant with
gas and stocked with Charming trinkets,
and crossed the wide promenade before
the deserted Trinkhalle; then Jane de-
clared further escort TO be unnecessary,
and sped along the street where they
lodged, alone.U LltaUAU ~
Oh, the glory of the summer night,
with the Lichtenthal Avenue frosty white
in the moonlight, and the noble trees
forming canopy of foliage faroabove
the head! There was a subtle eloquence
in all nature, as Herbert Wilson and Mi
Is n rva strolled along the path together,
shielded from all this world of strangers
by a closer tieE Of sympathy that both
were Foreigners separate sphere amid
all these revolving planets.
The artist had roamed from Italy 10
Spain, from Algiers te Cairo, with his
portfolio, and was weary, now thai the
freshness of novelty had worn away.