The news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1877-1900, 1880-12-25
One Midsummer Eve.

AS NNANSAAAAAlAO "a AvVs
A Bloomsbury lodging; on the second
floor, too. Everything looks dingy, mel
lowed down to that uniform brownish hue,
the combined result Of London smoke and
''smuts.n
Yet 1t Is pretty little room for all that,
with decided air of being habitually ten
anted by refined occupants
A cheap but artistic-looking cretonne
covers the furniture, and few excellent
prints and we'll executed oil paintings adorn
the walls.
One ray Of the sunlight of this glorious
midsummer eve makes It's way through the
chimney pots opposite. 1t peeps into the
room, making glory and bright spot Of
color on paacock's fan, and glints loving
ly upon the golden hair Of girl who sits
on low carved old chair, with an open
letter in her hand.
She Is about nineteen or twenty, slight
and graceful-looking, with mass of golden
nair crowning small, exquisitely shaped
head, we'll set upon her shoulders. She
wears long, plainly-made, tightlv-fitting
dress OF soft gray cashmere, with little
white ruftles at her throat and wrists, and
the hands which hold the letter are small,
white, ard daintlly shaped. The face is
oval, with just the faint suspicion of a
faint shell-plnk in the rounded cheeks,
which deepens into more vivid hue in the
well-shaped lips.
Dark blue eyes, starry as the passion
flowers, gleam from her long dark laehce,
and such is Alison Harte, artist.
She takes up the letter again and reads
1t. 1t runs thus
'N1ooRRFIRLp, June Goth.
''DEAR ALIsoN,-l daresay you have al
most forgotten the existence of your uncle
John, as you have never written to mo
since your mothers death, six months ago.
A friend of mine was in London this sea-
son, and, of course, went to see the exhlbi-
tion of the Royal Academy, and the other
day, when looking over his catalogue, l
SOW the name of Alison Harte, together
with your address. am very glad to find
you have 80 far succeeded at your profess
sion OF an artist as to have picture hung
In the Royal Academy. am told it Is in
Devonshire--the homo of your mothers
youth. You have never been there since
you were child, 30 the place must nave
made an impression upon you. 1t flatters
an old man like me to think that some of
the young people of the present day are
not 80 utterly selfish and taken up with the
world but that they can find time to recol-
lect the scenes Of their childhood.
'Should you care to renew your acquain-
tance with Devonshire, only say 80, and
shall be happy at any time to see you at
Moorfields. | trust your father is well.
Just let me have line to say you will
come soon, and believe me, your affection.
ate uncle.
''JoHN MELLIsu."
Such Is the letter which Alison lIarte
holds In her hand.
Dearly she would like to accept her
uncle's invitation, for the girl leads hard
life, coming her brains for her daily bread,
working hard at her art 80 as to keep
roof over her head, and that Of her father.
The latter calls himself u 'tiiterary man."
but in reality is lazy, gin-drinking SIT,
doing little hack press work now and
again, for his proclivities are too well
known for anyone to think Of employing
Rupert Harte regularly.
30 he lives on the earnings of his daugh.
ter. He is her skeleton in the cupboard,
and 1t is of her father she thinks as she
sits with, her uncle Johns letter in her
hand.
Rapidly she thinks over the state of her
slender finances She hungers and yearns
for little brightness and bravery in her
life.
This Midsummer Eve she feels stifled
with the heat and stiffness of London, and
feels she would like blow III Exmoor For
est, or In the delicious Valley Of Rocks in
her dear dead mothers native Devonshire.
Suddenly she stands UP, and takes two
small oil paintings from the top of an old
bureau, and looks critically at them.
She thinks for moment, glances at the
clock on the mantlepiece, and secs it is
only seven.
''Plenty Of time,", she soliloquizes.
chambers does not shut until very. late,
and might get a couple of gulneas for
these"
She packs them up in a portfolio, and
then, putting on her hat and small black
fichu, sets OF for picture dealers IN the
Gray's.inn-read.
1t Is u good long walk. and Alison Harle
10 tired by the time she reaches the dlngy
little shop, which she soon leaves, her
portfolio lighter and her nieagrely filled
purse just one sovereign and a half heavier.
However, Alison Harte hos not had much
Of the brightness of life. She knows Joy
only by negatives-alwayst thankful wien
"things are no worss"--so she feels CON-
paratively glad that she had disposed of
her little sketches fer even 80 small a
sum.
twill be help, she reflects, II she oan
manage to 60 to her uncle's at Moorsaelds.
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