The Arkansaw traveler., 1885-09-05

store to life after she had been taken from the water senseless and pulseless. l had imprudently mentioned the incident to my aunt shortly after its occurrence, and in such terms, suspect, as to excite her curiosity beyond its usual bounds. At any rate, she made 1t the text for a good deal of good-natured but very un- welcome banter. was uncomtnonly sensitive, and especially vulnerable to rid icule on that very tender subject.
 There, John, don't be vexed with aunty; sha'n't tease you any more. But ] want you to be sensible fellow, and fall in love with Miss Stanton"
 "Why, aunt, that's more sorry jest than the-the other," said smiling. "A sensible fellow indeed should be to fall in love with a great heiress whom have never seen."
 "Well, l don't see where the jest comes in," replied Aunt Mariory demurely. "You do know her name at any rate, and who and what she is, and may see her any day you choose after to-day. And as to her being great heiress, why, are you not to be great physician2"
 My aunt was too shrewd and practical not to be conscious of the ludicrousness of her argument, and consequently joined me in hearty laugh at her own expense The subject dropped when we had ceased laughing, and the rest of our conversa- ton was occupied with the discussion of my fathers affairs. To make these intel. ligible, must furnish the reader with the main facts of strange history.
 My father had taken holy orders while at Cambridge, in accordance with the ex. pressed wishes of my grandfather, a re- tired lawyer, in affluent circumstances. But while doing no violence to his own feelings or opinions in consenting to this step, my father entertained an ambition of an altogether different kind, which he feared would interfere with the discharge of his duties as a placed clergyman. He had the tastes and aspirations of the true artist, and had devoted the freshet of his hopes and energies in the race for dis tinction as painter. Hedeciiaed to ac- cept curacy, and for several years after leaving college continued his artistic studies under the best masters both at home and abroad. On his return home. he was successful in getting few of his pieces exhibited the favorable opinions of friendly critics still further concealed the truth from him for time. But the revelation dawned upon him slowly and painfully that he had overrated his natu- ral gifts; that he possessed talent, not genius; that with considerable skill as a draftsman and colorist, he lacked breadth ot imagination-thec creative faculty and that, in word, he had, like thousands of others, mistaken his mission in life. It was while in the condition of desponden- cy engendered by such reflections that he was induced, at the urgent desire of his parents, to accept the curacy of the country parish in which they resided.
 From an object of ambition, then, painting gradually became to him merely a graceful pastime. His new duties soon acquired strong interest for him, while art remained the solace of his leisure. He spent his holidays in wandering with his sketch book throughout Wales, Scotland, or the lake country, in quest of fresh health and fresh scenes for artistic con- temptation. It was during one of those summer tours in the highlands that he formed the acquaintance with a young man of remarkable abilities, who had already earned fame as painter in water colors.
 The simple-hearted, enthusiastic curate soon came to regard this man with an es- teem parsaking of veneration, and was SO enchanted with his society and conversa- ton as to express wish to continue his jouraey in his company. Walter Drew the young man was so named-gave a cheerful assent; and the strangely as- sorted pair resumed their progress to- gether. Drew was scholar and a gen. tieman, had travelled much, was well versed both in classical and modern liter ature-a poet and musician as we'll as a painter and when it is added that these versatile accomplishments sat lightly and unaffectedly upon man of handsome exterior and frank and agreeable man. ners, small surprise need be expressed that my trusting, ardent, unsophisticated father came early to regard him as a modern Crichton. A strong friendship sprang from this casual introduction, and Drew accompanied my father into - shire, where he was received with open arms by my grandparents, and spent month at their home.
 Time went on. Drew's fame as a painter ia oils became the theme of every tongue. Far from feeling jealous, my father appears to have translated his own aspirations after renown into an absorb ing interest in the rising glories of his friends career. My father had been some three years curate of f- when both his parents died within short period of one another, leaving my father the bulk of their fortune, with a sum of hve thousand pounds to my Aunt Mar. jory. The following year my father mar. ried the rector's daughter, a delicate, amiable, aud lovely but penniless bride. The first five years after their union were passed in all the happiness which com petence, simple habits, charitable actions, mutual marital affection, and graceful tastes could scarcely fail to yield. Three children were born during that period, of whom l was the youngest the two | elder being girls, who inherited their mothers beauty along with her delicacy of constitution. With such tranquil sur