Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1886-05-09


"But ! don't want my fortune to b
msde--aiier that fashion," cried thu
young man holly. "what do know
and what do l care about Miss Bal
four ,"
"Shs will be enormously rich,
urged the mother, falling feebly bach
on her first point. 81 should DO glat
10 know you were saved from . poo
mans portion, David, for have learned
by experience how hard is to struggl,
against poverty" The mother LAID
down her sock and glanced appealingly
toward the young man, who responded
with frown. David was young, and
he had dreams of an affluent position
to be won not by mercenary mar
riaee, but by literary achievements.
But be could cot brag Of his spurs be-
fore be had won them he grew silent
1--WE have no right to assume,
mother" be burst forth at length, his
slumberipg chivalry awakening . new
life. "that Miss Bslfour would accept
the honor Of an alliance with myself,
even IL were inclined to offer it"
Mrs. Murray smiled. She took up
her work again. Miss Balfour is
probably aware" she said, IS she
stopped to rethread her needle, "of
your aunts plans, and she must know
that it might be greatly against her IN
x.-x.S A. o,-nca than ~
There was another silence.
"At least you will not decide in tho
matter till you have seen Miss Balfour'
Dsvid?"
"No, / will not decide till l have
seen her."
And you will 90 to Florence9"
David rose, walked to the window,
and looked out. But he saw nothing;
his thoughts were far away. "Flo-
renee" was o fascinating name to the
untravelled lad; he wished that his er-
rand there were not so unwelcome.
"Yes, | will co." he said slowly,
"if / can reconcile myselft to the thought
that am oustipg my unknown cousin
Tom from my aunt's favor"
"Nonsense. The flying needle
halted in midcourse. Z" You are not
ousting him; he has already ous.ed
himself. Don't be Quixotic, dear"
David sighed. His last hope Of es-
cape seemed dissipated.
Just at this moment the sound Of fleet
footsteps was heard the door flew open
and three or four children who had been
passing-as marks of treacle on hands,
faces, and pinafores testifed--an agree
able half hour in the kitchen appeared
on the scene. Their advent was the
signal for David's departure to his own
room.
A few days later the young man
started on bis travels. In the excite
mept inseparable from first foreign
tour the object Of his wanderings was
almost forgotten. lie went through the
usual vicissitudes of o long journey.
The usual important package was left
behind, and its absence, as usual, dis
covered too late for recovery. The
usual countings Of handbags and wraps
were performed, and then the recount
ipgs, to make assurance doubly sure.
The usual sprightliness on boarding
and dejectedness on leaving the
packet were duly experienced. TheS
came hurried meals at railway stations,
then views of monotonous French land
scape, with its inevitable long straight
rows of poplars, then glimpses Of bold
or scenery, of chalets, and Of snow
peaks, and then Switzerland burst upon
David's view. The young man had
chosen the st. Gothard route he had
determined to avail himself Of his
sunt's generosity, and to linger over bis
Journey in a letter in which he an
nounced his plans to her be spoke Of an
intention to spend q couple Of days at
Lucerne, few hours at Milan, and .
week in Venice, the town which above
all others appealed to his poetic fancy.
The lad revelled in his new expert
ences. His fellow.tourists caught some
thing of his enthusiasm every day he
made new friends, who parted from him
at night with fattering reluctance. Not
only did the wonderful sights which met
his eve delight David in his young
freshness he thoroughly enjoyed the
importance Of ordering beds and meals
or having scores at foreign inns. At
last Italy was reached; at last
Milan lay like a dream behind him,
and one early morning found him
sleeping fitfully in railway carriage
and nearing Venice. At 5 o'clock
he awoke, rubbed his eyes. opened
the window, and looked out. The edge
of a handbag, which had very poorly
played the part of pillow during the
short night had left proef of its INSULT.
cheney in the cramped condition of Da'
vid's neck. The young man was sleepy
and cold; circumstances were not IA
vorable to his first impression of the
approach to Venice. 1t was with some
sense of dreariness that David found
himself in o waste of water. Before
him, behind him, and on either side
gray water stretched out to meet q
gray, cold morning sky; no land
was visible. lie was on thu
bridge-nine miles long-which con
meets Venice with the mainland. In
short time the forms of towers and
clustering houses began to reveal them
selves against the horizon the trair
whizzed on, and presently the city o
the Adriatic lay, broad and clear, be
fore David's eyes. The young man hel'
his breath as he gazed. But a railwa,
station is the last place for sentimental
ism, and before the platform Of tn
Venetian railway station the trail
came in o few minutes to standstill
"Romance hasn't chance agains
its arch-enemy, steam," though
David, as he jumped to the ground
mustered q few words of stumbling
Italian. embellished with French, ant
with their aid placed himself under tn
protection Of porter, . red-haired
well-built fellow, with face like ~
old Venetian picture. The English
mans registered luggage was quickl
collected and placed in gon
dola herd Of loafers--ragget
picturesque men and boys-swooI
ed down upon him as fair prey
one seized his umbrella /; anoth,
! bore offhis Murray and his macintosh
| .t:.l sttanntad-;n cn;ta nf v;ooror