The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1890-07-20

sick, and she says she has been told she musn t
accspt invitations from gentlemen to go tn
the theater or oce-a in London or Paris,
but she thinks it very hard that girl who
Is past q and sure enough of herself 20 give
up her own country and her friends 70
study profession must coop herself up
evenings and be lone some among strangers
and see nothing and say no always, Just to
avoid Offending something that they call
proprlety. And even the beast VINO pokes
his head out of his stateroom III the morn
ing to bawl for mutton chop is tanned and
offers her his arm and points out to her the
porpoises.
All, yes; the dowagers may fight down
stairs. but on the hurricane we have our
fiIrtations We reckon up the fortune of
the ROSY English girl who skips rope with
the children, although she is 10, and whose
aunt has made SIS, 100000 out Of a cheap
theatre in London, and when the night has
fallen, perhaps if you listen closely you may
hear somebody whisper: why, yocr lips
are salty For, you must understand it
rains, and we sit closely under umbrellas,
and there's hardly even a CLINT of white
foam on the waters, aud it's very dark.
and down in the music room someh ody is
singing Nancy Lee, and if we didn't flirt,
what could we do but play cards or bet
on the days run!
Yes, we might read, and the lady who
was going to master the French language
on the voya ge has subsidized on Dickens and
discovered that he makes many slips in his
English, says LAY" for lie, :" between you
and II and other such dreadfulnes.e The
rest OF us are not up to Dickens and there is
great fiuttering OF paper covers.
How happy we are when we reach the
candy period. Candy is for the days when
you are past 1.-THE banks" and well con-
valesced from NAL de mer Then the En-
faIl no hnrr haI H..
when Fl st invited into a candy shop in
America. Why" said she, Pm not a
little child"
But here grown people eat candy"
itw ''''N-
How would you ge: it, thenm
''Ob. but you're laughing at me-"
Aud so the days go ON. And every morn
ing say to myself. to-day | will go down
and see my friends in the Storage And
every day look down on them washing
their tin plates and pannikins in the tub of
steaming water on deck, and l do not Wis it
them, but say to myself, am not sorry to
have crossed once with you, but ones tastes
grow luxurious, and after all this is a more
comfortable way of travelling.
And once again we have our concert and
post 1t on the bulletin board, Carriages
may be ordered at 1870 O'clock" and think
the well-worn joke a good one. And once
more the notice is up that We can obtain
that precious sheet, the London Times, as
soon as we are off Queenstown. And once
again We pass the bovine herd, as the actor
| dubs those famous bluffs. the bull, -
the 'cow" and the calf" And once
again the screw of the staunch old Servia
ceases revolving. The lawyer openly begs
consolation, for he is losing his best
girl. Brooklyn accepts his offered escort
from Liverpool to London, and he beams.
| The tender comes out to meet us. and a
comfortable Irish woman who has ia ken the
Storage voyage to revisit her kin tangle'
| herself up among the railroad porters, and
when she gets unsnarled remarks with feel
| ing: ITS a nation of thieves, God forgive
me it it is my own" Aud the queens red
coats pace the sea wall and the ox-eyec
| daisies bloom just as at home.
ELIZA PUTNAM HEAT0N