The Telegraph-courier. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1888-1946, 1890-06-12
Continued from ed page.


body in or near Blankhampton, being an
! old friend of one of the smartest and most
powerful ladies in the whole of the coun-
ty. ST feel that l shall like Mrs. Mark
ham," Mrs Trafford said to herself as she
approached Lady Margaret Adair, the
Deans wife, who was in the pre-occupied
state of woman trying to do two things
| at once: one was to listen to Mrs. Fairlie,
who had her most pronounced society
/ voice and manner on, the other was to
keep her eye on Mr.. Anthony Mauleverer
| and her own pretty daughter, who had
! drawn nearer to each other than Lady
| Margaret quite liked.
may be wrong and misguided in every
way, but cannot understand how any
man or woman can get tired Of the study
| of people. Those who live in the Whirl
of London society, whether it is solely
| and strictly the Society of Fashion or the
| Society of Wit, naturally after long
| spell, grow tired of society itself, Of going
| out day after day and night after night,
| from drum to dinner and dinner to crush,
| to say nothing of lunches and theatres
| thrown in, with all the unutterable fag Of
| paying calls, leaving boards, sitting
out matinees and recitals, looking in at
| bazaars and other charity functions. One
may get tired and tagged with all these,
| but to me the study of the human kind
remains just as interesting as at first In
my case fly to green trees and pleasant
| fields-at this moment [ am writing in q
| house from which you cannot see another
| dwelling with the exception of a cottage
or small farmhouse on the slope of rising
| ground half-a-mile away. All [ ask here
is to be let alone, to have no dinners. no
| teas, no society. But people are just as
interesting (when I come across them) as
| ever.
| For instance the other day my wife and
| / went out to look at a set of harness which
we had heard was for sale at the stable of
neighboring parson. But We gods, how
| our pride suffered before we got home
again! But will tell you about it.
We started from home with a clever lit
tie Welsh pony fleet and sound, and a
smart cart borrowed from our friend the
| Inn-keeper. We f1attered ourselves that
we looked presentable, or if not so grand
] rs that, at least respectable. / have al
ways thoroughly believed myself to be a
man of passable appearance and my wife
| is happy-looking buXom person who
| thinks she looks as if she did not belong to
| the laboring clasS-I mean the hard-WOrk-
| ing class.
| Well, we set off in the best of health
and spirits, pointed out to each other this
| old farmhouse. that pretty bit of land
scape, till we reached the first village
| let us call it Cornby. There we posted
| our letters for the day and left an order
| at the butchers, then went gaily through
| what they call in these parts ''the Street"
| and took what the natives call 1.-THE fust
| tarn to the right"
| ''That is the Hall, should think" said
| Nell to me-the Hall meant the house of
| our landlord
| az should think it is-it's pretty place, !"
said land, by-the-by, [ think I ought
| to mention here that we had only been a
| week or so in possession of our new re-
| treat.
| About half mile further on down a
| steep dip in the road we meta person
! He was of the masculine gender and look
| ed like q naval man, except for his man.
ners. He was fine fellow, big and stall
wart, dressed in Well-made heather-mix-
| ture shooting clothes, showing a pair of
| braWny legs which certainly would have
| had a fine chance Of d prize or at least of
honorable mention at a show for under
standings! He was goodish looking, too,
had pair of handsome eyes and brown
| beard cut after the fashion of naval men,
close to his face. Over his shoulder he
carried tenis-racket to which were slung
| pair of tennis-shoes One perhaps could
not expect much in the way of manners
from gentleman who was going to
lady's tenis-party clad in a garb fit for
! Scotch moors, but be that as it may,
this gallant accosted us, pulled us up with
| an imperative wave of his hand and said:
CLAW! Do you know which is Cornby
Hall?"
NO." said I, thinking he might at least
have touched his hat to the lady in my
cart. 81 am almost a stranger about here
and I really don't know"
The gallant looked at me as if he thought
/ was dreaming or drunk. Don't you
know where it is?" he persisted.
mo, DON'T" said T. Il believe it is
somewhere near the village. The village
is a mile or so further on.''
ooh" a pause. then he pointed to the
old red brick house which we had passed
and spoken of. ''Is that the house?"
II don't know" said I. shortly.
I signified to the Welsh pony that she
might go on. and the gentleman with the
legs strobe forward with curt "--nks"
flung over his shoulder as it we had done
him a special and personal injury because
we did not happen to know where Cornby
/ Hall was
My wife turned and looked after him as
he swung along the road. then looked at
me with resentful eyes. He must have
taken us for some of the country people, !"
she said, then, as | laughed, added indig-
nantly, But even if he did he might have
touched his hat
Particularly as. he stopped our trap"
said I, with laugh.
YES" she answered, and after a min
ute or two she burst out, ''What snobP'
A few days afterwards we had occasion
to call on the lady at Cornby Hall our
selves, and found to our joy that it was
some way beyond where we had met our
/ courteous friend with the legs. that he
had then came at least half mile past
the house, and as Nell said to me, I'VE
must have sent him a mile and half out
of his road" and then she added, vindic-