The Forrest City times., 1892-02-12
CARRISTONrSGIFT.
Br HUGH CONWAY.
PART l.
TOLD BY PHILIP BRAND. M. D.. LONDON

Dy turning to my professional VlSlf1nE DOCKS. and taking at random any month out of the last twenty years. give it's record as a fair sample of my ordinary work. The dismal extract would tell you what adoctor's-I sup pose may say a successful doctor's--Iot Is when his practice lies in poor and densely- populated district of London. Dreary as such a beginning might be. it would perhaps ailay some of the incredulify which this tale may probably provoke. as 1t would plainly show how little room there is for things inn aginative or romantic In work so hard as mine. or among such grim realities of power ty, pain. and grief as those by which have been surrounded It would certainly make it appear extremely unlikely that 1 should have found time to imagine much less to write, romance or melodrama-
 The truth is that when a man has toiled from nine o'clock in the morning until nine o'clock at night. such leisure as he can enjoy is precious to him. especially when even that short respite Is liable to be broken in upon at any moment
 Still in spite of the dolefuI picture have drawn of what may be called the daily grind. v begin this tale with the account of holiday
 In the autumn of 1894 turned my back with right goodwill upon London streets, hospitals. and patients and took my seat in the North Express. The first revolution of the wheels sent thrill of delight through my faded frame A joyful sense of freedom l came over me. had really got away at last! Moreover had left no address behind me, SO for three blessed weeks might roam an uri- disputed lord of myself. Three weeks were not very many to take out of the fifty-two, but they were all could venture to give my self; for even at that time my practice, if not so lucrative as could wish, was a large and increasing one. Having done twelve months hard work. felt that no one in the kingdom could take his holiday with a con- science clearer that mine. so I lay back in a peculiarly contented frame of mind. and dis counted ne coming pleasures of my brief respite from labor.
 There are many ways of passing a holiday many places at which it may be spent: but. after all, if you wish to enjoy it thoroughly there is but one royal rule to be followed. That Is simply to please yourself-go where you like. and mount the innocent holiday hobby which is dearest to your heart, let it's name be botany, geology. entomology, con chology, venery. piscafion, or what not Then you will be happy, and return well braeed up for the battle of life. l knew a
 
 spent his annual fortnight among the musti- est tonnes of the British Museum. and aver red that his health was more benefited by so doing than if he had passed the time inhaling the freshest sea-hreezes. l daTesay he was right in his assertion
 Si<etching has always been my favorite holiday pursuit. Poor as my drawings may be, nevertheless as I turn them over in my portfolio, they bring, to me at least vivid re- membranes of many sweet and picturesque ] spots, happy days. and eongenial compan- 1 ions. 1t is not for me to say anything of their actual merits. but they are dear to me for their associations
 | This particular year went to North Wales. and made Bettws-y-Coed my headquarters. 1 I stayed at the Royal Oak that well-known i little inn dear to many an artists heart and l teeming with "reminiscences of famous men | who have sojourned there times without ! number. It was here made the aequaint- | ance of the man with whose life the curious 1 events here told are connected.
 1 On the first day after my arrival at Bettws my appreciation of my liberty was so thor ough my appetite for the enjoyment of the beauties of Nature so keen and unsuitable. , that I went so far and saw so much. that when I returned to the Royal Oak night had fallen and the hour of dinner had long pass cd by. I was, when my own meal was placed on the table, the only occupant of the coffee room. Just then young man entered, and ordered something to eat. The waiter know ing, no doubt. something of the frank c0na- rotteTfe which exists, or should exist, between tho followers of the painters craft, laid his cover at my table. The newcomer seated himself, gave me pleasant smile and nod. and in five minutes we were in fnll swing of conversation.
 The moment my eyes fell upon the young man had noticed how singularly handsome he was. Charles Carriston-for this found afterward to be his narne-was about twenty two years of age. He was tall, but slightly built; his whole bearing and figure being re- markabiy elegant and graceful. He looked even more than gentlemanlg,--he looked dis tinguished- His face was pale, its features weil-cut straight and regular. His fore head spoke of high intellectual qualities, and there was somewhat of that development over the eyebrows which phrenologists, I be- iieve, consider as evidence of the possession of imagination The general expression of his face was one of sadness. and it's refined beauty was heightened by pairo of soft, dark, dreamy-looking eyes.
 It only remains to add that from his at tire, judged him to be an artist-a profes- sional artist-to the backbone. In the course of conversation told him how had classi- fed him. He smiled.
 T am only all amateur" he said; ian idle man, nothing more-and youg'
 Alas am a doetoT.'
 'sThen we shall not have to answer to each other for our sins in painting
 We talked on pleasantly until our bodily wants were satisfied. Then came that pleas ant craving for tobacco, which after good meal is natural to wellregulated digestion.
 shall we go and smoke outsider said Car riston. '''rhe night is delicious"
 We went out and sat on one of the wooden benches. As my new friend said, the night was delicious. There was scarcely breath of air moving. The stars and the moon shone brightly, and the rush of the not far distant stream came to us with soothing murInur. Near us were three or four joyial yonng artists. They were in merry mood one of them had that day sold picture to a tourist We listened to their banter until. most likely growing thirsty, they re-entered the inn.
 Carristpn had said little since we had been out of doors. He smoked his cigar placidly and gazed up at the skies With the white moonlight falling on his strikingly-beautiful face--the graceful pose into which he feil- he seemed to me the embodiment of poetry. He paid no heed to the merry talk of the art ists. which so much amused me-indeed, doubted if he heard their voices
 Yet he must have done SO, for as soon as they had left lss he came out of his reverie