Year: 1879

tAreS OF the FoUTth-1he Weather


---C5''cev2'!'lg Lf. Il. c. Greene.


CUMBERLAND, July 9, 1879.


Editor Journal:-Quis desiderio 81,
pa1dor aut nlodus Tam carl capitiss


The death of Maurice Healey re-
moves the second of that brilliant
quadrilateral and galaxy of young
writer's who made the Times the pow
er it was eight or nine years ago.
Their articles were full of volatile in
tellectusl salt of tartar. Their words
were lances tipped with fire. The
cause they battled for is one that am
not interested in one way or a.o'her,
but it is always refreshing to see
young men full of enthusiasm and ex-
cited, for the time soon comes, the
LORD knows, when all power of enthu-
siasm is gone; when the ugliness of
middle age is upon us; when what
once used to be the craters of saw
age volcanoes are now only lakes Of
black water. But those brilliant
fire works of the old Times were q
thing for all to admire. Healey fell
at early middle age. He burnt life's
candle at both ends and in the mid
die, too. He was a little bit of q
man, and used the nerve, fluid and
grey brain matter with too much in
tensity of activity. I don't remem-
Der ever to have seen his face in re-
pose. The phantoms of tho future
were fitting over it all the time his
seven mile boot thoughts were either
busy with the present or taking grasp
on the future, and let me tell you that
each one of those thoughts would
have stocked the head of an average
Cumberland politician for a life
time. Let us hope that after life's ft-
full fever he sleeps we'll. shall new
er forget conversation between
group of friends in the old Times Of
fee. There were present Lloyd Clary,
Maury, l think Mr.. John Fay, and
myself. 1t was past midnight and
the streets were solitary. Lloyd had
been giving unstinted praise to Bret
Harte's Luck of Roaring Camp"
which he had Just published the day
before. don't know how it came
about, but gradually our voices low
cred, and then Maury was speaking
almostin monologue. we'll recall the
look Of pleasure that stole over
Lloyds face as he listened. Tender
bits Of feeling, and "reminiscences Of
boyhood, half-pensive reflections flow
el from his i rs until he roe with
the exclamation, "Pshaw 1 am get
ting sentimental as an old woman


The town was deserted village on
the Fourth, for everybody was at the
pic-nlcs. Those that were of easy ac-
cess by water were well attended. I
went and studied human nature. At
one Of the dancing platforms I stop
ped to watch pair Of lovers. 1t
don't matter about the youth, but
the girl was tall with a pale, elegiac
face, and long black hair coiled in
simple plaits. When she dance, her
warm-blooded gait, the silent music of
the whole body undulating in sweetest
measure, was a thing worth seeing.
In the intervals she purred sweet
nothings to her lover, That is just
like woman. When they want to
ride horse they pat him on the neck ;
when they want to drive man they
do likewise. Again the mnsic began
with livelier melody and the twain
whirled away with their loving arms
about each other.


I can appreciate the brilliant wit
of Sidney Smith who wished man
could tit down in his bones OCCASION
ally in no. weather. For the last week
or two the heat has been almost in
tolerable. But up there in your cool
and serene altitude you have none of
this baking and boiling and stewing
that turns a man into pulp fit for a
paper mill. But there are number
of people here who wouldn't make
even good brown paper.


Said friend to me the other day,
"What magnificent scenery you have
about Cumberland Behold the Mar
rows those mighty bulwarks of ma
ture Why, the rocks look as if they
were painted an SO do the trees,
and"


Stop" said I, Cumberland pre-
sents lovely view if you happen to
be on a railroad train going out of it."