(The | ntbclrr. 
ON THE WAY. 
Cincinnati, O. 
One finds it stupid enough, generally, to 
get through the world in a rail car. Leav¬ 
ing a way station in the central part of this 
Buckeye State this morning, everybody was 
amused at the quiet dignity of manner dis¬ 
played by a colored woman. She was of 
middle age, and bade her husband good-by 
at. the. depot with a wifely embrace, at which 
all the men giggled, as if black people should 
be different from white ones in demonstra¬ 
tions of affection. The seats wen; all occu¬ 
pied, many by a single man, and no effort 
was made by any one to give the colored 
woman a seat. Looking calmly around and 
comprehending the state of affairs, she quiet¬ 
ly ensconced herself in a seat with a red- 
whiskered Irishman, whose predicament was 
hailed by uproarious laughter by men with¬ 
out and within. The woman seemed wholly 
unconscious of the cause of the merriment, 
but, in a very short time had the satisfaction 
of having the entire seat to herself. 
An old bachelor husband, pretty young 
wife and two-year-old baby furnished us 
with entertainment for a long way. The 
delighted father had caught the trick of a 
perpetual smile. I watched him for half an 
hour, and his face was in one complete 
laugh. Eyes, cheeks, temples, ends of his 
hair, nose, whiskers and chin fairly gurgled 
with delight. My domestic friend watched 
him for the next hall' hour, and reported 
similarly, with — 
“What a trial it must be to have such 
a perpetual grimier around! I rather watch 
that gold-headed young thing in front, who 
so delights in tossing her left hand about, 
with an engagement ring of amethyst on 
her first linger.’’ 
As we came thundering on toward this 
Queen City, past acres and acres of corn 
and groves of splendid forest trees, the usual 
array of railroad venders disturbed our quiet 
outlooking. Why don't girls sell books and 
Candies and papers and fruits to travelers? 
One rather buy of a bright-faced girl than a 
freckle-faced, screeching boy. A young fel¬ 
low, with the everlasting vender-like grin, 
endeavored to show us the comfort to be 
derived from a railroad car window venti¬ 
lator, which keeps out dust, smoke and cin¬ 
ders. He asked one dollar for a strip of 
wood, which lie placed under the window, 
serving a most excellent purpose, truly; but 
an ordinary shingle would have done equal 
service, placed upright, with its width pro¬ 
jecting outward from the car window, re¬ 
ceiving the force of the air that is laden 
with smoke, dust,, cinders, etc. 
The suburbs of Cincinnati are most agree¬ 
ably long drawn out. The tower like hills 
crowned with architecture, give the city a 
castellated, foreign look. Hiding slowly 
along, one notes a similarity to Southern 
cities in the inclined brick pavements, and 
the facilities lor out-door enjoyments. 
Before arriving here, we concluded we had 
food for an adventure, I, because having 
tlie longest tongue, I suppose, generally do 
the talking, and after giving orders to the 
attending hotel official for rooms, etc., he 
looked at us curiously enough, and said to 
me, “ Then, that wasn’t your husband who 
got out of the ’buss with you !” 
“Ah,—’aint, got any!” —and he letl at 
once. At this, Domestic opened her eyes, 
and spoke with vim. 
“ What if they serve us as they sometimes 
do women traveling alone; say they’re full, 
or something equivalent?” 
“ I hope they will. I should enjoy it about 
a minute. I suppose if I could lay marital 
claim to that red-headed Dutchman who got 
out with us, we would be a ‘ heap’ better, as 
these Buckeyes say. But here comes our 
flue.” 
“ Your names, ladles, if you please,” and, 
scratching down our signatures with pom¬ 
posity, lie left, and soon returned with a pile 
of letters for us, and, with extravagant civili¬ 
ty, has endeavored to appreciate us as 
“ angels” in the house since; so we missed 
our adventure after all. 
The Day Aster. 
It is hot here in the superlative sense. 
Hardly a wink of sleep last night. Acidity 
and flies characterize the mixed dishes at 
table. Another night in this heated town 
will have fitted us for another sphere as 
effectually us Purgatory. Is there a soul to 
take pity on us and Loll ns whither the ; 
breezes blow? Blessed be Louis Gaylord , 
Clark, or was it Sydney Smith wlio wished 
lie could step out of his body, sit in Ida bones ( 
awhile and let the wind blow through ? Tho ; 
very thought is refreshing. 
“ A card, Miss,” and our waiter stands at ' 
the door. The name is not a familiar one, ] 
but somewhere wo have heard it, and mem- i 
o 0ea back to Gotham, and we are listen- | 
mg to a grave-faced editor as lie talks of one ] 
Dr. Warder, dear soul,” who is the cm- • 
bodiment ol the rarest qualities given to j 
man, and a moment later brings us face to i 
face with this man, whom, at first glance, we 
know to be a Godsend. 
“ Well, my child, I’m delegated to look 
: after you while you ‘do’ the Queen City, 
and now go down home with me and rest. 
Wo are a short ride out of the city, and it’s 
cooler 1 Here, although wo cannot promise 
> you a hurricane.” 
Bo wo returned for bat, and gloves, softly 
i saying over unci over, “ it is better to bo born 
, lucky than rich,” and now clown here at 
“ Aston ” wo tiud a Paradise, with Adams 
' and Eves, but never a trail of tho serpent. 
“Aston,” near Cincinnati. 
Day before yesterday we drove to Walnut 
Hills, to have a view of the country resi¬ 
dences, but more especially to visit the 
grounds, and picture gallery of Joseph 
Longworth. After ringing the bell, wo 
seated ourselves in a small, open ante-room, 
to await the servant. We found in this, en¬ 
tertainment in a few pictures, but more par¬ 
ticularly in the graceful sweep of lawn in 
front. And among the great variety of t rees, 
none were finer or more in keeping than the 
oaks. Indeed, their general appreciation in 
landscape gardening in this part of the West 
is a most agreeable relief from the evcr- 
abouncling rows of maple or horse chestnuts 
in the East. 
Mr. Longworth being at home, we pro¬ 
ceeded at once to the gallery adjoining the 
ante-room, where he soon joined us, and being 
in a social mood, he added double interest to 
picture viewing. But as human beings aro 
forever of more interest than their creations, 
we could not give undivided interest, to the 
pictures until we had looked over their 
owner. And he was not particularly agree¬ 
able to look at; but knowing him to be 
“immensely rich” and educated, sensible 
and peculiar, “ a man of parts,” we looked at 
him on the sly, as opportunity offered. 
Imagine a short, solid, thick-set man, with 
all bis joints cushioned with fat, a hedge of 
sandy whiskers bounding bis face from ear 
to ear, and the remaining circumference of 
his head curtained with a sparse fringe of 
sandy hair; a line, largo forehead, with 
rather deep-set, hazel eyes, full of fire and 
intelligence, intensified in their importance 
by quick, light, nervous blinking that said 
as plainly as any lingual speech could have 
said, “ I can’t be fooled. It would be folly 
to try to draw any wool over my eyes. They 
go through films and tlimsiuess like two- 
edged swords. I’ve some of the finest paint¬ 
ings in the world here; I shall take great, 
pleasure in showing them to yon; but I 
doubt if you can appreciate them !” 
But there was no assumption of arrogance 
or superiority in his manner, and certainly 
not in his dress, for there was a hole worn 
through his linen coat, and his old-fashioned, 
homely dickey was wilted, if it ever had 
been starched, and the sweat was manifest¬ 
ing Itself ill great, patches through his coat, 
attesting the fact that lie: was not too rich 
not to have been at work even on that hot 
day. ile seemed one of the last men in the 
world to suspect of being a lover of art, in 
its esthetic sense, at least. But we doubt if 
a practical artist could have discovered 
more in bis pictures than had he, and could 
see and testify to the fitness, or unfitness, of 
things in a more masterly and still delicate 
manner. 
With true loyalty, we had hoped to find 
the works of home artists, but after diligent 
search found only three small landscapes, 
one by Inness and two by Brevookt. 
“ Then you do patronize borne artists to a 
small extent, Mr. Longworth?” asked one 
of the party, 
“No; they patronize me. These by Brk- 
voort were so refreshingly true and natural 
that I persuaded the artist to sell them to 
me. However, American art, as yet, is not 
of much account.” 
“ And you have no French pictures ? 
There’s Meissonnter and Dore”- 
“No; no French pictures. I don’t like 
thorn any more than I do their books, their 
manners, or their morals.” 
“That small picture yonder, a Madonna 
and child, looks like the work of an old 
master, or a very good copy,” 
“ Original, miss; I have no copies. Copies 
aro of small value. I think you never have 
seen a copy even of this. It, is over three 
hundred years old, and was the work of”- 
naming some Italian name that I cannot re¬ 
call, and being apprised aforetime of his an¬ 
tipathy to newspaper people, was too discreet 
to use a pencil. 
Then followed talk on the magnificent 
pictures of Lessing, the “Trial of Huss" 
and bis “ Execution.” The former was the 
one painted by Lessing for engraving, and 
is a marvelous piece of fine painting, the 
anatomy of the figures being nearly as finely 
finished as pictures on porcelain, and yet 
losing thereby neither strength nor force. , 
The coloring, too, is unequaled; and a car- • 
bunclc on the gloved hand of one of the ( 
Cardinals glitters and gleams with wonder- ( 
ful brilliancy. Then there are some fine ; 
large landscapes by this same artist, which ] 
are quite as great in their way as his figure 
pieces. In the running conversation on the { 
pictures, Mr. Longworth talked of Les- ( 
-A- SCICfSTIS AMONG- Til HI CATSKILLS. 
sing’s unwillingness to have his pictures go of imitation, and worth repeating in these 
out ol Germany, and that, lie was so much degenerate days of superfine “ nice ” voumr 
. 1* - __ 11.^4 1 A 1 1 1 .. . . 1 ** ® 
were a number. One asked how many. in the city and asking for it. He did not 
1 have never counted them,” was the re- play the fine gentleman because lie bad a 
rich grandfather. Mintwood. 
You have met Aohenbacii ?” was asked._ 1H _ 
“ (>l1 ’ y cs - f l** 9 pictures better CASCADE SCENERY. 
than I do him. He is a wonderful artist. _ 
He has a brother Oswald who daubs to The above engraving, from one of Ken- 
hoiih: extent, but is no artist in the sense of sett’s admirable pictures, represents one of 
Andreas. There could not be two An the many beautiful cascades among the 
dukas Aciien ba oiis.” Catskill Mountains — part of that,great Appa- 
In one of AeiiKNTvAOii’s pictures, showing lacliiau Chain extending through the eastern 
a running stream bounded by steep, rocky portion of the United States, from Canada 
sides, and at times tumbling over rocks to the Gulf of Mexico, and embracing with- 
lying in its bottom, the course of the stream in their limits a greater variety of grand and 
was asked by Mr. L. “It, is running this picturesque scenery than perhaps any other 
way,” replied the lady addressed. locality can show. In “The Pioneers,”— 
“All ladies so reply,” Mr. L. said, laugh- one of CoorEit’s “ Leatherstockiiig Tales,”— 
ingly;“ men say the other way.” A second there is an excellent description of these 
glance showed that the men were right. cascades, to which we refer our readers, 
“ Here is something especially fitting for a lacking space to properly describe them here, 
woman to look at. It, is so pure and bcauti- New York State is peculiarly rich in cas- 
ful. 1 don’t show it. to everybody;” and cade scenery,—we think of no other that 
lifting a glass cover, lie cume to ns with an equals it in this particular. Besides that of 
exquisitely carved baby’s hand, lying in the the Catskills, we recall that of a half-dozen 
heart of a camellia. It was by Powers, and other localities, hardly less charming, though 
the model was the, hand of his first,-horn wanting the attendant, mountain grandeur in 
daughter. We recalled the aid given to the a measure. Near Cherry Valley, where the 
sculptor by our host’s late father, and a Catskill range crops out in highly altitudin- 
specimcn of his work seemed peculiarly ap- ous hills, there are two ravines which arc 
propriate in that, place. not much visited only because not much 
A copy from a very small marine view of known; Ithaca boasts four or five ravines 
R. Swain Gikeord’s was shown us in the 
ante-room, as being the work of “my little 
girl.” As it, was very well done, we fell to 
complimenting it. We learned afterward 
that his “ little girl” was a married one, and 
the grand new house going lip near by was 
for her. A series of scriptural paintings by 
Prof. Bchekmek completed the viewing. 
Every effort, was made to show the paintings 
in the best light, and all that might, be called 
praise or excellence was given the paintings, 
with never the slightest hintof pride, or sell- 
satisfaction, or vanity, to lie attached to, or 
reflected on, their owner. The value, or 
price of any painting, was not given, and 
everything about the man, or belonging to 
him, was entirely free from “shoddyism.” 
Leaving bis grounds, we drove into those 
of his nephew, Captain William Anderson, 
President, of the Ohio State Horticultural 
Society, and found the youthful looking cap- 
with unnumbered cascades of rare beauty, 
which are wooing many admirers with their 
Irinkling music; Watkins laughs a greeting 
to thousands of visitors every year through 
waterfalls as beautiful and coquettish as the 
veriest coquette; a scorn of purling streams 
go singing down to Beneca and Cayuga 
Lakes, leaping and frollieing in wildest glee; 
Trenton sung to Willis, and he courted it 
into notice until his admiration has become 
the admiration of hosts of travelers; and 
several other places which we might men¬ 
tion will sing themselves into popularity one 
of these days, and demand our attention. 
And what is prettier than a cascade? 
What is more enchanting, during a sultry 
summer afternoon, than to lie under some 
overhanging branches and listen to its mur- 
murings ? The stupendous cataract speaks 
hi thunder tones, and there is an awihhiess 
in its voice; the cascade woos you with 
tain in his shirt sleeves, superintending work silvery whispers, meant but for yourself, and 
in his garden. A small plot of “ Mexican tailing so gently on your ear that you fancy 
Everbearing ” Strawberries were in bud, there are dreams in them. And so there are,— 
bloom, and ripened fruit, anil a taste of this sucli dreams as the brooks have; which we 
rauch-talked-about berry was given us. It, should like to catch, if we could! 
was delicious to daintiness. We also tasted -- 
the Missouri Mammoth Blackberry, but did Facts Comparative. — To the traveler 
not appreciate it more highly than tho New tll ° well-known but, vaguely accepted fact 
Rochelle. * that height and distance are only compara- 
Going to his stables, we saw a lino lot of tivc becomes a realization. Mount Wush- 
“ IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.” 
BI A. A. HOPKINS. 
Fnn of all sad word* of toiiRuo or pen 
Tho saddest aro these—It night hnvo been.”—[Wurman. 
There’s n dolorous client In the words so sweet, 
For tludr Sudness in hardly real, 
Or the sadness they toll, ns my hourt knows well. 
Is nt most tint a sad ideal. 
We may picture the vanishing yesterday 
In the rarest, of tints, or to soother gray, 
’Twusn glad, glad time since it left us hero, 
And there’s never a cause for a sigh or tear ; 
It might have boon worse, and the good we sought 
Might have proved with tho saddest of sorrows 
fraught. 
When tho poet, had sung with his silver tonguo 
Ol ii fanciful sorrow Meeting. 
Ihid tie never a line for the Joys divine 
That tire ever our lives completing '? 
Wo may breathe or tho shadows our days liuvo 
known, 
Should our breathings forever the shades bemoan ? 
Should we sigh when we tell of the. dim twilight? 
Thera might have been darkness of darkest night. 
And we might have Imrn left in the gloom to grope 
With never a gleam from tho star of hope. 
In the struggle and strlfo of this wearing life, 
When wo long for a rest worth winning, 
Lotus think of the woe that our souls might know 
In an idleness dark with sinning. 
When we sail our bark over some stormy waves, 
Without lindhtg tho harbor our heart most entves, 
And wo think had we.sailed on another track 
Wo should never have wished to be sailing hack, 
Lot us think thuugli the waters are hardly fair 
That we might have found utterest shipwreck there. 
There are troubles and tears In the round of years, 
When there might have been peace and laughter, 
But the peace might have led to a deeper dread, 
And a greater disquiet after; 
And tho laughter imt.rlnglDg so Clear and glad 
Might have ended III tears of all tears most, sad, 
Kor the current or pleasure more closely flows 
By tho river of sorrow than human knows, 
And we never limy tell as they onward wend 
When tho sweet with tho bitter may Intorblend ! 
Thorn were wonderful dreams with their ghul'ning 
gleams 
That were full of delight, and beauty; 
Til ere are. wonrylug ways III the long to-days, 
That are part of our path of dut y ; 
And the way might have brightened, with blossoms 
sweet, 
And there might, hare been vosoh beneath our feet.— 
Ah, yes, but the way of the “ might have been” 
Might have led us perchance to the wilds of sin ; 
While tho path of the present, though rough indeed, 
To a beautiful country at last may lead ! 
for iUralists. 
A blarneys. One, a year-old heifer, was a 
complete beauty, with a black tail and 
tongue — marks of thorough breeding. One 
of the ladies thought it might he worth two 
or three hundred dollars. Being overheard 
by the captain, we were informed that he 
had refused seven hundred and fifty! 
We were told an anecdote of this grand¬ 
son of Nicholas Longworth, which is not 
only characteristic of the stock, but worthy 
ington is thought of great alLitudo, here at 
the East, and on it there is no vegetation. 
But the Pacific Railroad runs for hundreds 
of miles at. a greater elevation, and through 
a country by no means barren; and in South 
America there are thickly inhabited regions 
at more than twice the altitude. Numerous 
large towns may be found there ten thou¬ 
sand feet, above the sea; while small villages 
sustain themselves at still greater heights. 
THE WOLF-FIGHTEK. 
BY .TANK KEY. 
CHAPTER I. 
Chloe was crying in the woods; not flood¬ 
ing her handkerchief nor sending forth pas¬ 
sionate jets, but crying in a pitiful, childish 
way. It was not often she left her work to 
idle in tears; but for once the clmmpion 
spirit had bent, and she had flown with her 
weakness from room and home, where 
father’s voice might reach Iter, to drop upon 
the wood sward and hide it, between check 
and hall* and the rough bark. 
It is a good thing to give swelling tears 
vent. But it makes a woman’s nose red. 
Chlok’s poor little nose had been shamefully 
abused and looked quite choleric, when .Toe 
Arnold, with gun and game-bag appeared 
before it. 
Men do not know what to say to a crying 
woman. .Toe’s masculine instincts bade him 
hurry by and pretend he had not seen her; 
but his kind heart with spider swiftness at 
onco threw innumerable threads around 
Chloe, and drew itself toward Iter. Now, 
all the world knows a sensitive woman will 
guard her tears from man’s sunlight eyes as 
an oyster guards its pearls. But if he once 
enter her confidence through the draining 
river bed,strong is that man’s power there. 
Chloe shaded her fac« with her hat, and 
studied the moss intently. Joe had more 
bluntness titan courtesy. He pitted poor lit¬ 
tle Chloe Ward as, indeed, the whole vil¬ 
lage pitied her. It is needless to add that 
this compassion, so dibit,cly manifested, did 
not sweeten her cup. 
“What’s the matter, Ciiloe,” asked Joe, 
sett ing hia gun against the tree and throw¬ 
ing himself beside her. 
Bhe did not. answer. She sat like a statue, 
trying to congeal the heaving sea within her. 
“ You needn’t, mind telling me,” encour¬ 
aged Joe, chewing grass and looking anx¬ 
iously into her face. “I’m your friend, 
Chloe,” 
That word “ friend ” was the pebble chop¬ 
ped to the bottom of her heart, which set it 
again to overflowing. She needed a friend,— 
she whose guardian and parent had become 
her ward and child, for whom she labored, 
whose only friend she was. Nature had be¬ 
come invert in Chloe Yard's experience. 
She tried to keep back her tears; struggled 
and sobbed. Joe Chewed grass very vapidly 
ami sympathetically. 11c bad browsed 
around quite a circle before Chloe had re¬ 
lieved herself and was ready for youth's re¬ 
bound. 
“ I’m dread-fully si-silly,” sbe hiccoughed, 
shaken by the storm’s last blast. 
“ Any new trouble ?” asked Joe, couii- 
dentally, entering at. once on bis mission. 
“ O, no,” said Chloe, “ 1 only cried be¬ 
cause—because 1 was low spirited. 
“Yes,” assented Joe, “1 suppose you 
couldn’t have been in very high spirits.” 
