Morning Appeal

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1879

THE SUMMER IS OVER AND GONE.

While this is scarcely true of Nevada it is true of most of the States East of the Rocky Mountains. The trunks which have lumbered the hotels and cottages of Saratoga, Newport, Long Branch, Manhattan, Cape May, and the thousand other resorts from the White Mountains to the Chesapeake, have been mostly packed; the servants who have revelled in perquisites, dismissed; the moonlight flirtations and expensive drives, are over for another nine months, and broken hearts and a great many other fractured things, strew the haunts of the abandoned spots or pine in dull homes, where the ennui-the relaxation -the universal "wilt" which follows the tension of a season at the seashore or the mountains, has stopped the whole current of home habits and healthy thought.

The student is yawning over his tasks; the mother languishes over her novel, the young girl, who is too young for such strain, cannot bring her mind to the daily task of music, French and other studies of equal importance. She is dreaming of the mazy waltz under the blazing chandeliers of a heated room; the quiet flirtations between dances; the iced sherbet and claret punches, and consequent exhilaration of those soft summer nights and of the pretty budding mustache and silky locks (macassar) of Charles Augustus: and her tasks become distasteful and horrid. The Sundays, which used to be looked forward to as a time for display of new dresses-and solemn worship-she votes a bore, and becomes peevish and cross. All the beauties of the season are remembered except the horrid dinners over which they used to growl, and worry bewildered waiters; the horrid rooms, with palliasses instead of the soft couch of home: cast iron soap and thrice used towels; these are all forgotten in the ennui, and the longings for the dissipations of the season ended. And this is the fashionable summer: and all the while a worried father or husband frets his weary hours in his counting room, in his frequent visits to town, and it costs him many days and nights of anxiety, bringing his business into train and his books to balance. and causes him to 'shin' around for loans or discounts to make up his depleted bank account. But this is the least evil. His daughters have made acquaintances, in our free society, which they should never have made; needy adventurers; men without character, means or connection. His sons have fallen into the habits of the lounger at the billiard and card tables; the generous young fellow who buys wine by the dozen-on the governor's account-and has learned that the season is jolly, and the company deuced good boys, and what's the use of a profession? the old boy will leave plenty, and in the meantime he has an allowance which will keep him in billiards, cigars. &c., and his bills are sent to the governor who pays them with a growl. Bye and bye, as a result, 'there is a daughter at home, a discarded or divorced wife; there is a son who is a roue and sharp; there is a closing out of business; an old man, with the relics of better days clinging to him, soliciting for an insurance company or drumming up trade, perhaps for a former porter or clerk; a few years of sorrow and an untimely grave. Go back to Saratoga, Newport, Long Branch and Cape May, and you will find the same seeds being sown by another generation, which will be succeeded by more; and still we go on and on.