Prescott journal. [volume] (Prescott, Wis.) 1861-1871, 1865-12-23

AAAh WIN ITO AA4CtL1CIOlYs DtlD lOL kOtttub
her spirits rose and fell like the brides
cent foam-bows Of the CHANGING water
fall. Whether the blue waves at Ma
Piles coaxede them to wander on it,
thresnold. or the long, low moan of the
Genoese waters chanted in their ears
perpetual miserere for the drowning
poet, or whether Venice, sad Venice
opened her palaces, or spread her sea
with black torch-it gondolas and sing.
ing gondoliers, before their eyes, it was
still the same, a presagiDg sadness on
the one hand, and unnatural Joy on the
other, surrounded the two-the une-
quail ebb and flow of that broad river in
inspiration, having its fountain-head in
the limitless, unexplored sea of the
soul. In Italy she achieved her major
of reputation. England and America
had echoed only the dolorous minor
Thereof, they had never known the
splendid ebullience of her songAonly
its regretful anguish. The enthusiasm
of the italian would build triumphan.
arches in her path-propelled her char
riot with its energy, crowned her En-
press of Song; and Philip saw Ire too had
attained-butt to such emptiness She
had not turned to him; he could wait;
still she looked for his counsel, was glad
to have him always near, prattled to him
as the summer sea prattles to the beach;
that was something. But now it was
her time to love, he thought, no longer
n child, she might assemble the world at
her feet and choose; he would not stand
in her way, nor obscure her sight; graf
itude she might mistake for love;l he
must be generous aud just. Poor fool !
why not give yourself an equal chance ?
At Florence, whittier crowds followed
them, change followed as we'll. This
naughty young Englishman, with. his
mt brown beauty, his keen, cruel eyes,
his voice like a harp-sigh or a trumpet's
call, what did he forever in their train |?
what did his rapturous chances seek p
To Philip, all Woe and misery was CON-
prised in the beam of those eyes; the
smile clustering about the perfect lips;
a mirage of poisonous asps in myriad
commissions All, but Saint and he
were not so much alike as brother and
sister! She felt differently all this, you
may besure, and came even to him for
sympathy. How, alas this bond of
brotherhood fettered hint 1t had worn
"A deep cash in his heart, suddenly per-
ceived and felt; had done its work in
siduously aud in silence. Blind and
dumb, it had wrought no opposition. :
Should he loose the bond now, .he
dreadful wound might cape still wider
and more Overwhelmingly. Alas, Philip
and yet you would not have left her,
shivering and hungry, in the old arehed
doorway.
at listen to the crystal voice of your
sister Saint for the first time to- morrow
night, Signor," simpered the bland and
widowed Countess Giondi, with one
eye on Arthur Grattan, the handsome
EDglishman. The unconscious shaft
shivered Philip. This eternal din of
sister or brother perplexed him; the
heavy odors, the binding brilliancy,
the color; the flash of eyes and jewels,
in the Countess saloon, made his brain
giddy. He was out of himself, and
answered, with dreamy boldness, "Sig-
ter" 1t was his thought that took
voice; he knew not that he mad spoken
till the astonished- faces reflected his
words, as IN so many magnifying mir
rors. At dusk next day the English
man desired conference with Philip
Arne. He spoke with all the disdainful
of his naticn.
{ ssAllow me to demand, said he, ''the
of your connection with
this young lady, whom you have rep
resented as your sister,"
Upon what ground?" as arrogantly
questioned Philip.
"Upon that Of sutton who scorns to
ally his ancient blood with disgrace!
This Grattan, who wore only q form
like gods suspected Philip Arne,
whose soul was panoplied with the pu-
rity of a very god! There was no es-
cape. ''Then you shall hear" said
Philip, colby calm. Strange she
lad not told me of this" he murmured,
''true, / remember she sent
for me to-day, but was too i'll to go;
all this day have not seen her. 1t
was well to have begun the test. Yes,
you shall hear. She was such a tiny
thing; the night was so chilly, and she
lay in a door way, when 1 found and
took her to my garnet. was poor
then, Mr.. Grattan, and only twenty.
/ have kept her ever since. Her moth
er had left her to find bite of bread;
she never returned. i call her sister
Saint, to shield her youth. Nothing"
"Enoughp' interrupted Grattan,
'.your oaths are not WORTHY an approg-
giatura. L believe you are parcel of
knaves. / rehnquish all claim to your
beggar girl. As for myself, yo1 may
If you please" if
az certainly shall not please"
AS the Countess had said, Saint was
to sing that night; when, therefore
Philip, sad, heart-aching Philip, went
TO conduct her. she met him at the door,
D whole heaven in her countenance-
laughing eyes, smiling mouth, Joy in
every shifting expression. Does not
our JOY or sorrow make us unobservant,
veil ns with rays ? It. seems to me that
the calm, unruffied hearts note faith
fullest, see earliest the inverted un
shine, or the prophetic promise after
storms of their neighbours hearts, or else
surely Saint had detected the subtle
sadness of his demeanor. There was
no time for words, he had delayed her
so long in order to gain composrIre, she
could only say to him. while assisting
her into the carriage Naughty Philip,
You have .postposponed your
that might have told you
my disposition How little you know,
sir, what you have missed l. Dear Phil
ip, kind brother y ''Dear little Saint"
be said, shutting the carriage door,
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