Eaton weekly Democrat. [volume] (Eaton, Ohio) 1866-1875, 1872-01-11
STORY OF AN INKSTAND.
WITH THE INKsTAND LEFT OUT

That 1nkstandT es, 1t has a his
tory. 1 may as we'll tell it to you now
as any other time, suppose. You
ought to be called the Great American
History Extractor, or Romance Ex-
tractor for if there is a particle of ro-
nance in anything or anybody IN a
place where you happen to be, you are
sure to scent it out"
"Of all days, this is the most glorious
one for romance-the rain falling with
that steady, monotonous drip, drip,
drip; not a soul in the house but our
selves, and we SO snug in this splendid
old library"
Mag Hastings was indeed an indefati-
gable romance-hunter. She was always
looking for situations where the roman
tic predominated. She would have
succeeded as a dramatist, without a
doubt. She was apparently as happy as
mortal could be on the morning in
question, nestled in the depths of my
scarlet lounge, perfectly certain that
she looked picturesque in her dark
green street suit, relieved by the dain-
test linen.
"Come here, petr' said she; and q
bunch of white wool, with blue ribbon
| tied at one end of it, marking a spot
| where in dog neck would be, trotted
,mysteriously toward her. What pro
| pelling power there could be in the
| shaggy thing was a wonder l never
could get over, but somehow it man.
aged to spring into Mag's arms, and
| then the silence assured me that my
story was expected.
The surroundings were favorable for
storytelling, it is true. The room
| heavily wainscoted with dark wood; the
cases of books of all times and of all
varieties; the long windows richly
| draped with scarlet brocade, lined with
mottled green; the Turkish lounges,
the quaint chairs, luxuriously uphol-
stored the bronzes on the mantle and
in inches and corners-bronzes that
told old stories of mythology; the en-
! cravings on the wall; the little gems in
/ oil selected for their wonderful coloring
an autumn scene, a burning ship, a
| group of German peasants; the glowing
| fire of sea-coal, and the polished hearth
| and fender-al appealed to the love OF
| the beautiful and the picturesque, while
the cold, unceasing rain, the bare,
gaunt trees, the dripping shrubbery,
and the blanched grass drove the
thoughts within for solace and amuse
ment.
The inkstand that Mag Hastings re-
ferred to was a pretty affair in Swiss
carving. 1t represented two little
peasants carrying water, the buckets
suspended from a pole resting in hand
of each. Of course the water-pails were
the ink receptacles, and the pole was
| the pen-rack. 1t was poetic and real
istic at the same time, and as pretty q
| trife for library table as one would
| wish to see.
"The story is sad one, Mag" said L
" 1t will give you the blues for the rest
of the day" ........
$50 much the BETTER" she answered
with a true dramatic love of the horri
BILE" SO much the better. I'd like te
be stirred up a little. fear Pm toe
comfortable. A little dash of imagina
tive sorrow is needed to relieve this per
feet enjoyment. A little shade throws
out the good points of anything, yor
know. Isn't it SO, pet?'' and she
pinched the little eppendage dignifec
by the name of tail till a sharp yelI
came out of the soft white mass in hel
arms. There, 1 told you so, pet nov
you'll know what true repose is"
81 should scold you, Mag said 1, ii
it were the least use in the world. Blu
you are incorrigible; SO I will go on
Time will give you shadow enough
without doubt"
"When was in Venice 1 com
menced.
"In Venice l''' exclaimed Mag, sittin
bolt upright, and giving the little dump
ling of a poodle a push that brough
out most spiteful yelp. When wer
you ever in Venice?''
"Why, you know, Mag, that l wa
abroad more than two years. In fact,
had just returned when you and 1 be
came acquainted" replied, wonderin
a little at the unusual interest she az
peared to take in the. commencement
,, of my story.
"Oh, knew that" she replied. "Bu
1 never heard you say anything abou
: Venice;" again reclining and closin
her eyes, as much as to say, $50 on.
L am at a loss to conceive what made m
' so foolish as to disturb myself for E
3 slight thing as the mention of fo,
eign and defunct city"
. Well, when l was in Venice b,
ieve it was the second month of m
, stay there-Charles came in one day
I (Charles is my husband) "from a Ion
! tramp about the Palazzo Loredan, tn
Ca d. Oro-you know which mean
the one built in the sixteenth centur
: in the oriental style, and restored b
| Mile Taplioni. the celebrated dancer-