The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1874-09-10
ESC0RIAZA.

|
upon auctions he is forever filling
the house with traps of every descrip-
ton; to-day it is an old mirror on
the verge Of losing its powers of re-
fection; yesterday, it was library
Of books in Greek and Latin, which
must wait another generation in or
der to be translated, since to the
members of this it ia only so much
waste paper.
"They'n turn right side up," was
his plea, when reprimanded for SO
foolish an expenditure; but every day
Of my life I'm tempted to turn them
into tin-pans and cofee-pots. How
classic domestic life would appear if
Xenophon presided at the milk-strain-
ing and Ovid settled the coffee; quite
a metamorphose indeed, seasoned with
| Attic salt.
However, he capped the climax
when one morning a truckman set
down an old mahogany desk in the
front entry.
"Dear mel" I cried, "what shall be
done with the old thing? It must
have been handsome enough in its
day, but it is hardly fit for kindlings
now."
"Let it lodge in the garret q
while," proposed Uncle Ben; ut
won't eat nor drink any thing; and
seven years hence-why, you know,
every thing works up once in seven
years"
! He seemed to entertain the idea
that time alone was capable of crystal
izing the useless into the precious.
| But I had another notion; the gar
ret was already numbered with fac
SMILES of itself, SO that further addi-
tions would hinder Bridget from
stretching her lines there in cold
weather; therefore, as soon as Uncle
fBen's back was turned, I deceitfully
trundled it off to the auction-room
again.
1nnosiue my chagrln when, week
later, it made its temperance in COM
pany with my elated uncle.
cam I not in luckY said he.
"Here's the mate to that piece I
bought last week: sold for song
tooY
So thinking that I had been "sold,"
as the boys have it, I resigned myself;
and looking through the compart-
ments, before dismissing it to the up
per story, these old letters fell into
my hands.
They were without envelopes or ad-
dress; worn and yellow, as if some
thing had lent them an interest des-
tined never to grow so faint as the
handwriting, much of which was sad
ly blotted as though the words had
been traced upon paper wet with fall
ling tears; and they were tied togeth-
er with black ribbon. I hesitated to
unfasten the ribbon, and found myself
conjecturing what sort Of person it
could have been who kept and used
them thus; but, as curiosity is the
"open sesame" Of many secrets, I was
soon deep in their perusal. Here
they are, faithfully transcribed:
DEAR SYLv1A,-I don't know how
you will be abs to forgive my long
silence hardly how I shall forgive
myself. But I have been beating
about so constantly that unless I
wrote as Giotto sketched his earliest
fancies, on the fiat surface of rock,
1 must perforce omit it altogether.
But tonight there is a little pause
in the music, between the parts. Some
of the household are off at county
fair. Mellicent and Mr.. Earlsworthy
are singing in the drawing-room {;
they do nothing but make love under
the transparent mask of vocal music.
Escoriaza has gone across the river to
meet a friend; and Sidney and
Louise, having just had a "brush," !"
are watching with all their silly
hearts to make it up.
But I must tell you about this
Escoriaze- you ever hear such a
beautiful name, with its musical til
sound of the - Isn't it just like
some delicious love-song? Some tune
full fountain falling in a court of the
| Alhambra2 Speak it, and you see
two lovers meeting under the shadow
Of a castle-wall, in the romantic moon
light weather, son,brero and ma,,t;llo,
the flash of dark, dangerous eyes, and
the murmur of passionate words.
Well, if you were to see him, I
wouldn't answer for you he is more
exquisite than his name thousand
fold; such face as you see in dreams
only; snch a voice as you might sup
pose seraph to praise with; such a
smile as perhaps the saints don't wear
. Maybe I had better say no more
about him-if I can help it.
/ I think it was the first morning af
ter arriving here, when going out up
. on the veranda, I heard a nightingale
, trolling a hunting-catch if you car
, imagine it, and. presently the Span
L