The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1874-09-10
fastening the cloak he had lent me up

"Who should know?" I replied.
"Who should know She whom I
love. Who else?"
II don't know her." I flung back
at him, for Lu was calling.
"But you will see her before dream
ing" kissing his hand after me.
Dear Sylvia, I am triAe sleepy.
Shall 1 dream ofyou tonight? WAX
ing or dreaming I am, if no one else's,
your LYRA.
Dear Sylvia, if you had been at
our bal masque last evening you would
have met Cinderella. I looked high
and low for the Prince till near mid
night, whena fightful gray bat, which
had been Tapping about in very dis
tracted manner, suddenly emerged, the
Pink Of Princes, in velvet doublet and
diamonds, and just led Cinderella to the
dance when the clocks chimed twelve.
and behold! there was only a little beg
gar girl courtesying tothe stately lover.
You would have heard Troubadour
touch his guitar, and dwould have caught
a Tartar making lovet Lu in the dress
Of the Coatadinei. To be sure there was
a skeleton at the feast making merry,
and Fagin "making pocket-handker-
chiefs," while ghost hovered about
every where, as unavoidable as the
atmosphere, importuning one to dance
who cared to skip with a ghost p
to take an ice-one was already frozen
to do any thing, in short that was
unbecoming. None of us could SET
tie upon his identity, till, just as we
scattered, I said:
"Adieu, Sir Ghost, and happy
dreams p
"Happy, if I dream of you." he re-
turned; and I knew it could be no
other than Escoriaza.
Do you know, Escoriaza has made
me an Eolian harp, and fitted it into
my window, and wake when I will the
room is full Of a low, delicious melo-
dy which lulls me off again, except
when the wind is high and wild then
it seems to sing of shipwreck and sor-
row, Of breakers crashing upon lone
some beaches, Of great waves heaped
over pulseless hearts, of bones bleach
ing in ocean hollows, of shifting
sand-bars and treacherous night-tides
sapping weak sea-walls and rearing
swift destruction before house and
hamlet, till the waters seem seething
in at my window, and I rise in haste
and fear to shut them out.
"When I am dead," Escoriaza says,
''my spirit will speak to you some
times through this harp-the music
of the spf*exes
IF your spirit should but touch
these strings they would break" I an
swer, "and there would be no more
music''-for me, I could have added.
How tiresome I must be to you
harping always upon one string
nay, two! What questions you pro-
pose, Sylvia dear! If Escoriaza is in
love with me he has not said 50, and
1 can badly believe it otherwise. In
the mean while am your LYRA.
have only minute, dear Sylvia,
in which to reply to your question
only a minute, when I might write
volumes. To be brief, he came yes
terday and said,
Il am going to be married."
Can I tell you what pain trans
fixed me, turned me blind and giddy
for one dreadful instant? Then I an
swered, coldly enough:
fLet me be the first to con-
gratulate you;''' for after all, if he
were going to marry, was it not his
pleasure?
"Not so FAST" he replied; "you in
terrupted me. I am going to be mar
ried-if you will marry me-"
So the programme is arranged.
Did it ever occur to you that life is
like that mountain range Of which
Humboldt makes mention-one ex-
tremity touching the frigid zone,
while the other is swathed in tropic
sweetness
The weather would do credit to
the suburbs of Paradise, and we are
to make the tour of the lakes, if it
keeps its promise, but Mrs. Leo pre-
diets the equinoctial directly.
Am 1 somewhat less yours since l
am something more his LYRA?
Yesterday there were two in the
world whom I loved and trusted.
Escoriaza and you. But that is all
past; part of it at least. Do you
know what it is you have done? You
have read my heart without remorse
and broken it with treachery!
fyou had only spoken earlier, if
you had SO much as limited that you
knew and loved him; that he was
yours, only separated from you by a
hasty word, a mistake, blind obstin-
acy, lovers quarrel, I could, per-
haps, have sent him back to you,
heart free.
To-day I send him away; but too
late, alas ! for me.
You wished to know, maybe, how
far he would wander from you, what