Litchfield enquirer., 1874-06-04

lsy this stone, embedded in earth anG mo d. There was nothing else, I broke the box to pieces and kept the stone Ecc0y"
 6crope, with shrug, repossessed him l aaif of the moidy treaasare. and our friend as he gave 1t up, declared 1t was thous and years old. Julius Caesar had worn ii l in his crown!
 HJulius Caesar wore no crown. my deal friend, said Scrope urbanely. Tit may be a thousand years old, and 1t may be ten. It may be an-agate, and 1t may be a flint! don't know. But If you will sell it on the chance ?--" And he toss ed 1t three times high into the air, and caught 1t as it fell.
 '1 have my idea it's precious, said the young man. Precious things are found here every day-why shouldn'tI stumble
 on something as well as another? Why
 should the lightning strike just that spot, and no other? It was sent there by my patron, the blessed Saint Angelo p He was not such simpleton, after all; :; orrather he was puzzling mixture of sim plcity and sense. 'sH you really want the thing, said to Scrope, 'smake h1m an oher, and have done with 1t
 Have done with it, Is easily said. How little do you suppose he will take ?'' Il haven't the smallest idea of its val
 ue.'' -' - e'Its value has nothing to do with the
 matter. Estimate it at its value and we
 may as we'll put it back into its hole-of Its probable value. he knows nothing: he need never know" and Scrope, musing an instant, counted, and flung them down on the grass, ten silver scudi-the same num-
 Der of dollars. Angelo,-he virtuously told us his name,-watched them fall one
 by one, but made no movement to pick them up. But his eyes brightened; his simplicity and his shrewdness were debat- ing the question. The little heap of sil- yer was most agreeable; to make poor bargain, on the other hand, was not. He looked at Scrope with a dumb appeal to his fairness which quite touched me. It touched Scrope, too, tride; for, after 8 moments hesitation, he flung down an- other scudi. Angelo gave puzzled sigh, and Scrope turned short about and be- gan to mount. In another moment we were both in the saddle. Angelo stood looking at his money. 'Are you satis- fled ?" said my companion, curtly.
 The young fellow gave strange smile. Have yoW a good conscience? he de handed.
 Hang your impudence p cried Scrope. very red. 'sWhat'smy conscience to you ?' And he thrust in his spurs and galloped away. waved my hand to our friend and followed more slowly. Before long turned in the saddle and looked back. Angelo was standing as we had left him, staring after us, with his money evidently yet untouched. But, of course, he would pick it up!
 rode along with my friend in silence; 1 was wondering over his off-hand justice. was youthful enough to shrink from be- ing thought Puritan or casuist, but 1t seemed to me that I scented sophistry in Scrope's double valuation of Angelo's treasure. If 1t was prize for him, it was prize for Angelo, and ten scudi, ,-and one over,-was meager payment for 8 prize. It cost me some discomfort to find rigs Sam Scrope, of all men, capable of 2 piece of bargaining winch needed to be ingenio iously explained. Such as it was, aii U. $ If lie knew his 16gIc was rather grotesque. Say it out; say, it, for Heav- ems sake !" he cried. sI know what you're thinking Five played that pretty faced simpleton trick, eh ?-and I'm no better than swindler, evidently! Let me tell you, once for all, that I'm not ashamed of having got my prize cheap. It was ten scadi or nothing! If I had of fered farthing more should have open ed those sleepy eyes of his. It was case to pocket ones scruples and act. That silly boy was not to be trusted with the keeping of such a prize for another half hour; the deuce knows what might have become of it. rescued il in the interest of art, of science, of taste. The proper price of the thing I couldn't have dream ed offering; where was to raise ten thou sand dollars to buy bauble? Say had offered hundred-forthwith our p1ctur- esque friend, thick-witted though he is, would have pricked up his ears and held fast He would have asked time to re. fleet and take advice, and he would have hurried back to his village and to his un- ele, the shrewd old priest, Padre Girola- mo. The wise-heads of the place would have held a conclave, and decided-I don't know what; that they must go up to Rome and see Signor Castillani, or the di- rector of the Papal excavations. Some knowing person would have got wind of the affair, and whispered to the Padre Giro lama that his handsome nephew had been guided by a miracle to a fortune, and might marry contessiaa. And when all was done, where should I be for my pains As it is, discriminate; I look at the matter all round, and I decide. I get my prize; the ingenious Angelo gets a months carouse,-he'u enjoy it,-and goes to sleep again. Pleasant dreams to him What does he want of money? Mon- ey would have corrupted him I've saved the cOatesSina, too; I'm sure he would have beaten her. So, if we're all satisfied, Is it for you to look black? My minds at ease; I'm neither richer nor poorer. I'm not poorer, because against my eleven scadi may stand the sense of having given a harmless treat to an innocent lad; I'm not richer, because, ,-I hope you under stand ,-I mean never to turn my stone in- to money. There it Is that delcacy comes ln. It's stone and nothing more: and all the income I shall derive from it will be enjoying the way people open their eyes and hold their breath when I make it sparkle under the lamp, and tell them just what stone it is."
 "What stone is it, then, in the name of all that's demoralizing ?" I asked, with ardor.
 Scrope broke into gleeful chuckle, and patted me on the arm. ssPazriaza! Wait till we get under the lamp, some evening, and then I'll make it sparkle and tell you. l must be sure first, {" he added, with sud- den gravity.
 But it was the feverish elation of his tone, and not it's gravity. that struck me- I began to hate the stone; it seemed to have corrupted him. His ingenious ac- count of his motives left something vaguely unexplalned-a inexplica- ble. There are dusky corners in the sim plest natures; strange, moral involutions in the healthiest. Scrope was not simple, and, in virtue of his defiant self-con- sciousness. he might have been called morbid; so that came to consider his in- justice Tn this particular case as the fruit of vicious seed which find it hard to name. Everything in Italy seemed mute ly to reproach him with his meager facul- ty of pleasing: the indefnable graceful ness of nature and man murmured forever in his ears that he was an angular cynic. This was the real motive of his intolerance of my sympathetic rhapsodies, and it