The Eaton Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1875-1903, 1878-07-11

You told me the jar was nct for
sale" he said, in atone of irritation.
The artist, surprised, shrugged his
shoulders.
"Mrs. Ellison insisted on buying it,
and she has been most generous patron
ess," he explained. al did not wish
to sell, and actually set the price at one
hundred and fifty francs, to escape; but
she paid the money, and carried off the
Jug"
"Silly womanln exclaimed Mr.. Gull
worthy. Her husband should not per-
| NIT her to run about Europe throwing
money right and left. American men
are fools, let me tell you, sir; and If any
villain makes love to their wives in
these cities, they have themselves to
thank. Such follyp
Next day Mr.. Culworthy invited the
artist to dine with him. Never was
pharmacy jar more valued than the lost
one, especially now that it had become
unattainable. Mr.. Culworthy had fumed
for twenty-four hours over the disap-
pointment, and ragged at the headstrong
perversity and extravaganza of woman,
which had led Mrs. Ellison to gain the
advantage of him. This pharmacy jar
would have furnished missing link in
the department of Italian maiolica of
the museum at home.
/ The artist, good-natured man, per-
i ceived clearly what was expected of him
by his host. He lighted his cigar ever
the dessert, and explained that the jug
came from a priests collection. He
had, indeed, bought it for mere song.
In Italy the clergy still retain some
articles of value, amidst much rubbish,
chiefly cleaned from the sequestrated
converts and collections seized by the
government. To discover these treasure
houses one must seek the by,ways of
unfrequented hill cities, climb dilap-
Eidated stone steps, ring at narrow, dark
doors, be first cautiously inspected
through grating, and then admitted
by the priests mother, perhaps, or his
1 sis.er-in-law, a reserved and taciturn
woman, who may display nothing, or
take from the lumber of great bare
rooms, with their brick floors, an ivory
crucifx worthy of John of Bologna, ex-
quisite specimens of antique glass, rare
coins, gold and silver medals, the gor-
geous fabrics of church vestments, bit
Of old lace, and faience. Such collec-
tions exist at Perugia, Cortona, Siena,
and Orvieto. i
"But where did your priest ive~
questioned Mr.. Culworthy, eagerly.
The artist leaned back in his chair and
laughed
i "He dwelt not thousand miles from
Yolterra," J" was his reply.
In the ensuing month of November
Mr.. Culworthy reached Volterra. Why
not2 He had always intended to make
final tour of the Italian cities. En-
route his rancor had not abated toward
his fair countrywoman. He had often
repeated to himself, What does she
know about ceramic art?"
lnhis portmanteau was large volume
by Chaffers, handbook of monograms,
in English, and another, containing a
history of pottery, in French. Thus
armed, Mr.. Culworthy felt himself pre-
pared to meet the priest on his own
ground.
The setting sun famed across the
curious old city as he enteredit by post
carriage. Here was Volterra, one of the
twelve towns of the ancient Etruscan
League, claiming to have existed since
three hundred years after the food, even
as Fiesole asserts itself to have been the
first town built by Noah on leaving the
ark, according to venerable chroniclers.
That setting sun revealed the ,ramparts,
the fearful rayine of the Balze, which
yawns ever wider to ingulf convent and
wall, and all those dark narrow streets,
which might be caves where the gnomes
fashion snow into delicate shapes in the
alabaster toys of the dingy little shops.
Beyond were the Etruscan tombs, and
that wild expanse of country, mounds
of cracked clay, parched stubble fields,
4 thin threads of tiny rivers stretching to
the distant Mediterranean, bearing on
Its glistening surface such gems as the
islands of Elba and Gorgona, crimson
and purple in the glorious atmosphere.
Mr.. Culworthy stopped at the hotel,
read Chafers's work with much profit
all the evening, went to bed, and
dreamed that Volterra was sown thickly
with pharmacy jars of all sizes and
colors. The voice of Mrs. Ellison was
even threaded through his slumbers, ex-
] claiming, HQh, what ducksl'
When one is in search of mine one
does not reveal the intention to every
casual observer. Mr.. Culworthy, wary
from experience and by nature, did not
show his hand Immediately to gaping,
idle Volterra. He went about with his
red guide book, visiting his Etruscan
tombs and convent before permitting
himself. to search for the priests resi-
dence. Finally he sought the address
given by, the artist at Geneva. What
should he discover?
= Theytrayeler. familiar with Volterrs
cannot fail to remember a crumbhne
archway connecting several dark lanes
where taper burns in a lantern before
the shrine of Madonna in terra Gotta
protected by a sort of glass window, and
!, afaded wreath of flowers is suspended
below. just beyond the arch large
house, once a palace, arrests attention
by certain gloomy and moldy
= grandeur of aspect; the large gates arr
ii closed and barred, many of the lowel
: easements have been boarded up, anC
5 ingress is only gained by the door be
, side the arch. This was the resideDc,
j Of the priest, who occupied the fourth
floor. The fascinating little jug, witt
: its richly blended hues of blue, white
and yellow, and most impertinen
: green handle, had come from this yer,
: tspotl 3 s-s...z--s e -
e Mr.. Culworthy paused and glanced
: about him. An old woman sat be
: meath the arch, with brazier, cookin,
q chestnuts, before her. She had shrewtt
j good-humored face, with red handker
!, chief tied over her head, and was knit
e ting busily, while her inquisitive blacl
= eyes followed the movement of tn
e stranger. Mr.. Culworthy mediate,
asking her about the priest, thel
g checked himself, and entered the house
+ Here was the fight of worn steps, an,
i, here the oblique little portals opene'
IS cautiously, even the reIicent womel
a gazing out from various landings. Tn
|. fourth floor was closed and deserted
e however. In vain Mr. Culworthy ran
o and knocked. His countenance fell a
the vision of ivory crucifxes, antiau
l. glass, and lace faded. For an hour b
r wandered about the vast pile of build
= ing, like an uneasy spirit, bewildered b
'. dark corridors. knocking at unrespor