Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1878-09-05
HER HOLIDAY.
4 Husbands Story.
London Society.

general ldCGOJtliu, COttlt- De Cd!IGu nav
ing share in q holiday.
We had been married nearly ten
years, and what with the cares Of home
and the training Of numerous olive
branches, she had never had any
chances of a rest. OF course, we had
been to the seaside frequently. and all
that sort Of thing; but then, surrounded
by children and nurses, these trips had
only been continuation of the general
London responsibilities, plus the wor-
ries and inconvenience Of lodgings or
hotels Moreover, within the last few
years there had been some trouble in
her family, which had acted very pre-
judicially upon her sensitive and high
strung nature. So now we were going
away alOne-gOing to leave all the
children at home III charge of grand
manma-were going abroad for six
weeks together wherever she liked. Her
will was to be paramount; | was to be
her slave-to pay the bills and look
after the luggage. Her affection and
untiring devotion to her duties deserved
no less. She had thoroughly qualified
herself for enjoying holiday; she had
earned it. Italy" she said, "where
there was sunlight, beauty, and quiet"
Good! / waived my magician's wand,
rubbed the lamp, or spread the carpet,
or did any one Of those wonderful
things which necromancers of yore
were wont to do when desiring to be
transported to distant pIaces-or,
rather, | resOrted to the modern golden
equivalent for such proceedings-and
we found ourselves certainly, us if by
magic, at Lucerne. Thence we were
to take it easy, and so logged along over
the ST. GOthard Pass, and dropped into
Italy ut the LocarnO end Of the Lago
Maggiore.
BY this time she was beginning to en-
JOY herselfthoroughly; she had got over
the fatigue, and already looked much as
she did the day | married her. Yes, it
was very delightful to see her so well
and happy.
"Why, it is like q honeymoon over
again." she said; cor rather it is as if
there had been no break, and that it
was only the continuation of those
early days"
We spent hours and hours upon the
lake, beneath the awnings of the flat
bottomed boats, those first inceptions of
the gOndOla, or we wandered up to the
picturesque old convent Of sanctuary of
the Madonna dell Sasso, set like ajewel
amid the blue hills behind the town.
And there in the soft autumn even
ings we sat and watched the glorious
sunset, and the boundless panorama of
alp, plain, and lake, while the bell in
the campanile hard by called the peas
antry to vespers, and the pealing of the
deep-toned organ resounded through
the choir.
We selected Locarno us q halting
place, because it was ut that time, and
is 50 partly still, out of the rush of
the tourist. A primitive place, with
simple civil people willing to serve and
oblige honestly, and without having for
the first question III their minds.
" What shall we get by it?" Thus we
came to know some of them living up
there near the sanctuary, and to speak
or nod when we met from time to
time.
Notably among these was q mother
and child-a sweet little chubby cherub
Of q boy about four. The Italian folk
in the north there are not rs Il rule hand
some, but this mother was an exception,
and the child was like her. Superior
too, in all respects, she looked better
born, bred, and nlutured; nay, there
was even look Of culture and refine
ment about her.
Immensely attracted by this pair,
my wife, particularly would lose no OPP
portunity of giving the little one a pat
and kiss, and of exchanging a pleasant
word or two in the best Italian she
could muster with the mother, who
by degrees on her part began to speak
n little English, and to take us into her
confidence. She explained that she had
married an Englishman, Il gentleman,
she declared, who had died suddenly.
moro than four years ago, and Just be-
fore the little one was born. His family
never knew of the marriage; he had in
tended, she said, to proclaim it, and
face the consequences oft the meSaljance,
as it would be called; but his sudden
end prevented this, and to this
day she believed her existence
even was unknown TO her husbands
people. But she did not care; he had
left her just enough to live upon: and
where her aged father lived, and whose
last days she desired to soothe. She
was contented with the humble life she
led there in yonder little wooden shalet
at least, until the good God would
take him to his rest.
Would we enter the abode and speak
to her father? He was a very hand
some old man, a native of Tuscany who
had seen better days. Mai it mattered
little that, or why he had come so far
north.
Her name, he asked
All, her maiden name was one that
in past times had struck terror to the
foes of liberty; she would rather not
mention 1t. Her father, even, had
considered it wise to drop it, and had
adopted her surname. Her married
name, the name of her husband, that
is.
What, had he taken an English
name?
No, not an English name; her hus-
band had been natrralized as an Ital-
ian, had changed his name for reason
they did not signify; and he was
known as Giorgio Vianero, she was
Lucia.
OF course, we went in and spoke to
the old farmer-hke man, who, partially
paralyzed, always sat by the windows of
his neat little house. He received us
with the grace of prince, regretted
that his infrmities prevented him from
doing the honors of the neighborhood,
so beautiful as it was.