The weekly clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1863-1882, 1879-05-14
HER HOLIDAY.
a HU BANDS STORY.


share in it except myself is, if go
ing as her courier, paymaster and gener
al tactotum could be called having q
share in a 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 chance for 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 a continuation
of the general London responsibilities
plus the worries and inconvience of lodg
ing or hotels. Moreover, within the
last few years there had been some trOu
bic in her family, which had acted very
prejudicially upon her sensitive and
high-strung nature. So now we were 90
ing away alone-going to leave all the
children at home in the care of grand
mamma-wereg going abroad for six weeks
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! | waved my
magician's wand, rubbed the lamp, or
spread the carpet, or didany one ofthose
wonderful things which necromancers of
yore were wont to do when desiring to be
transported to distant places-or, rather,
| resorted to the modern golden equiva-
lent for such proceedings-and we found
ourselves certainly, as 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 at
the Locarno end of the Lago Maggiore.
BY this time she was beginning to en-
joy herself thoroughly; 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 honeymoon over
again." she said, or rather it is as if
there had been no break, and thatit was
only the continuation of those early
days"
We spent hours and hours upon the
lake, beneath the awnings of the fiat
bottomed boats, those first inceptions OF
the gondola, or we wandered up to the
picturesque old convent or sanctuary OF
the Madonna del Sasso, set like Jewel
amid the blue hills behind the town.
And there in the soft autumn evening
we sat and watched the glorious sunset,
and the bOundless panorama ofAlp, plain
and lake, while the bell in the campa-
nile hard by called the peasantry to YES
pers, and the pealing of the deep-toned
organ resounded through the choir.
We selected Locarno as halting- place,
because it was at that time, and is so
partly still, out of the rush of the tour
lists A primitive place, with simple,
civil people, willing to serve and oblige
honestly, and without having for the
first question in their minds, g 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 them was a mother
and child-a sweet little chubby cherut
of a boy about 4 years old. The Italian
folk in the North there are not as a rule
handsome, but this mother was an ex
ception, and the child was like her
| Superior to, in all respects, she looked
| better born, bred and nurtured; nay,
there was even look of culture and
refinement about her.
Immensely attracted by this pair,
my wife particularly would lose no OPP
portunity of giving the little one pat
and kiss, and of exchanging a pleas.
ant word or two in the best Italian she
could muster with the mother, who by
degrees on her part began to speak a
little English, and to take us into her
confidence. She explained that she had
married an Englishman, a gentleman
she declared who had died suddenly
more than four years ago, and just be-
| fore the little one was born: His family
never knew of the marriage; he had
intended, she said, to proclaim it and
face the consequences of the mesaliance,
as it would be called, but his sudden
end prevented this, and to this day she
believed her existence even was I'M
known to her husbands people. But
she did not care he had left her just
enough to live upon and she had come
to dwell at Locarno, where her aged
father lived, and whose last days she
desired to soothe. She was quite con
tented with the humble life she led
there in yonder little wooden chalet-at
least, until the good God should take
him to rest.
Would we enter the abode and speak
to her father? He was a very handsome
old man, native of Tuscany, who had
seen better DAYS But it mattered lit
tie that, or why, he had come so fan
north.
Her name, we asked.
All, her maiden name was one that
in past times had struck terror to the
foes of liberty she would rather not
mention it; her father, even, had con-
| sidered it wise to drop it, and had adop-
ted her surname, her married name, the
name of her husband, that is.
What, he had taken an English name
No, not an English name; her hus-
band had been naturalized as an Ital-
ian, had changed his name for reasons
they did not signify; and he was
known as Georgia Vianero, she was
Lucia.
OF course, we went In and spoke to
the old farmer-like man, who, partially
paralyzed, always SAT BY the window Of
his neat little house. He received Us
with the grace of prince, regrettine
that his infrnities prevented him from
doing the honors of the neighborhood,
so beautiful as It was.