Ashtabula weekly telegraph. (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1880-1886, 1880-08-13
SYLVIA'S SUITORS.


SYLVIA ENGLrs folded the letter she had
Just written, and put it in the envelope
Ihen she arose from her chair, put on her
nat and sacque, and so opened the letter and
read the last pages over.
- You need not WONDER" she read, "wby
prefer to spend October at the sea shore
II you were here-I wish you were-you
would rather wonder why all the world is
not OF my mind, But am glad it isn't, I'D
like another woman to help entertain the
Two learned men who also sOjOurn here, but
i should object to the world. One Of the
charms OF the place is my sense Of proprie-
taTy right in the ocean. For me the tides
come and go; for me the sea breaks and
rolls; mine are the sunsets and white caps,
and mine, o Rachel, the spoil and the plum :
def! For know, my dear, that do not stny
only for the fine weather and the ocean, nor
Tor good Gomradeship, but for MOSES Never
again viii you say you are tired of Miss
Enges, cowslip china 1t, Rachel, has had
Its day 1t is to be succeeded by mosses.
sea weeds, dig9. They will be the rage I
am determined upon that. You and your
fashionable friends can make conversation,
as you sip your chocolate, upon the variety
and delicacy Of my designs. No plate is to
nave It's duplicate, no cup its fellow. | shall
not paint very many, but l warrant Won
they'll be expensive! You will 90 wild when
you see my designs, but you need not hope
TO buy any Of my china. 1t will be dear. TOO
dear! Still, as you are going to be married,
you snail have tete-d-tete set In the mean
time, won't you stop at my studio and tell
the janitor that will be home the ist OF
NolemberY You might suggest some du
ing up. As ever,
49,. as. E.~
"Now, ,, said Sylvia, &" Rachel viii have
news to teh," and then she put on her gloves.
and started for the post-offce.
AS she walked along Atlantic Avenue, and
then down one OF the cross streets toward
m. oh fbn MI To- 10
1t had been desolated by the plague. The
stores, the hotels, the pleasant sunny cot
tages, were all closed and silent. No one
was to be seen upon the long and sandy
streets On some OF the avenues were rows
OF torlorn and dingy bath-houses, moved
away from the beach and from winter tides,
The long board walk by the shore, the ma
vilions, which at their best suggested Sarnp-
son Brass's summer-hOuse, were gone, and
place doubly desolate.
But Sylvia was too full of vitality to feel
depressed, and indeed rather enjoyed the
loneliness that left her free and happy.
she was pretty, she had abundant Interests
IN her life, and she had half made up her
mind to marry. She was not young for she
was thirty-si&; but she had had very good
time, and she meant never to have bad one.
She had once lived abroad, and had studied
art in Rome and Paris, and she was wise in
tcchnical terms, and knew all about the
poems she turned them with many neat al
fusion to both Dante and Raphael. She was
never worried because she could not paint
great pictures, and when she was in Paris
she used to go among the studios, and with
out any envy admire ambitious Americans
working at POmpeiian interiors and Arabs
at prayer. When she came home she refused
all pupils, and applied herself to painting
little girls. Her pictures sold, but with
mildness; yet her day of triumph came. 1t
came with decorative art" and a panel
and tea service established her reputation,
and made Sylvia the fashion. After this all
was easy.
The man she thought of marrying was
Professor Arnold. He was a widower with
one child, and Sylvia had now been at the
sea-shore for two months with them. She
had always meant to marry, and any one
could see that this would be suitable match. |
lie had position and money, and Sylvia liked |
both, and thought she deserved both. The |
enid, little Josie, was fond of her, and she |
liked to have the tender little creature de-
pend on her, run after her, and play the ty-
rant over her.
When Sylvia reached the beach she found
Josie busy making well in the sand, while |
Dr. Kennedy walked up and down. His |
long ulster was buttoned over his slender, |
tall figure, and he wore huge blue and |
white scarf tied over his hat to protect his |
ears.
"Oh, here you come !" he cried. "I have
been watching for you. just come here,
Miss Sylvia. Now look over the water What |
do you seep
Sylvia went to him. al see the waves |
breaking on the shore," she replied. at is |
high tide, but the breakers are not rough. |
1t is a tranquil sea-"
"What else? he asked-"no ships, no |
boats, no guflsP
"Only water and sky"
"NOw look along the Shore"
see sand-a long, level stretch Of gray
Sand the skyY'
"There are clouds. They are white and
any-piled. The sky is soft and blue, and
over there" pointing, "the sunset ColOFs are
reflected from the west"
Then" said he impressively, "looB at
that child You have not mentioned her-a
mere speck OF humanity, a creature not three
feet high, small bit Of color, red and white;
and yet she is all we see between here and
Portugal! Think Of It'll Nearly four thou
sand miles OF space, and hers the only life in
slght! MISS sylvia" and the Doctors voice
deepened, ''this is what call-solitudeW
"And you like itP
eyes" T" he said, 81 do. like IL, as the
Frenehman did, when have pleasant COM
panion with whom to share ito
Very WE'LL" said Sylvia, taking out her
watch, 'if come under that head, l viii
stay withyOu fifty three minutes, By that
time Thomas will be ready to sound his gong
for supper, and the Professor will be walk
ing on the porch looking for us"
"Suppose, then" said the Doctor, "that
we sit down by the anchor. don't like this
wind, and have a shawl there"
The anchor, which in the summer was at
tached to a bathing-line, was now drawn up
on the shore, and deeply imbedded in the
sand made a snug. recess, Of which Sylvia
was fond. The Doctor hung his shawl
upon the arms Of the anchor, and offered
Sylvia the cosy, tapestried seat; but she, de-
ciining it, sat in the open air, and he went
far back in the shelter.
This" he said, 81 call comfOrtl And
now Miss Sylvia, when are you going
awayY"
60 In two weeks" she said.
" And the Professor a week after. / shall
be lonely See here, Miss Sylvia, why don't
you stay here all winterl You have no idea