The Osceola times., 1881-05-14
SOLD;
The Balm of Nestiyius,

whom he had just bought some grapes.
1T ~ an improvisatore, Signor,' re
piled the man.
u must hear him" said the foreigner
delighted.
Now, this American had read of the
lmproyisatore often. He is peculiarly
Italian institutional man who, general
ly at twilight p2uses in a crowded
place, casts down his hat at his feet and
lmprovises a story in prose or verse. lie
IS much more romantic than the organ
grinder, and gets many more small coin
The American felt quite delighted az
the opportunity afforded him, and took
place very near the porch on which
the man had elevated himself lie
posed himself this improvisatore, most
gracefully; beside his hat lay his knap.
sack. lie was handsome, as we all ex.
pect poets to be and seldom find them
His eyes rolled about him, and caught
glints Of light, and sparkled and grew
soft as the eyes of the most estimable
English-speaking person never could.
His hair was black and ripping, and his
olive check smooth as girls. The
American waited eagerly, and with ro-
nance in his heart, for the beginning.
This is what he heard;
"Signors and Signoras and Signorinas
also" said the Italian, with that musical
accent which makes the speech of some
parts Of Italy almost a song to foreign
ears-'Signors, Signoras and Signornas.
| am about to tell you a true story-a
tale Of fact, not of Imagination. Think
you it will interest you less for that? No:
assuredly you will remember that fact is
stranger than fiction. Besides, my grand
mother was not the prettiest woman in
Naples. His grandmother" | hear some
one cry, laughing, All, Siguor, you need
not laugh; am speaking Of my grand.
mother, Beatrichi Pancini, at eighteen
years of age. She WAS the beauty OF
the town, the envy Of the girls, the ador-
alton of the youths Of the place. Not a
young fellow in Naples bat admired
her-but she had given her heart to one
alone, Luigi Nannicci, the bravest of all
the young Neapoitans, and when he was
rich enough they were to be married
Meanwhile no other, however handsome
or gallant, could get SO much as a smile
from her She was as constant and true
as she was beautiful. Half way up the
slope of Nesuvius, in a little house long
since destroyed by eruption, she lived
with her father. Her mother had per
ished at her birth, and the father was
very old. He had about his dwelling a
little vineyard and a few fix trees, but
his subs stence was derived from the
sale of u lotion which he himself had
discovered, of which no one else knew
the secret; he called it the Balm of
Ncsuyias.' To procure its ingredients il
la J., i
arise at night and climb the mountain
and pluck certain weed that grew in
the hOlluws OF the earth before the sun
had dried the dew upon it. AT times,
after the mountain had been silent for
a long while, strange vine began to
gIow in the crater. This he must tear
from it, ped. for the roots were precious.
He dared not conGde his secret 10 any
man, and at his age, the task of gather
ingthe Ingredients for his lotion had
grown laborious. However, when made
the mixture was a sovereign remedy for
all those wounds and bruises the mount
aineor5 and guides we're so apt TO receive
1t also cured rheumatism and allayed
the anguish OF fever pains. As he was
honest and asked but fair price for
this precious balm; the two managed TO
live upon its sale. for Beatrice was
careful housekeeper and did not waste
money as most girls Of her age will do
They were happy in their home, this
good old man and his beautiful daught-
er; and, surely, il must have been de-
mon who could have plotted evil against
Beatrice-a demon or a ierl Gus lover
The improyisatore paused and folded
his arms.
The American settled himself more
comfortably and prepared to be interest
ed. Now the romance was coming a
few small coin ratified into the hat lying
at the story-tellcr's feet. 1t was what
he was waiting for and he went on:
'Piedro Tupelo was in love with Bea-
trice and hated Luigi Nannicci bitterly.
"Iove is strange thing Signoras
The disappointed lover scarcely knows
what it is he feels for the woman who
scorns his passion. Is it love? Is it hate?
lie longs for her, vet he could kill her
Often when Beatrice and Luigi wandered
hand in hand amongst the vines in the
soft summer evenings, Piedro was be-
hind them. Twice he had drawn his
dagger TO stab his rival, but he had
sheathed it without striking, for Pedro
could hate as hotly as he loved; but his
life was precious to him, and he feared
the wrath of Luigi's kinspeople, if
it were known that he had been his muir
derer.
"Alone, when no eye saw him, Piedro
had resolved to the bloody deed-alOne,
near the dark crater of Nesuvius, or on
the lonely road infested by brigands, who
robbed the wealthy or made them cap
tive until their ransom was paid. sig
nors and Signoras, it was not always a
brigand who drove the knife TO the
heart ofthe dead man found at dawn
staring with blank eyes toward heaven.
Ii was sometimes the very kinsman who
most bewailed his taking off, who had
followed and done him TO death for the
sake of an inheritance, and oitener a
Jealous lover in whose way he stood, for
Italians love and hate as they do not
elsewhere.
"Piedro waited for his opportunity
bearing his stolen glimpses of Paradise
as best he might, and the moment came
at last"
There was another pause. The Amer
lean tossed handful of coin into the
hat. The improvisatore went on:
"Signors, Sienoras and Signornas, you
would not care to know on what em-
bassy the handsome young Luigi was
sent ON the day when Pedro followed
him out of Naples. 1t was one OF I'M,
portance, however, and he was employed
by the Count di l.. If he pleased this
patron some good place would surely be
eiven him. Pedro heard him tell this to
Beatrice as they parted at the door OF
her fathers cottage.
ave can be married, Beatrice, he said;