Connecticut western news., 1892-07-28
THELAUREL WREATH


 ''I am happy" said Mark Antony, perfectly happy"
 Ashe spoke glanced around the con- fortable room in which we were sitting; on the polished floor the light from the wood fire danced merrily between the reflections of the furniture; the lace curtains hung white and soft, with here and there rent skillfully darned be- tween a leaf and flower, while beyond the curtains was seen the neatly trimmed garden hedge.
 Then as I looked at my friend, stout, calm and smiling, and remembered what he had been when saw him last excitable, high strung, music mad, his nervous system like treble string that is ready to snap-I became convinced that he spoke the truth-he was per fectly happy. Nothing in his surround ings indicated artistic tastes, unless perhaps the piano, though that was closed so as to be utilized for holding vases of fresh flowers, and above it, hanging to the wall by faded blue rib bon, was what looked like the skeleton of a wreath, for single leaf, the last remaining one, showed that it had been made of branch of laurel
 The sight awoke my memories, and while Mark Antony poked the fire my thoughts went back to the night of his triumph. In his ''Virgilian Symphony" he had set to music the very soul of the hi in, fn,, oE tration the Bucolics and the Eneid-the lowing of cattle, the signing of pine trees in the wind, the soft murmurs of fountains, then the trumpet blasts of Trojan warriors and the love sobs of the deserted Tyrian queen. That night, in the midst of thunders of applause, an unknown woman, beautiful as a god dess, had presented to the young con- poser, who was pale with pride and hope, this laurel branch, plucked for him, it was said, from VirgiPs grave.
 Unmindful of that night, Mark An tony poked the fire vigorously. ''How odd," he said, "that you should have stumbled against me by chance in this out of the way corner of France! You wonder how came to exile myself? h. deed, I hardly know, but one day sud denly decided to go out of town for a little while-just month or so-for was sick of Paris with it's rush and fever, of the endless routine of an artists life, of weeks that had no Sundays nor an interval of rest.
 '.I set off by rail and stopped here merely because the name of the place pleased me; it seemed to promise land of calm forgetfulness, of lazy rivers, of willow trees, of peaceful hills whose tops were crowned with mists. I was not disappointed, but the most seduc- tive of the charms I found here was the novel sensation of hearing distinct sounds breaking complete silence; was tired of the internal din of Paris, & thousand roars combined in one, and never ceasing, and I was thrilled with delight by the music of village church bell, the ringing of an anvil, the sound of the women washing clothes in the brook and the report of sportsman's 8 rife on the hillside.
 "Fate ordained that I should meet an old college mate. He was living as s gentleman farmer on his family estate, and had a niece who was pretty girl, not very rich, it is true, but we pleased each other in an unromantic way, and were married. It was not by any means my intention to give up Paris entirely. On the contrary, we spent two winters there. The third year, however, our courage failed, for my wife was not very strong, and I, in my loose slippers and corduroy jacket, thought gloomily of always dining in evening dress and making and receiving endless calls of yawning in the theater night after night.
 "Then there were the children to think of, and we ought to economize. So, lit tie by little, was weaned from city life, until at last seemed to see Paris through mist, and now it is to me a far distant place, to which I do not know the way. I am thoroughly provincial. I have my wife, my children, small circle of friends who do not exact re- turn in kind for every courtesy. shoot | little, fish little, cut down my hay and put it in my barn. That has been my life for the last ten years" "And the music?" I asked.
 ''Oh, have not given it up entirely, ' | he said, with smile of embarrassment ''that portfolio in the corner is nearly | full. I have begun several great works but nothing is finished, for somehow between ourselves, I find that the in. toxicating Paris air is necessary for in. spiration. Your presence, however, will do just as well, and shall set to work in earnest"
 | "Poor Mark Antony!" thought. Al that moment the door knocker sounded I heard the servant go through the hall and then lady of prepossessing appear ance entered the room, preceded by two little boys dressed in sailor suits, theil cheeks like rosy apples and their calves scratched and sunburned.
 My wife," said Mark Antony, pre- senting us to each other, and the lady after bidding the children shake hand, with me, asked if would not stay tt l dinner.
 ssOf course he will. not only today but every day as long as he remains herep' exclaimed my friend joyfully and his wife echoed his cordial words though cloud of dismay passed ove her face.
 "We have nothing but stew for din ner today" she said; perhaps you vii not like it. My husband told me hoy to make it, with pork, wine and spices l am rather successful with 1t, I think.
 "DeliciousP' 1 said, and she hurried