Mineral Point tribune. (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1869-1938, 1879-10-02

OoI OI INC stArs, Steii2 ana that man to-
gether.
BY the end of the third day ! was
wrought to pitch of madness. l felt
myself justified in my wrath--openly
defed, ny tenderest feelings outraged !;
/ said ! should never see her again. /
abandoned her to her fate. I began to
paint then impetuously. Such sea scenes
as swept across my fancy such colors as
seemed to ripen on my palette! Such
reefs wrapped with foam-wreaths of
summer seas glimmering beyond them in
the half-risen moon, like the paved way
into heaven, or those same reefs when
their horns tore the angry waters into
fleece, stretch after stretch of storm
drowning out the horizons and the stag.
gering masts, or yet again the placid
dawn of rudy day about them as long
waves creamed up the curving shore,
and broke in rainbows round the naked
babies wading in, and the dipping wings
of seabirds. My pencil seemed possessed
of magic; Fame danced before my eyes
respondent shape. Stella should
lament the day she forsook the painter
of pictures for that imbecile wealth.
And all at once / turned the canvases to
the wall-my heart was breaking.
The Flight had been due on the mid
night tide. Of course, had Stella signi.
fed the wish, she would have been
there-would have been there even
earlier. The day drew on to nightfall.
Other sails few budding in, pleasure
boats and stately ships and fishing fleets
made anchor, and found haven from the
gathering storm; but there was no sign
OF the Flight. The roaring east wind
came driving all the mists across the
land; the world was wrapped in rain.
All night the tempest ragged, swept across
the gardens, and beat down the blossoms
on the terraces of flowers, sent great
boughs flying through the air; all night
hearts stopped with its every fresh gust;
all night the land shook with it's shock;
all night the sea replied; and when at
last day dawned, great racks of pearly
cloud lay off in the low eastern sky, a
zephyr only moved from the south, and
all the sapphire blazed above and blazed
below, as if the storm had been an evil
dream.
But it was no dream-the coast was
strewn with wrecks; more than one
corpse among the rocks and weeds looked
up with blank eyes to the morning light.
There was glorious sea on, and crowds
were out surveying its splendor. Crowds,
too, were wasting their wonder on the
Flight. Where was she? Who had
spoken her? Had she foundered and
gone down? Had she blown off the
coast? Would any one ever see her
again come sweeping into hartor with
all sail set, tower of snow and light,
with the music and the dancing? There
were none to say. No one lad spoken
her; and search the horizon with burn
ing eyes, no sign of her white sails, her
golden pennon, was to be seen.
And day followed day the same. And
q thrill of horror went to more hearts
than one at the thought of the gay party
going down with flags flying, and the
world that had known them suspended
for little its festivities, or turned its
into pleasure by yachting up
and down the coast in search, putting
into harbor every shutdown. But when
zen days had passed, with most doubt
mad settled into certainty, and the little
world was taking on its old ways again.
Only they missed the tawny beauty of
the Percivai girl upon the drive, the reck-
ess dash of De Luyster, the solemn stiff
ness of old Montmorenci-they missed,
indeed, that airy vision of unreal beauty
whose absence made the place desert;
1t least, it did to me. The Rattener
villa, dark as any Jail, no longer with
gay groups upon its lawn, seemed to
mock the blooming of the flowers that
lifted their scarlet and gold and azure
yayly az ever to the Indifferent skies from
bed and vase and urn.
And so they're giving up the Flight,
hear" said old Simpson, the lobster
man, as l wandered down the beach
hunted all day long, and where he had
looked up at me so often with reassuring
eyes, as he mended his nets or tumbled
out his wriggling load. "Well, don't
you be any mans fool, sir, and follow
such suit" he said. "Ben Burnham
was never at her hellum for nothing.
When Ben Burnham piloted in Boston
bay, and knew he couldn't make High
and Light, he put her helm hard down
and scud for Sguan. He was in blue
water before the first whisper of that
gale, sir, and he's been there before and
often in like cases; and when he is, he
heads for the Bermudies, sir. And you'll
be finding, when the Flight comes in
with all her linen stretched, that they've
been a-rambling over the Bermudies,
while you've been eating your heart
out, sir"