The daily morning journal and courier., 1894-09-29
TALES OF TEN TRAVELLERS.
Continued from third page, age,

fully as the sateless maws of Chance would in turn clutch It from them; just as this trinity of harpies had done ten thousand times before!-and Klrtiey Breem. in the infinite heroism of a devotion more hopeless than the grave, turned from this rapaeious fa- tuity without a tremor in the paliid lines of his ghostiy face.
 III.
 A fat and pudgy form dodged along through the street throngs behind Kirt- ley Breem on his way to great up- town railway station the next morning; and certain fat and pudgy face peered eagerly over Kirtley Breems shoulder upon the ticket he had purchased with that halting yet eager and huttering dlhidence of school boy on half-holi- day quest for undetermined field of ex- ploration.
 This once scanned, the fat and pudgy form wrlggled quickly out Of line into the impatient waiting crowds: It's own CT nervously watched KirtIey Breem until he had passed the inspectors and his form, his shoulders and finally his hat, were lost in the waving bobbing of heads along the noisy platforms beside the trains: with an exclamation of .un- disguised satisfactioH and relief. at last turned to railway map upon the wall; and, slowly repeating "Brice's Cove?- Brlcc's Cove?-Brice's Cove?' ran his fat and pudgy finger back and forth along the dotted line.
 "Umph! Never heard O that. Must be on salt water, though. Yes, yes; here 'tis. Flag station. If 1t ain't jest like him t bury hisself where there aln't nobody t even plant a headstun over him"
 He now pushed his fat and pudgy head into the ticket window. as there was moments Hull In purchases. and inquired anxiously about Brice's Cove.
 "Twenty-eight miles out. First flag station. All rocks and trees and water. Half dozen retired old sea-captains romp Around there. Nobody can live near 'em. One woman there; that's all We know of. She's telegraph operator and station agent. We call her Gen eral Manager Mary because she runs
 
 glibly replied the voice in the window.
 "Thankee, ,thankee. sir" answered the questioner heartily, replacing his spectacles in their case and turning abruptly away. muttering to himself:
 "If General Manager Mary'll only run afoul O Kirtley Breem an send him t dry-dock, till he kin git remodeled, fore an aft, deck an keel, 'Lijahr Whitta- ker'll have the cussedest load offen his mind that ever got onto it yet! But, Lord!-all them other editors be wait in down there t tn Motor office t be- ginw .r.y' r. --,..-'l 'l.
 He thus set out from one completed task to another, cheerily comforting himself from time to time with the half audible reflections. ,. 4 a. ,,,
 "One managin' editors vacationin', anyhow: an 'Lijah Whittaker,s gained one O his tp'ints. If this editor busi- ness ain't to alfred weakenin'. I'll tackle them gamhlin' blood suckers t. naorrer, an t'-morrer aint any too saon",.. .M .s;.. ....,..,... ..,..,5.
 When Kirtley Breem stepped from the scarcely haltins train at Brice's Cove station, the only passenger to alight among its tumble of gnarled coastwise trees and it's huge. fantastically piled rocks, he felt a strang8 sense of in- supportable weight in. his limbs, whir- ring and a confusion in his ears, dull beating and -throbbing in his head; and. though it was still balmy and ra- diant morning, it seemed that a porten- tous hush and twilight Were settling down upon him and cloBs1g him in. as if by the fluttering pinions of night and rest, all alone there in his silent old hamlet where he was born. syg3,
 Just glance or two through this soothing twilight Which.yNas swiftly coming on, revealed everything as he had left. more than twenty years be- fore with mother and brother, and waiting sweetheart behind;$ his soul swelling with lofty motive his heart thrilling from what remained and what surely must be waiting, for Mary Brice and Kirtley Breem, the other side of effort and its noble gains:---the brown roadway winding among the Uncovered crags to the droning.. country nests among the sweet New England hills i; the tumbling stream that sang itself asleep across the shadows within the sfadowy cove; the "Pofnt"- where, like frowning frigates dragged, to land, the huge old habitations raised their great gables and ponderous chinneys above the dark masses of fir, where for cen- turles the storming sea-eaptains--th Prices and. the Breems--had dwelt, and where his father had never returned from the one voyage of wreck and death which had transformed the lad, Kirtley Breem, into the brave admiral of the helpless home fleet; and beyond, with ten thousand memory whispers now, the everlasting watchery of the smiling bounless sea.
 To what measureless shores awak- ened recollection may instantly voyage amid the thunderings of reality or the silences of dreams, no adequate human revelation has been made. What illim- itahle geographies of dream.life hope and effort and dolor and loss, perhaps of half-hinted rediscovery, Kirtley Breem saw unrolled before him in but a single moment of time, can never be told or known.
 But the ticking ofthe telegraph broke the spell upon him for little. In this interval of material consciousness, he somehow entered the tiny, vine-covered station and wrote this brief despatch "Elijah Whitaker, Esq,
 Motor Editorial Rooms,
 New York City.
 At Brice's Cove station. No plans; aud subject to recall at your conven-