Barre evening telegram. (Barre, Vt.) 1898-19??, 1899-01-27

that might turn and twist in 'ne's fles
forever, yet never cause morta
, wound-only an intinitude of pain
But that of yesterday was the broa
blade that kills at one stroke.
And again, as it broadenrd ant
deepened and faced, like Il mooilbeam
away. THAT of yesterday. y he nur
INJURED, "was remuneration; with 1t
battle it's victory, its sublime triumph
its transient peace; today's is rcslgna
tion-a submittance which has naugh
Of battle, of victory, Of triumph, bu
only pain. Today's is the end. an enc
that has no end.
But as he lay there, hands clasped be-
hind his tired head, lips parted in @
smile-a smile unlike his, for it had
naught of scorn in it-there broke upon
tho silence the opening bars of little
prelude, dainty and sweet in itself but
the manner of its playing a veritable
triumph in mediocrity. 1t walled and
cried laboriously above the Poets head
and echoed about the window 1t broke
into painful snatches and Indifferent
rhythm.
The Poet sprang to his feet with an
exclamation of impatience. "To spoil
that with this!" he cried. "Oh, how
can shcl" He bit his lips wrathfully,
but he did not intend to have his dream
altogether spoiled and, his anger con-
quering his WEAKNESS, he ran lightly up
the narrow stair.
He burst into the room of the stranger
without preface or prelude, and began
in high pitched, womanish voice,
"What in the world Then he
paused, for he found she was crying A
little, middle aged woman, with
wrinkled face and funny elfin locks that
fell in cloud about it. She was stand
ing in the middle of the room with her
music stretched out fatty on the table
and her violin and bow in her hands
standing, the tears running thickly
down her pale cheeks, without making
any attempt to wipe them away.
The Poet felt even angrier than be-
fore. Women Of that age had no right
to cry so openly, he thought. 1t went
against ~ his theories. He was angry,
too, that he had imagined her to be
young.
"What an abominable row." he said
"And what are you crying
about? But it is enough to make any
one cryl'' He was not far from tears
himself with vexation.
She looked up at him wistfully-she
was but little thing-and without
any apparent surprise at his presence
Or abrupt entrance. "Ahl l should not
have played again, she sobbed. latter
after had given it up"
"Then had guessed aright!" cried
The Poet. YESTERDAY it was renuncia-
ion and today resignation. But what
lad you given up? What have you re.
lounced? To what are you resigned?"
81 don't understand you," she said
lncomprehendingly. She laid her violin
N the table, hanging over it as moth
I does over her child.
"When You played yesterday
"But I didn't play yesterday" she
ried. II wanted to-oh. so badly. The
torn cried to me, the wind cried and
he sea cried, and heard them all. I
ook my violin in my hand, but could
ell nothing of what heard. Oh, how
Unhappy I wasl Then I drew the bow
ackward and forward across the
rings, but without touching them,
I'D .n.agi.lait alb caught the Sob
ing of the sea god on the end of my
ow. l sent out the cry of the gulls"-
land the spray of the sea-! cried the
oct.
"And the eddy and gathering of the
,am"--
"And the mutter of the waves"
And thought Of how might have
aged had not something -something ,
zen wanting. Oh, l cried to God to :.
We me the power to play as--as my
I'll could play but for this thing-this .
e that cannot. "
"The Cry for the unattainable, the !
yet whispered to himself, but she did =.
It hear or heed him. y
IL made resolution. She dried her a a
ars briefly at the recollection of it, -
tod would not give me my desire, so +
gave up my semblance of it, for 1 -
lnted to keep my ideal Then, when 1 =, t.
d quite made up my mind, how a
nd have played thenl But it would :.
come. =" u
The triumph" said the Poet He i'
lied imperceptibly to himself. u
But today it was all SO dreary. It r.
$ all over, and there was nothing w
!. And after had thought how it o y.
all over and my last note PLAYED I o. o.
ught l would again say goodby to - ~,
fiddle. And l fetched it out and T., -;
Fed goodby, but without making a a.
nd. And l felt not bit sorry, but ~
strange feeling here. " She nut W.
hand on her heart $50 PLAYED a pa
little bit to see if it would take If "a "a
ny" III
10 did not speak. His dream had .ol
he back to him. and his thoughts, q
white clouds, foated far, far away. I'D
lack and White.