The Bellefontaine Republican. [volume] (Bellefontaine, Logan County, Ohio) 1855-1905, 1899-08-01
COMING OF EVEN.

at is only the wind. " said the Poet.
He threw himself listlessly upon the
hard leather couch and turned his face
to the wall
The waves dashed madly upon the
rocks below the little cottage, with
angry shrieking the wind beat up the
waves, and the moan of the storm came
upon the wind. The Poet heard all
these and smiled wearily. Young in
years, he was old in spirit, in experience,
in enjoyment; they had no charm for
him.
He opened his lips now in discomfort
''They have written so much about the
sea that one is dead sick of it all. +" He
sighed. 81 can find in it nothing that
has not been found before
He himself had written not little
concerning the beauties of the sea, but
his hand had been young in sooth when
it held the pen, and his eyes not yet
aweary.
He turned restlessly on the couch,
bemoaning its hardness and cursing the
friend whose advice had sent him to re-
cruit at this little fishing town, throw
ing all the burden of his disgust of life
and his own feebleness into the cursing.
Then through and betwiXt the voices
of the storm came wailing cry; the
cry of a lost soul at Gods gates; the
cry for the unattainable from the lips
of a child of earth. Rising higher and
higher, it beat sobbingly upon the wind
| 1t cried with the echo of the seagulls'
warning; it scattered with the soft sea
foam, and sank hushing and palpitating
| into the mutter of the waves. But only
| to rise again in melody so triumphant
as to override in its grandeur the voices
Of the angry ocean.
''It was the great Sea Spirit, said
the Poet.
But the sound had hardly seemed to
come from the sea-rather from above.
| He rose and walked to the window.
"It was not the wind" he said aloud
| 1t was still bowling, but the music
had ceased. He threw open the window
| and looked out. The wind fell in blast
| upon his thin face and tossed his hair.
| The sea shouted at him with angry
menace. The lock of the SKY upon hin
was without CLINT Of smile.
But again the music rose, but so soft
ly that he had to strain his ears to catch
the murmur of a half hushed cradle
| song. When it ceased again. the voices
of the storm seemed to be sinking an6
the sea to be aweary of rage The WING
fell, and into the sky came a white
| glimmer where silver star sought it.
entrance to the heavens
The Poet stood there long, his arms
resting ON the sill, dreamy look on hi!
old young face. There had come to hin
one of those moments which he fanciet
had left him forever, when his mind
like the wornout sea, could hush it
crying and be at peace.
1t was only when, on his way to hi
bedroom later, he passed his landlady OF
the stairs that the problem of the strang'
music he had heard returned to him
at seemed in the house, and yet not il
the house." he murmured to himself
stopping her. ''It has been a wild night
Mrs. Lewis.
"Indeed and it has, sir, but it ha
settled down nicely"
"It was strange, but l thought
heard during the storm the sound of
violin. Some one has chosen strang
time to play
'There's Miss White, sir. She ha
the room above yours. She teaches tn
fiddle in town. Goes up every day
But she's not been playin tonight, sir
and she's the only one in the place tina
can.
"Oh, that explains it. She must hav
been playing No doubt it was she
heard
"But she hasn't been playin tonight
sir. 1 beg your pardon for sayin it
I've been sittin SEWN in the room jus
above her head, and never sound hav
| heard. She's been that still too -
The Poet laughed, but went ON hi
way unconvinced. ''Strange playing fo
teacher of the violin" he thought
land strange time in which to play
She must be a strange girl "
1t never occurred to him, in the arrc
, gance of his few years, that she Nigh
be more than girl. Indeed he speedil
forgot the whole matter. But in th
dead of the night he rose and, hastil
donning few garments, sat till til
gray of the morning inscribing tn
. thoughts of which the strange strain
> had sown the seed. He had found in th
sea what he had never found before.
$ With the golden eye of the sun upo
T him he threw himself upon his tosse
! bed and slept until after monday. Aft
; erward he rambled upon the shore, re
; turning, tired and listless at length
I his chambers
g "Miss White, she's leavin tomorro'
S mornin," his landlady told him as sh
e laid his tea.
/ But the Poet was not interested. q
: wondered who Miss White might b,
: "Indeed?" he drawled languidly. H
n reused himself to poke the fire as a stoI
g per to any other attempt at converse
e ton, and Mrs. Lewis took the hint
g But in the evening, when, with til
: coming out of the stars, delicat
J. thread of sound wound itself throug
the stiffness, his interest came back
him. He threw himself upon his couc
and gave himself up to the pleasure
g the sweet strains. Yet was it hardl
n pleasure, but more fac pain. The1
was in the music naught of the wailin
l. of yesterdays, naught of its pleadin:
) naught of its passion, naught of i
n hope Ii was like the Poet told hin
self, wire of polished silver, a vii