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

at is only the wind" said the Poet
He threw himself listlessly upon tn
hard leather couch and turned his fac
to tho wall.
The waves dashed madly upon tn
rocks below the little cottage, will
angry shrieking the wind beat up til,
waves, and the moan of the storm came
upon the wind. The Poet heard al
these and smiled YEARLY. Young il
years, he was old in spirit, in experience
in enjoyment; they had no charm fol
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. II 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 it's hardness and cursing the
friend whose advice had sent him to re-
cruit Mt 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 lost soul at God 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 a melody so triumphant
as to override in its grandeur the voices
of the angry ocean.
''1t 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
The look of the sky upon him
was without CLINT of smile.
But again the music rose but so soft
~ that he had to strain his ears to catch
the murmur of a half hushed cradle
song. When it ceased again, the voices
If the storm seemed to be sinking and
The sea to be aweary Of rage The wind
ell, and into the sky came white
,limmer where silver star sought it's
to the heavens.
The Poet stood there long, his arms
esting on the SILL a dreamy look on his
I'D young face. There had come to him
ne of those moments which he fancied
lad left him forever, when his mind,
ike the wornout sea, could hush its
rying and be at peace.
1t was only when, on his way to his
edroom later, he passed his landlady on
he stairs that the problem Of the strange
1usic he had heard returned to him.
1T seemed in the house, and yet not in
nc house, he murmured to himself,
topping her. ut has been a wild night,
[rs. Lewis.
"Indeed and. it has, sir, but it has
,ttled down nicely"
cit was strange, but l thought ! {
card during the storm the sound of a l
lolln. Some one has chosen q strange,
ME to play"
"There's Miss White, sir. She has 1
he room above yours She teaches the
idle in town. Goes up every day. t
ut she $ not been playin tonight, sir,
I'd she's tie only one in the place that l
H." v
ooh, that explains it. She must have h
zen Playing. No doubt it was she C.
ard. n
But she hasn't been playin tonight,
:. Deg Your pa1don for sayin it. 81
ve been slttin SEWN in the room lust
ove her head, and never a sound have W
heard. She's been that still too. lie
The Poet laughed, but went on his W
~ unconvinced. ":5trango playing for tt
teacher OF the VIOLIN" he thought, m
nd strange time in which to play. pl
e must be a strange girl. " SO
1t never occurred to him, in the AFRO. or
nee OF his few Years, that she might he
more than girl. Indeed he speedily re
got the whole matter But in the av
ID OF the night he rose and, hastily
ming a few garments, sat till the co
" OF the morning inscribing the liz
'ughts of which the strange strains -
sown the seed. He had found in tbe -
what he had never found before.
Nth the golden eye of the sun unon =