St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1899-04-01

tie. its victory Its SuOume TRIUMPH:
its transient peace; to-day's is resig-
nation; submittance which has naught
of battle. Of victory. ct triumph. bur
only pain. 1o-day's is the end an end
that has no end"
But as he lay there, hands elasped
behind his tired head, lips parted in
a smile-a smile unlike his. for it had
naught of scorn in it-there broke upon
the silence the opening bars OF little
prelude, dainty and sweet in itself. but
the manner Of it's playing a veritable
triumph in mediocrity. 1t walled and
cried laboriously above the Poets head,
and echoed above the window. It 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. %. how can
she?- He Bit his lips wrathfuily; but
he did not intend to have his dream
altogether spoiled, and. his anger con-
uuering his wearinesk, ran lightly uT
the narrow stair.
He burst into the room of the stran
ger without preface or prelude, and be-
gan, in high-pitched. womanish voice:
"What i'm 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
a cloud about it. She was standing in
the middle of the room, with her music
stretched out fatty on the table, and
her violin and bow in her hands; stand
ing. the tears running thickly down hel
pale cheeks. without making any at
tempt 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; it went
against all his theories. He was angry
too, that he had imagined her to be
young. =.
"What an abominable row." he said
savagely. 'And what are you crying
about? But it is enough to make any
one cry!' He was not far from tears
himself with vexation.
She looked up at him wistfnlly-sht
was but a little thing-and without any
apparent surprise at his presence or ab
rupt entrance. sAh! should not have
played again" she sobbed, "after-af!
er had given it up"
"Then I had guessed aright!" criet
the Poet. yesterday it was renun
citation, and to-day resignation. Bu'
what had you given up? What hav'
YOU renounced? To what are you re
signed?"
Il don't understand you," she said
uncomprehendingly. She laid her vio
lin on the table. hanging over it as
mother does over her child.
"When you played yesterday
But ! didn't play yesterday" sh'
cried. Il wanted too, so badly! Th'
storm cried to me; the wind cried; ant
the sea cried; and l heard them all.
took my violin in my hand, but coult
tell nothing of what ! hearfid. o. how
unhappy l was! Then drew the bow
backward and forward across th'
strings, but without touching them
and. imagined it all. caught the sob
bing of the sea-god on the end of my
bow; 1 sent out the cry Of the gulls-"
.And the spray of the seal" cried th'
Poet.
.And the eddy and gathering Of th'
foam"
"And the mutter Of the waves!
"And thought of how might hav'
played had not something something
been wanting. o. cried to God to Civ
me the power to play as-as my sou
could play. but for this thing-this M
that cannot.
"The cry for the unattainable." tn
Poet whispered to himself. but she di,
not hear or heed him.
Il made resolution" She dried he
tears briefly at the recollection of 1t
God would not give me my desire, s.
/ gave up my semblance of it, for
wanted to keep my ideal. Then, whei
/ had quite made up my mind. how
could have played then. But it woul,
not come"
THE triumph" said the Poet. HI
smiled imperceptibly to himself.
But to-day it was all SO dreary. l
was all over. and there was nothing left
And after had thought how it was al
over and my last note played, Though
j would again say good-by to my fiddle
And i fetched it out and played good
by, but without making sound. Ant
| felt not bit sorry, but only a strang'
feeling here" she put her hand on he
heart. $50 / played real little bit L
see if il would take it away"
He did not speak. His dream ha.
come back to him: and his thoughts
like white clouds, foated far. far away
but / am going away tomorrow,
she said, with white lips, but firmly
land | will never play again. Will yo'
take it. please? Will you take il witt
YOU? / shall never have one again.
She placed violin and bow in his arms
and he let them rest there. seeing onl::
the beauty of his dream.
Then he turned away, and her eye
followed him as if her heart lay in hi
arms. But at the door he paused: "Yo1
have given me gift for which cal
never thank you as l should.' he said
simply.
She thought he was speaking Of tn
violin, and her eyes, full of pain, smile
| in confederation of his words.
'But-I should never play again"
1t was their first meeting-it was ais
their last.
In the early dawn the Poet blotte
the last leaf of what he knew to be tn
greatest thing he lad ever written. o
would ever write.
1T will make the world weep" b
said. through his tears. - Black m
White.
Explaining II.
"Now." said the physician who wa
examining an applicant for life insul
| ance, Il shall have to ascertain you
chest expansion" "My what?" aske
| the applicant. "Your chest expaI
sion.- HE means interrupted
| friend who had come in with him. ..th
difference between what you measur
/ chaxt ;rcs< ~ n o S.xa crI -. .