Western liberal. (Lordsburg, N.M.) 1887-1919, 1899-02-10
COMING OF EVEN.

hard leather couch end turned his face
TO the wall.
The waves dashed mndly upon tho
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 wcarily. Young in
years. no 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 shat 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 a little
concerning the beauties Of tho sea. but
his hand had been young in sooth wien
st held the pen, and his eyes not yet
Gweary.
10 turned restlessly on the couch,
~bemoaning its hardness and cursing the
friend whose advice had cont him to re-
cruit at this little fishing town. throw
ing all the burden Of his disgust of life
and his own feeblencss into the cursing.
Then through and betwixt the voices
of the atOrm came q waiiing cry; tho
cry of a lost soul at Gods gntes; the
cry for the u~nattainable 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 tho wave But only
TO rise again in a melody 30 triumphant
as to ovcrr le in its grandeur the voices
Of the angry ocean.
''It was the great Sea Spirit. said
tho Poet.
Bat the round had hardly esemed TO
come from the sea-rather from above.
lie rose and walked to the window.
ut WA not tho wind. he said aloud.
1t was still bowling. but tho music
had ceased. He threw open the window
and looked ont. The wind fcll in n blast
upon his thin face and tossed his hair.
The sea shouted at him with angry
menace. Tho look Of the sky upon him
was without n CLINT Of a smile.
But again the music rose, bGt co eoft-
ly that he had to strain his cars TO catch
tho murmur Of a half hushed cradle
song. When it ceased again. the voices
of the storm seemed to DO sinking and
tho sea to DO aweary Of rage. The wind
fell. end into tho sky came q white
glimmer where u silver star sought its
entrance 70 the heavens.
The Poet stood there long, his arms
resting On the sill, a dreamy look IN his
old young face. There had com to him
ono Of those moments which he fancied
had left him forever, when his mind,
like tho wornout sea, could hush its
crying and be nt peace.
1t was only when. On his way TO his
bedroom Inter. he passed his landlady on
the stairs that the problem Of the strange
music he had heard returned to him.
at seemed IN the house, and yet not in
the house. " he murmured to himself,
stopping her. at has been q wild night
Mrs. LewiR."
"Indeed and 1t has. SIR. but 1t has
settled down nicely"
at was strange. but I thought |
heard during the storm the sound of a
violin. Some one has chosen q strange
time TO play"
There's Miss White, sir. She has
the room above yours. She teaches the
fiddle in town. Goes up every day.
But she's not been playin tonight, sir,
and she's the only mi in the place that
can"
"Oh. that explains it. She must have
been playing. No doubt 1t was she ]
heard"
"But she hasn't been playin tonight,
sir. ! beg your pardon for sayin 1t.
I've been sittin SEWN in the room just
above her head. and never a sound have
! heard, She's been that still too"
The Poet laughed, but went on his
way u~nconvinced 'Strange playing fol-
a teacher Of the violin, no thought.
"and n strange time in which to plsy-
She must be a strange girl"
1t never occurred to him. In the AFRO
Rance Of his few years. that she might
be more than a girl Indeed he speedily
forgot the whole matter. But in tht
dead Of the night he rose and, hastily
DOMINIC a few garments, sat till the
gray Of the morning inscribing tho
thoughts Of which the strange strains
had sown the seed He had found in this
sea what he had never found before.
With the golden eye of the sun upor
him he threw himself upon his tossed
bed and slept until after MONDAY. Aft
eward he rambled upon the shore. re
turning. tired and ~listless. at length t
his chambers
Miss White. she's leavin tomorrow
mornin. his landlady told him as shl
laid his tea
But the Poet was not interested. HI
wondered who Miss White might be
'1ndeedi" he drawled languidly. Ht
reused himself TO poke the fire as a stop
per to any other attempt at converse
tion. and Mrs Lewis took the hint.
But In the evening. when. with the
coming out Of the stars. a delicat'
thread OF sound wound itself through
the stiffness. his interest came back L
HIM. He threw himself upon his couel
ami gave himself mp to the pleasure o.
The sweet strains. Yet was it hardly
pleasure. but more a fine pain TherI
was in tho music naught Of the wailinf
Of yesterdays naught Of its pleading
nanghf " its passion naught OF Ia
hope 1t q like the Poet told him