Connecticut western news., 1900-03-22

nlnU HIS IlTSu nSaOl. lips leLtSN HI a smile-a smile unlike his, for it had naught of soorn in it-there broke upon the silence the opening bars of a little prelude, dainty and sweet in itself, but the manner of its playing a veritable triumph in mediocrity. 1t walled and cried laburiously above the Poets head and echoed about the window. It broke into painful snatches and indifferent rhythm.
 The Poet sprang to his feet with an exclamation of impstience, ''To spoil that with thisr' he cried "oh, how can shel" He bit his lips wrathfully, but he did not intend to have his dream altogether spoiled and, his anger con quering his weariness, 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, sswhat in the world''- Then he paused. for he found she was crying A little, middle aged woman. with 8 wrinkled face and funny elfin locks that fell in a cloud about it. She was stand ing in the middle of the room with her music stretched out fiatly 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 It went against all his theories He was angry, too, that he had imagined her to be young.
 "What an abominable rowr' he said savagely And what are you crying abouts But it is enough to make any one cryr' He was not far from tears himself with vexation. -. ..
 She looked up at him wistfully-she was but a little thing-and without any apparenr surprise at his presence or abrupt entrance. "Ahl I should not have played again, she sobbed. "after after had given it up"
 ''Then had guessed arightP' cried the Poet, "Yesterday 1t was renuncia- ton and today resignation. But what had you given ups What have you re nounceds To what are you resigned s''
 II don't understand you" she said uncomprehendingly She laid her violin on the table hanging over it as a moth CT does over her child.
 "When you played yesterday"-
 But I didn't play yesterday" she cried. II wanted to-oh, so badly. The storm cried to me, the wind cried and the sea cried, and heard them all took my violin in my hand. but could tell nothing of what heard. Oh, how unhappy I wasl Then I drew the bow backward and forward across the strings. but without touching them. and imagined it all. I caught the sob ping of the sea god on the end of my bow. sent out the cry of the gulls
 And the spray of the seal" cried the Poet.
 And the eddy and gathering of the foam And the mutter of the waves. !" ''And thought of how I might have played had not something something been wanting Oh, cried to God to give me the power to play as-as my soul could play but for this thing-this me that cannot
 1.-The cry for the unattainable. the Poet whispered to himself. but she did not hear or heed him.
 ''I made resolution" She dried her tears briefly at the recollection of it. "God would not give me my desire, sc I gave up my semblance of it, for wanted to keep my ideal Then, when had quite made up my mind, how could have played thenl But it would not come.
 ''The triumph. said the Poet H, smiled imperceptibly to himself. | But today it was all so dreary. | was all over, and there was nothing left And after had thought how il was all over and my last note played thought would again say goodby tc my fiddle And I fetched 1t out anC played goodby, but without making | sound And felt not a bit sorry, bu only strange feeling here She pu her hand on her heart. "So played real little bit to see if it would take i away"
 He did not speak. His dream hat come back to him, and his thoughts like white clouds, fioated far. far away I Black and White.