Highland recorder. (Monterey, Highland County, Va.) 1877-1972, 1908-01-17

and now he was hanging upon every
word Line after line rang through
him like trumpet call, waking OLD
echoes. stirring and stabbing him. un-
ri the whole man tingled with the
(. rushing of long. stagnant blood. And
now came stanzas that went no deeper
than the ear, while those three ran
their course through every vein. Yet
when he next caught up the thread It
was his own soul still speaking. The
very story was now his own.
"Alas fer her that met me,
That heard me softly call;
Came glimmering through the iaureis
At the quiet evenfall
In the garden by the turrets
OF the old immortal hall?
He had turned his head. A blue mist
hid the world, but through 1t shone
poignant vision of Claire Harding
among the Winwood fir trees-n the
autumn evenings long ago. And this Is
how the tears came back into Tom
Erichsen's eyes, to show him that his
soul had lived through a nights Dush-
ranging and four months OF Major
Honeybone's iron gang.
Daintree looked on with jealous
scorn. That few stray verses In the
Annual Register should put fire and wa
ter in eyes which the combined Hours
Of Exile" and of "Idleness' some
times left in such very different state!
1t was a CALLING thought, and it show
ed itself in such black looks that Tom
was constrained to cut his first heart
felt outburst very short indeed. SO he
hastily added that the poem appealed
to him particularly. He need not ex-
plain why.
81 see," said Daintree. mot alto
cether OH Its merits, eh? I'm glad to
hear it." And his face lightened a
little
81 don't know" said Tom humbly.
at was OH its merits, think. Surely
1t must appeal TO every miserable man.
Oh. it's all, all therein such words!
Come, sir. don't you think 1t fine your
selfT'
"Fine," said Daintree, lis word
which the critic does not employ I'M
advisedly. Your fine poem is not spas
modic. 1t takes meter and sticks to
it-as l do, for example, and as Byron
did. You don't catch me or Byron
writing poems with no two stanzas
alike in form! No. Thomas, the verdict
Is not 'fine,' but that the lines have
certain merit don't deny"
"Who wrote themY' asked Tom after
pause.
Ellis name is Tennyson," replied the
poet. you have never heard it be-
fore, dare say. and | shouldn't be sur
prised if you were never to hear IT
again. There were fair things in his
last book, but. upon the whole, / am
afraid the production you so admire
may be taken as representing his high
water mark, which is sufficient COM
mentary upon the rest. I understand,
however, that he is very young man.
SO we must give him chance. When
he Is my age he may do very much
better IL he perseveres, as have done.
Now, my notion Of treating such
theme" said Daintree, you lave heard
before, but you shall hear 1t again"
And with that he drew Hours OF
Exile" from his pocket and read with
ineffable JUNCTION one Of the longest
sets of "Stanzas to Clarinda," while
the terrier gazed up at him with eyes
of devoted sympathy and admiration,
and Tom fed his upon feathery emer-
aid branches and a turquoise sky as he
reluctantly decided that the kindest OF
meg was in some respects the most
egregious also. Suddenly-to his horror
the reading stopped. He had been
faught not attending! He lowered his
eyes, and they fell upon the snowy
wings of full rugged ship just clear
Ing the woody eastern point of the bay
and sailing slowly and majestically ON.
Both men sprang to the waters edge.
Daintree's book lay In the sand. The
ship was now clear of the point, stand
ing to the north of Shark island with
the light breeze upon her counter, a
noble vessel Of 600 tons, flying the red
ensign at her peak.
Not word passed at the waters
edge, but 1t was Tom who led the rush
to the bungalow, who fetched Dain-
trees immense spyglass, with the flags
of all nations let into the leather, and
who barred the lenses before putting 1t
In his masters shaking hands.
"How many days are they out?" ask
ed Dalntree, aiming wildly with the
glass.
"Ninety-nine."
"She could never do itw
'Tts been done before"
"Oh, no no. This must be some other
ship. Steady the glass for me. can't
get focus. There-now! Yes, ! see her
people, but / can't read her nameI
"Let me try, sir"
"Here, then"
Tom tried and gave II. mp.
"To Piper's pointp' he cried. She'll
pass there much closerp And again
he led the way, with Daintree thunder
Ing close behind and the terrier bark
ing happily at their heels.
Along the shore they raced, the little
bay on their right, then across the prom
ontory diagonally and out at its west
ern point, painting, trembling, stream
Ing with perspiration, but in time. Her
bowsprit was sticking out behind the
island, and they were there to see her
nose follow, with the foam curling I'M
der 1t like white mustache.
Tom had the telescope, focused still,
and he handed it to Daintree without
word, but the one concerned was