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16
GENEVA.
GRACEFUL DAXCE.
Mol to leggicro e ben marcato. LEONARD GAUTIER.
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Copyright, New York Musical Echo Cos., 1893.
SELLING SPRING POETRY.
How a V<Tse Writer Got Ilis Lines
Accepted in Two Hours.
* Interesting Magazine Editors--Mr.
Alden of Harper’s Criticises, But
Richard Henry Stoddard Promises
to Review Them in Print—An Ex
ample to Spring Poets.
(Copyright)
New York, March s.—Never again will
I believe that poetry—more particularly
spring poetry—is a drug on the market.
Experience has just convinced me to the
contrary. For, although destitute of lit
erary fame, and without previous exper
ience in the art of versification, 1 s.it
down and wrote a poem on spring which
I submitted personally to the editors of
New York's leading magazines. All of
those gentlemen aro entire strangers to
me, yet inside of two hours my verses
were accepted by an editor who is him
self a poet of national reputation. Not
only that, but this same poet promised to
write an article on my poem and print it
with the verses.
This is how it came about. For some
time 1 had felt an impulse, an inspiration,
or whatever it may be called, to write a
poem. This is something unusual with
me, for, as i have said, 1 do not write
poetry as a regular tiling. Moreover. 1 had
gathered that poetry is a drug in the
market, especially if it be in any wav
connected with the subject of spring.
However, one evening, just before going
to bed, 1 sat down in the diningroom of
my fiat and wrote tlio following, almost
without effort:
III! VOICE OF SPRING.
Bail, gentle spring-
Thou mildly soothing thing,
Whose soft, sweet Kiss
Is highest bliss.
Thy happy hours
Bring new-i oru flowers
To haunts of gloom.; men.
Go not again
So, oentle spring.
Of thee I sing
Stay, stav. oil. stay
On earth alway:
My sorrowing heart ro oices. Its first choice
Is ever to find solace in thy vol.e
I determined to lose no time in market
ing this production, and, with that end in
view, took it next day to the editor of
Harper's Magazine, Henry M. Alden.
He i' the most accessible of men. I
found him in his little office at Franklin
square, and upon introducing myself and
stating the nature of my business, he re
ceived me most courteously, unff asked
me to take a chair. There is an incom
prehensible aspect of youth in Mr. Al
den's gray hair and beard, and even in
his spectacles. As ho took my ;>oem
and began an attentive perusal of it, l
had an opportunity to study his face. If
Horace lived in the nineteenth century. 1
believe he would iook and dress like Mr.
Alden.
I think the famous editor must have
read my poem at least three times. Then
he looked gravely through his spectacles
at me and said:
“Where’s the rest of it?"
1 told him there wasn't any more of it.
Mr. Alden laid tlie manuscript upon his
desk, brought ins nand down upon it and
•aid, with a smile that wreathed ail his
features:
“That’s a good poem.’’
My heart gave a leap.
“Then you will accept it for Harpers?”
“Well, no,” said Mr. Alden, pleasuutly.
“When 1 say it is good 1 mean that it is
as good as tho verses of any live hundred
people who write poetry would bo. For
you would be surprised at the large num
ber of people who. like yourself, can write
good poetry. That circumstance, in tact,
is one of the most wonderful things I have
come across in all my editorial experience.
Poetry is submitted here to an ex
tent that 1 hardly dare estimate off
hand. And, as I said, it is poetry
that is largely as meritorious as the
verses you bring me. And while a great
many people ean write good poetry, it is
impossible for me to accept more than
some twenty poems a year. And,” eon
eluded Mr. Alden, with a smile that was
pleasanter than ever, “your poem docs
not possess, to my mind, the sort of
merit that would warrant mo in accept
ing it for the magazine.”
"May I ask,” 1 faltered, “what is the
defect in my poem.’ 1 need hardly say
that iam highly gratified that you con
sider it good.”
Mr. Alden took up the poem from his
desk and bent his brows over it again.
Then ho looked at me and smiled once
more.
"It is trite,” he said. “Spring is not a
subject that commends itself to me as
strikingly original. A poem should have
anew note, if written to-dav. Otherwise
it is apt to be a repetition of what other
poets have said. Hence I, and if lam not
in error, other editors are on the lookout
for anew note. That note, I freely ad
mit. does not make itself evident to me iu
your verses.”
Whereupon Mr. Alden folded the paper
on which m,v poem was written and
handed it to me with the most engaging
smile I have ever seen on a man's face.
“A last question, sir,” 1 hazarded.
"Would you judge, from this poetry, that
I have in me the makitigs of a good poet?”
The editor leaned back in his chair,
crossed one leg over the other and stroked
his beard.
“Yes l do,” ho replied. “I do not
undertake to predict what sort of a name
you may or may not make for yourself.
That would, obviously, be impossible iu
view of tile great number of persons of
whom it might be said that they have in
them the makings of a good poet. We
are all poets, more or less, but some of us
are denied the gift of expression.
I thereupon told Mr. Alden that 1 would
detain him no longer and he smilingly
bade me a most cordial farewell.
My next attempt was made with
Scribner's Magazine. 1 sent my name iu
to the editor. Mr. Burlingame, and lie
stepped out of his oltl e to come to me.
"i liavo here.” said 1, "something i
should like you to look at with a view to
using it. it is a poem entitled The Voice
of Spring.’ ”
“Pardon me," replied Mr. Burlingame,
who is a handsome, soldh rl.v looking man,
with a trace of care iu his dark, bearded
face, and who spoke to me courteously
but firmly, “you ask me something which
1 cannot do without being unfair to count
less o hers. If you will leave your verses
the;, will be considered in their turn. We
receive thousands of poems here, but we
do not accept more than thirty-six in the
course of a year. It would be un ust to
other aspirants if I read your poem and
gave you an answer now.”
1 told Mr. Burlingame that if he would
kindly read it and merely give me his
personal opinion, without reference to pub
lic itian, I shoud consider it a favor.
"My opitiion,” lie replied, as courteously
but as firmly as ever, - would be of no
use to ,\ou. It would be merely a private
individual opinion. You see Ido not pre- |
TTTE MORMNG NEWS: SUNDAY, MARCH 4, ISO 4.
tend to boa critic of poetry. I’m merely
an editor I can not undertake to sit
down rid read anybody's ;ioetry in the
way you propose. Will you not leave it f ”
1 told him that I would rather take it
around personally, and bade him adieu.
1 walked tip to Union Square and entered
tho Century Magazine's offices.
Robert Underwood Johnson is the gen
tleman who receives poets there when
they have anything to sell. Mr. Johnson
is a poet, like myself. His verses ha ve
been collected into a book and extensively
so and. Some persons tell me that Mr.
Johnson writes lyrics. Others tel! me tie
does not 1 had no opportunity of asking
him about this, for i had not b-en three
minutes in his presence before discover
ing that he much prefers to carry on
transactions in poetry by mail.
When I handed him my manuscript he
took it. unfolded it, gave one look at it,
folded it up again and handed it back to
me. lie declared that he couldn’t look at
it—l must excuse him. He couldn’t bo
unfair to others
Richard Watson Gilder is connected
with the Century.
But I failed to get Mr. Gilder’s opinion.
Mr. Johnson told mo that Mr. Gilder does
not give opinionson poetry while you wait.
1 railed at Mr. Gilder's houso in Clinton
Place, but he was not In.
Then 1 resolved to take my poem to
Richard Henry Stoddard and ask him to
advise me. When 1 reached his house at
No. 32U East Fifteenth street it was past
midday, mv verses were'still on my hands
and I felt discouraged.
I sat down in the parlor while the ser
vant went up stairs with m.y card. Very
soon I heard slow, labored footfalls and
the sound of a cane. A calm, aged
face, framed in a venerable white
beard, was next thrust through a pair of
curtains.
It was the old poet.
“Mr. Stoddard," said I, advancing with
with my sheet of paper outstretched, "al
though I am a stranger to you I have
called to ask your opinion of some verses
I have written. Will you do me the fa
vor to give me your candid opinion of
them' The lines are few. 1 have been
vainly trying to sell them.”
- florae into this back room." said ho,
in liis urave old tones, “where there is
an open tire." ,
He placed a chair for mo to sit down,
and taking in his trembling hand the
poetry which the editor of Harpers
Maga ine had called good, ho sat down
himself.
"1 must use glasses." ho remarked,
smiling over to tne, "for my eyes are old
and weak.”
He pulled out a pair of ancient specta
cles and stuck them over tiis nose. Then
he began to pore intently over my verses.
He pored while [could , ouut. say, sixty.
Then he turned the sheet over and looked
on the other side.
lie arose suddenly.
“I'll tell you what I will do.” he said
hurriedly, "1 will print your verses in tho
Mail and Express—l will print them
without having read them through. 1
will do more—l will print my opinion of
them.”
1 called liis attention to the fact that
his opinion of the verses might be un
favorable, in which case hitf published
estimate would prove injurious to my
poetic name.
"VVoii, I have no time to give you now,”
he said, still hastily. "I’m very busy.
You must excuse me. But if you send me
the verses 1 will accept them for publica
tion, as I said, and I will write them up.
1 am very busy now.”
He handed the verses back and 1 arose.
As I got to the front door he asked mo if
it. was cold outside. I told him it was
not, and thanked him, for I felt that his
offer implied a great compliment. Then I
passed out and left him standing at the
foot of the stairs.
Thus l got my i>oem accepted for publi
cation inside of two hours, not to mention
the triumph of an indorsement from the
editor of a great monthly.
1 can only say. finally, that if Mr. Stod
drrd will give my verses that free notice
I -will return the compliment by printing
mo opinion of his. Poets should uot be
jealous of each other.
ON THE TRACK OF BIG GAME.
How You Will Find Health And Sport
if You Wish for Either.
Are you a sportsman? Do you love tho
rippling streams, the roar of mighty falls,
the dark wild woods and the boundless
prairie? Do you -love not man the less,
but nature more?” Do you wish to kill
big game, or, go for health: then, read on,
and perhaps, if you “take tnat trip," you
will find either or both.
First, let me say, that if you are one
who must travel in his private ear. with
a retinue of servants and carry someone
to load your gun. drive the game and do
all but shoot it for you, you will never
realize what sport is; what nature is; so,
perhaps you had better spend the money
your father left you, going to prize fights,
or the base ball: perchance you will like
it better, and it won't be so much exertion,
if you want to hunt right, and kill game,
you must be willing to work and keep
your own eye peeled; for, hunting big
game, as you know, is not merely shoot
ing from a stand a passing stag. There
are more stern realities and you
must be quick and ready to cope
with them as they tome. If you
don’t, a grizzly or something might
dispute whether you or they are the
hunters. If they should, and you are not
fixed, it might probably be a one-sided
fracas, with grizzly chances.
Than such a trip, the writer knows of
nothing better to make one quick and
cool in emergency and self-reliant; to
bring back to your cheek the fad and rose,
dispelled by lout hours of work or study;
to make you really forget you have a
stomach, only you can't till it. and to
make you • sieep thesloepof tho righteous
aud tlie just."
If you want elk, mule deer, antelope,
mountain sheep, puma and an or. asional
bear, with tho milder sport of ducks,
goeso, sage hens and ruffed grouse,
you mast go west. There is no
better place than Fort Caspar,
Wyoming, to start from overland, for a
fen- week’s trip. Sole t tlie guns desired,
a rifie and shotgun, sometime before start
ing aud practice with thorn, until it is de
monstrated ust what they will do at any
distanco desired. A rifle with as flat
tra ectory as possible, up to 200 yards
will be Hound most welcome; for, the less
you have to tinker with your sight:;, tho
less befogged you will be. and the buncos
are. tlie mistake wiil not ho made, of
shooting at something perhaps thirty
yards distance, with the sights on the gun
at tin; .kM yard not; n. Don’t g t a gun of
too large a caiibre, 10-32 will be large
enough. Don’ let there be too much ball
for the powder. Some hunters prefer maga
zine guns and others prefer single shot
rifles; for with the former, one is apt to
got excited after the first shot an 1 e uptv
his shoot ironing so fast, it makes his head
swim; the end of tho fouling piece being
pointed somewhere towards the game,
and when lie comes to himself, he can't
positively su.v just at what spot he aimed.
This is bad policy, especially, if the game
is game and you haven't killed it; for
there you will stand (or run) looking m
every pocket or space in your belt, with
a nervous hand, for cartridges; that, per
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haps if much shooting has been
done that day, are safely en
sconsced many leagues away in camp.
Advocates of single shooters say this
don’t occur; for each reloading gives a
chance for collecting scattered self-pos
session. Penetration and fiat trajectory
are. after all. the desideratum. 1 Draw a
bead and be calm—if possible-and, even
a small ball, with great initial velocity,
will do the rest. Explosive balls and
young cannons are no good ; for, at close
range, it may be an overshot, and at long
range a big shallow hole -and wounced
game only may be the result. Make a
sleeping bag, like a pillow case, with a
triangular flap covering tho open end. to
lace or button on the inside. Make it of
heavy canvas and cover it with a mixture
of soap and paint. That will render it
waterproof aud pliable. Line it on the
bottom, inside, with rubber cloth and a
few sheepskins, if you have no buffalo,
with hair ou inside; then, with a few
blankets, and there is a bed in which one
may sleep in the cold, raiu or snow very
comfortably. But rain needn't bother
one, for at the season of hunting a precipi
tation of wetness rarely is seen. Mocca
sins are the best and lightest footweacr,
made of the same kind of canvas or rough
tanned skin. The footfall will be as light
as the snow fla ;o, and they are great for
sneaking, and won’t tiro ono, excepting
for the first few days at the heel: that
will soon heal, however, and be for
gotten. Take a few rockets, and if a be
lated companion is searching for camp
in confused peregrinations, they will
guide him to the spot. In this broad ex
panse, and rarified air. the sound of a gun
or shouting is not conveyed with tlie same
intensity that it is in more dense air. and
does not go far beyond the bounds of
camp. Light brown corduroy, or the reg
ular light duck hunting suits are the kind
to iiave; with good woolen underwear
and, lor shirts, sweaters or flannel ones.
A biei-briinmed hat and a cap, to pull
ovef the ears, are useful, each in their
way. Got in the cheapest and nearest
market a Cheyenne or Texas saddle, with
Mexican hair cinch and pack; they are
more comfortable for long riding, and game
may b - packed on behind you, while tlie
pommel or horn serves many useful pur
poses in pulling loads, helping a wagon
across quicksand streams and, with a
broad leather strap going aro.,nd the
pommel, lop and bottom, with a slip
buckle at top, is the best and handiest
place to i arr.v the fuses. It will be good
whenever a stream is rea -bed, io unhitch
and water the stee is be:ore trying to
cross, for they will invariably stop in the
worst spot to drink, and despite persua
sion anil quicksand, will remain unmoved
till they have imbibed their till. If they
drink first, they will eo better. Take the
shortest and cheapest route to Chiea.-o or
Omaha; then the Klkhoru and Missouri
valley road to Caspar, where tho re
mainder of the outfit, light wa on and
Indian or Texas ponies can be purchased.
If pack horses are desired, the wagon
may be dispensed with. For a cheap ami
effective tent a piece of canvas of re
quired length and breadth thrown over a
riilge pole aud staked down on both ends
tou hiug the ground, with pieies to tit
laced iu the openin - left in the front and
back flaps extend from main piece over
lace and flaps buttoned down. Slit the
front end for a door.
Don't forget to take along a demijohn
of good old bourbon, for. in the west,
sometimes, they dilute their wholesale
smile with oil of vitriol and concentrated
lye to make it palatable; a drink of your
good whisky will go straight to the heart
of any human met on the journey, and
anything desired may be possessed, in
stead of a light, which might brew after
“How" had been said over theother kind.
Rattlesnakes are met frequently, too,
and it’s needed to keep them off.
Take a correct map and if one is a good
plainsman and knows how to steer a
“prairie schooner” a guide will not be
needed, for other hun-ers. rauchmen,
cowboys and Indians will be met with
who will give necessary directions. If
going for a big trip take it easy at first,
for each day the load will gat lighter as
tho hunting grounds aro neared, and
speed may be gradually increased. Head
north for the sail fork of Powder river,
and in the wooded ranges to the east Elk
are to be found, in the rough buttes
mountain sheep and mule eer.
On the table lauds, antelope, and most
everywhere, labo or “loafer" wolves and
coyotes. Near Sand Springs antelope
will bo found in abundance. Grizzly
tracks, as large as you like to see them,
will comfront you every day; but you must
be sharp to see them, for so much hunt
ing has made them cunning, as well as
fearless and determined, and every hun
ter yields them the palm for the last two
qualities
if game should be scarce in this region,
try tho Rattle Snake range, or the south
side of Yellowstone park. If grizzly, es
pecially, are wanted, go on north to the
Mussel shell river country. In tho Grey
Bull river section, game of all kinds
abounds, and the streams, from tho melted
snow in the mountains, teem with
speckled trout. Don't go to the once
famous elk grounds. Bate's hole, for it is
now too thickly settled.
On the east side of the main range of
tho Big Horns, palatable water will be, in
tho very dry seasons, hard to find; for
the immense deposits of impure carbon
ate. sulphate, and biborate of sola or bor
ax, and salt make the water almost too
alkaline to drink ; but, on the other side
clear, cool water is to be found at most
any time.
The Big Horn presents some most
beautiful and sublime scenery, and its
highest peak, the Russian Grown, is
bathed in eternal congelation, some 13.5U0
feet above the sea. Way up there, not
quite near the top, the sheep feed in sum
mer on the new, fresh grasses and alpine
lichens. But don’t go in summer to
hunt them, or any other game. Start
from home the last of August, and the
hunting grounds may be reached early in
September. Be suro to stay all of Octo
ber, and as much longer as pos
sible. The Kootenay country of Idaho,
north of the Coeur- d'Alene mountains,
gained by the Northern Pacific road, is
now one of the best and surest hunting
grounds, for caribou, too, may be found
there, and, perhaps, mountain goat. This
region north to tho Selkirk mountains, in
British Columbia, wiii be found almost
uninhabited, save by wandering bands of
Indians. On the Belle Fourehe river, in
Wyoming, ga etlo used to abound, but
they can scarcely be found now, although
buffalo may still be heard of in straggling
bands; but this -is all only to be
heard of. You know of their ruthless
slaughter; a blackened page on the his
tory of the west and our legislation, for
not protecting the noble beasts. For the
sportsuiau, they are extinct, and now, of
course, they are heavily and rigidly pro
tected by law. Their whitened bones
everywhere dot the plains, or theshadows
of the gorge ;Vid, are picked up by mer
cenary hands to fertilize the ground or
whiten our sugar. Only paths remain,
worn in the solid rock where they went to
water, when the west wind was shaking
out the embers from tho hearths'ono of
the great spirit, previous to its rekindling
by the cast wind next day. in the king
dom of Waukon, in the land of the here
after, they graze in tno sun-lighted v alleys
and drink at evening from the limpid
streams iff eternity. Together they dwell
in peace with the true native American,
and from whence they will come not
again. In the edge of the Staked plains,
in the pan-handle of Texas, deer, turkeys
and black bear are still to be found. The
turkeys are so little hunted that the writer
has shot them in the Paloduro canyon
with a rifie. and shootiDg only at the
head about thirty yards distant. When
they flew they would relight and hide in
the grass a couple of hundred yards away.
If one is a sufferer from incipient con
sumption, dyspepsia or even unrequited
love, try to take a trip to
the northwest hunting grounds. It
won't cost so very much if
you don’t go in for too expensive ma
terials. Tho writer made one trip of
nearly 800 miles in the saddle over tho
best hunting grounds, and on returning
sold the entire outfit at a trifling loss, and
don’t think it “set me back - ’ more than
#IOO, while the experience and trophies
gained couldn't be bought. There was no
railroad fare to pay, however.
If complaining of any of the
above indispositions, go by all means and
give nature undulterated a chance and
wonders can be done for such troubles, a
now lease on life will be issued, instead of
a burial certificate. There is uo royal
road for tho ailments through a physic
ian's office, over a drug store counter, or
by taking Dr. Curemall's patent bottled
microbe poisoner, and biochemic micro
cocci slaying pills. Give your lungs and
your liver, and other insides a chance and
they will do as much for their possessor.
The healthy exercise in a dry, bracing
ozonized air will make the pump go faster
that supplies the blood to all the tissues
until the little freight cars, the blood cor
puscles, whose duty it is to carry
the oxygen and bring baek.
the products of combustion, aro made
in greater numbers, then your breathing
will got easy, your heart will beat slower
and having more freight cars you can
soon own the railroad and the right of
way to health. Why so? Bocauso there
is more freight to carry to the square
inch; a corpuscle or ear can carry only
so much, being less oxygen and more
ozone; more cars are needed and nature's
laboratory manufactures them.
As for appetite! One ean soon make
all the dead ostriches and alligators, too,
turn in their graves with envy.
After an hour around the flowing em
bers of the camp fire, recounting the sport
of the day, or telling yarns of other times,
the eyelids will grow heavy, and quietly,
one by one, will sneak off to his bed,
where slumbers will be soi/nd and dream
less, and tho only watchers and disturbers
will be the noisy coyotes baying trom the
distant hillsides in tho moonlight.
Go according to common sense laws,
and, though you may not find a Pierian
spring or theostone of Oacrliostro, H.vgia
will be good to you and, even, if you don't
find a gold mine, when you get back the
folks will all s.'vy. how robust and strong
you have grown. Auf vieder sehen.
“ Pbjuta O. K. Sbii.x "
Crows Hide the Sky.
From ihe Philadelphia Press.
Niagara Falls. Feb. —Tlie annual
flirht of the crows, which usually takes
place earlier iu the winter, has been in
progress all day yesterday and to-day.
Thy recent cold wave has driven them
out of their retreat along the south shore
of Lake Ontario and they have taken
their usual course up the gorge of
ara.
Millions must have passed here since
their migration commenced, aud the air
is black with them. Tho whirring oi
their wings and their cawing soundare
weird and uncanny. Numbers of them
alighted on the ice bridge and created 1
novel sight for the hundreds of visitors-
Tho birds branch off at Tonawanda for
the pine woods and valleys of Pen*>'**
vania.