Mower County transcript., 1871-07-06
THE POET or SIERRA FLAT.
~ BRET HAliTE.

for his heNt weeks paper, he could no'
help hearing the wnodpCckcIs who Welc
busy on the roof above his head. 1t m:-
cured t. him that possibly th, birds had
not yet learned to recognize in the rude
structure any Improvement upon naturc,
snd this idea plea cd hlm SO much that il"
incorporated it in the editorial article
which he was then douby composing.
For the euiuir VAS also p,intcr Of the
Heco'1; and although that rcma,kAhl.
journal was rcputed to exert a power felt
through all Calaveras and greater part of
Tu0lumne County, strict economy was one
of the condi ions ofits benefcent existence.
Thus preoccupied, lie was startled by
the sudden irrupion Of a small roll of
manuscript, which was thrown through
the open door, and fell at his feet lie
walked quickly to the threshold and look
eu down the tangled trail which led to the
high road But there was nothing to sug.
gest the presence Of his mysterious con-
tributor A hare limped slowly away, a
green aud-gold lizard paused upon pine
stump, the woOdpeckcrs ceased their work
So complete had bcenhis sylvan seclusion
that he found it difficult to connect any
human agency with the act; rather the
hare seemed to have an inexpressibly
guilty look, the woodpeckers to maintain
significant silence, and the lizard to be
conscience stricken into stone.
An examination of the manuscript,
however, corrected the injustice to de-
fenceless nature. 1t was evidently Of hui
man origin-being verse, and of exceed
AS he did SO he thought he saw a face at
the window. Sallyiug out in some indig
nation, he penetrated the surrounding
thickct in every direction, but his search
was as fruitiess as before. The poet if it
were he, was gone.
| A few days after this the editorial Sc
clusiOn was invaded by voices of alternate
expostulation and cntreaty. Stepping to
the door, the editor was amazed at behold
ing Mr.. Morgan McCorkle, we'll known
citizen of Angelo, and subscriber to the
Record, in the act of urging, partly by
| force and partly by argumc' t. an awkward
young man toward the building. When
he had finally effected his object and, as
it were, safely landed his prize in a chair,
Mr.. McCorkle took off his hat, carefully
| wiped the narrow 1sthmus of forehead
which divided his black brows from his
stubby hair, and, with an explanatory
wave of his hand towards his reluctant
companion, said, "A bo'ned poet, and the
cusscdcst fool you ever secd!'
| Accepting the editors smile as a recog-
milton OF the introduction, Mr. McCorklc
painted and went on: Didn't want to
comet Mister Editor don't want to see
me, Morg,' SCI he. 'Nlilt,' scz I, he do;
bnrncd poet like you and a gifted genius
like he oughter come together soclable!
And fetched him. Ah, will yer?' The
great distress, started to run. But Mr..
McCorkle was down upon him Instantly,
| scizing him by his long linen coat and set
tied him back in his chair. "'Tain't no
Use stampeding Yer yc arc and yer ye
stays. For yer borned poet, ye are as
shy as a ,jackaSs rabbit. Look at i'm now!'
He certainly was not an attractive pic
ture. There was hardly notable feature
in his weak face, except his eyes, which
we've moist and shy and not unlike the
animal to which Mr. McCorhlc had com
pared him. 1t was the face the editor had
seen at the window.
"Knowed him for fowcr ycar-sincc he
| war a boy" continued Mr. McCorkle in u
loud whisper. "Allcrs the same, bless
you! Can jerk rhyme as easy as turnin'
jack. Never had any eldication; lived
out in Missionary all his life. But he'
check full o poetry. On'y this mornin'
sez | to hinl-he camps along o me-Milt!
sez ], 'arc breakfast rea',y? and he up
and answers back quite peart and clipper,
The breakfast it is ready, and the birds is
singing free, and it's risin' in the dawniu'
said Mr.. McCorkle, dropping his voice
with deep solemnity, "gets OF things like
them, without any Call to do it, and hand
lin Aanjacks over cook-stove at the saue
time-that mans a borned poet"
There was an awkward pause. Mr..
McCorkle bcaned patronizingly on his
protege. The born poet looked as if he
were meditating another flight-not a
metaphorical one. The editor asked if he
could do anything for them.
I'm course you can" responded Mr.
McCorlxle, that's jest it. Milt, where's
that poetry?"
The editors countenance fell as the poet
produced from his pocket Il roll of manu-
script He, however, took it mechanically
and glanced over it. 1t was evidently
dunicate of the former mysterious con-
tribution.
The editor then spoke briefly but earn.
estly. | regret that cannot recall his cx-
act words, but it appeared that never be-
fore, in the history Of the Record, had the
pressure been 50 great upon its columns
Matters Of paramount Importance, deeply
affecting the material progress Of Sierra,
questions touching the absolute integrity
munitirs, were even now waiting expires.
siou. Weeks, nay, months, must clapse
before that pressure would be removed,
and The Record could grapplc with any
but the stcrnest of TOPICS Again, the
editor had noticed with pain the absolute
decline of poetry in the foot hills of the
Sicrras. Even the works of Byron and
Moore attracted no attention in Dutch
Flat, and prejudice seem d to exist
against Tcnnyson in Grass Valley. But
the editor WAS not without hope for the
future In the course of four or five years
when the country was settled
"What would be the cost to print this
yer?' interrupted Mr.. McCorkle quietly.
"About fifty dollars, as an ADVERTISE
ment,' responded the editor with cheerful
alacrity.
Mr.. McCocklr placed the sum in the ed.
itor's hand. Yer see thet's what SCI to
Milt; Milt,' scz /, pay as you go, foryou
arc u borncl poet. IIavin' no Call to
write, but .loin' it free and spontaneous
like, in course you pays. Thcts why Mis-
ter p litor never printed your poetry.''
the editor.
"Milton"
It. was the first word that the born poet
had spoken during the interview, and his
voice Was so v,"y sweet and musical that
the editor looked at him curioualy, and
wondered if he had sister.
"Milton is that all ?"
"Thct's his furst name," explained Mr..
McCorklc.
The Iitor here suggested that as there
had been another poet Of that name
"Milt might be took for him! Thet's
bad, reflected Mr.. McCockle will, simple
gravity well, put down his hull name
Milton Chubbnch"
TIE editor made q note Of the Elct. "Ill
sci it up now," he said This was also ii
hint that the interview was GUIDED. rhc
poet and patron, arm in arm, drew toward
the door. In next weeks paper said
The editor, smilingly, in answer to the
child like look OF inquiry in the eyes ot
the poet, aud in another moment they were
gone.
The editor was as good as his word.
lie struightway b"took himself to his
case, and, unrolling the manuscript, be-
gan his task. The Woolpeckery on
the roof recommended theirs, and in
u few moments the former sylvan Sc
clusion was restored. There was no
""und in The barren, barn like room but
the birds above, and below the click of ,l.c
composing lulc, ns the editor nn,rsln:lcu