National opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1865-1874, 1871-07-07
THE POET OF SIEXRA FLAT.
BY BRETT AARTH.

As the enteIprisir.g z editor Of the "Si.
ezra Flat Record" stood nj his case set
ting type Tor ms next weeks paper, he
small roll 4 manuscript, which was
thrown thr 1ugh the open door and fell
at his ieet, An examination of the man
nscrip'' however, showed that it was evil
dent, of human origin, being verse,
an of exceeding bad quality The ed
cor laid 1t aside.
A few days after this the editorial Sc
clusion was invaded by voices of alter
nate expostulation and entreaty. Step
ping to the door, the editor was amazed
at beholding Mr. Morgan McCorkle, q
well-known citizen of Angelo, and a sub
scriber to the Record" in the act of ur-
ging, partly by force and partly by argu-
ment, an awkward young man toward
the building. When he had finally ef-
fected his object, and, as it were, safely
landed his prize in a chair Mr.. McCorkle
took off his hat, carefully wiped the mar
row isthmus of forehead which divided
his black brows from his stubby hair,
and, with an explanatory wave of his
hand toward his reluctant companion,
said, "A boIned poet, and the crlssedest
fool You ever seed p
Accepting the editors smile as recog-
milton OF the introduction, Mr.. McCorkle
painted and went on Didn't want to
come Mister Editor don't want to sec
me- Morg, sez he. 'Milt, sez |, 'he do;
a horned poet like you and n gifted ge-
Mus like he oughter come together So
ciabe And l fetched him. ALI, will
yer % The born poet had, after exhib-
lhpg signs of great distress, started to
nun. But Mr.. McCorkle was down upon
him instantly, seizing him by his long
linen coat and settled him back i'll his
chair. o'T amt no use stampeding. Yer
We are and Yer We stays. For yer n
honed poet, EFF ye are as shy rs a jack
ass rabbit. Look at i'm now y
He certainly was not an attractive pie
ture. There was hardly a notable fea-
ture i'll his weak face, except his eyes,
which were moist and shy, and not UNI
like the animal to which Mr.. McCorkle
had compared him. 1t was the face that
the editor had seen at the window
'knowed him for fower year, since
he war n boy continued Mr.. McCorkle
IN loud whisper, '.illers the same,
Wv N'u Vail Jtlh iiit uo tdo,N 'c
turnin' jack. Never had any eddication :
lived ont in Missooray all his life. But
he's chock full o poetry. On'y this
nonin' sez l to bim.-he camps along
o me,-'Milt = seq /, ARE breakfast
ready 2 and he up and answers back
quite peart and clipper, The breakfast
1t is ready and the birds is singing free,
and it's risin in the dawnin light is hap
plness to me = When man" said Mr..
McCorkle, dropping his voice with deep
solemnity, gets of things like them,
without any call to do it, and handlin'
fapiacks over a cook stove at the same
tlme,-that mans borned poet.
There was an awkward pause. Mr.,
McCorkle beamed patronlzingly on his
protege The born poet looked as if he
We're meditating another flight, not
metaphorical one. The editor asked if
he could do anything for them.
In course you can" responded Mr..
McCorkle, "that's jest it. Milt, where's
q that poetry ?"
The editors countenance fell as the
poet produced from his pocket roll of
manuscript. He, however, took it me-
chanically and glanced over it. 1t was
evidently a duplicate of the former mys-
ferrous contribution.
The editor then spoke briefly but ear
hestly. regret that cannot recall his
,eNact words, but it appeared that never
before, in the history of the Record,
mad the pressure been so great upon its
columns. Matters of paramount impor-
lance, deeply affecting the material pro-
gress of Sierra, questions touching the
absolute integrity of Calaveras and Tuol-
umne as social communities, were even
now waiting expression. Weeks, nay
months, must elapse before that pressure
would be removed, and the Record"
could grapple with any but the sternest
ol topics. Again, the editor had noticed
with pain the absolute decline of poetry
IN the foothills Of the Sierras. Even
the works of Byron and Moore attracted
10 attention in Dutch Flat, and preiu
dice seemed to exist against Tennyson in
"rass 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 cheer
mi alacrity.
Mr.. McCorkle placed the sum in the
edtor's hand ''Yer see thet's what !
sez to Milt, 'Milt seq !. pay as yon go.
Iof You are bolued poet ! yin no
'dl 10 write, but Din' IL free and spon-