Memphis daily appeal. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1847-1886, 1872-10-13

Is When we have lost the warmth and glow
That filed our feelings vernal,
Can the husk brighten after woe
~ Has eaten out the kernelT
JOAQUIN MILLER BY HIS WIFE.
San Francisco Chronicle, September 81
i Joaquin Miller is a great man. His
a wife is a much greater woman. The
great poet of the Sierras has won for
himself imperishable now in the
field of poesy and weird romance. Mrs.
L Miller has won for herself the most
enduring famein the narrower but more
appreciative field Of grim humor and
fearfully cutting satire, Joaquin sings
of that which is ethereal, aesthetic,
: weird, romantic in nature, and he does
S it in strains that hold a world in rapture.
Mrs. Miller's song is of Joaquin. Her
J tune is pitched in a lower key than his.
It is not poetic; it is not beautiful; it
is not romantic; but it strikes a chord
and harmonizes with every r and
noble sentiment Of the human heart.
Everybody remembers Mrs. MilIer's
famous letter written about a year ago,
: which she gave to IN a~ppreeiative world
in a brief history of her career with Joa-
quin. That letter was perhaps n Of
l the most brilliantly-written things ever
| produced in the English language. The
praise of her husband, coupled with the
different strata of keen, Furnished satire
which ran through it all, won for Mrs.
Miller the u~ndisguised admiration of the
entire Eastern and English press. The
letter was commented upon On all sides,
and so beautifully was the sarcasm mark
ed in it, that half its critics were at a
loss to find wherein its chief merit lay.
Last night Mrs. Miller made her debut
in the lecture field, and essayed 10 in
struct her hearers a little more in what
she knew about the great poet. Pacific
Hall was pretty well filed, although not
so well as the lectures and her subject
deserved. Mrs. Miller is a pale, thought
full looking woman, and one who shows
that she has passed through a world Of
care and sorrow. She is not perhaps so
handsome in form and figure, as she is
in the soul that CLEANS out of her eyes,
and lights up her d~elicately moulded
face. She was attired in a plain black
silk, and wore her hair dropping about
her shoulders in a wreath Of ringlets.
Her delivery is good, and her words are
given with all the pungency with which
they are written.
Mrs. Miller began her lecture as fol-
lows:
joaquin Miller, the poet of the Ser
ras, IS not nv individual property. He
belongs to the world of poetry and of let
tiers; but the world must bear in mind
that he was mine before he had gone
through that process which made him
valuable to the world. As a diamond
in the rough, he belonged to me, and as
such ] propose to tell you Of him. 1 do
not cone before you as a wrOnged or de-
J u.-4. M-ffa Il do NOT agraa tn anranlafn
Tho ,urse Ofour life has developed a
new phase Of nature, and no one is in
jured to any great extent. l have the
experience and the world has the poet.O
The career of Joaquin Miller a a poet
has been more remarkable than that of
any other known. The career of the
man, as a man, has not been less re-
markable. He left home at the age of
fourteen, and the intervening years had
been spent mostly in the shadow of
Mount Shasta, with red men and women
for companions.
The poet boy, With his yellow hair
and blue eyes, had heard Of Joaquin
Muri' Ia, the Spanish bandit, and
thought him the greatest man Of the age.
To be Ike Joaquin was the dream of his
life. Adventure, spiced with danger,
was his constant pursuit. If he did not
have the discretion, sagacity, and sub
tlety of the poet of the Sierras, he at least
had the persistent energy and indefati-
gableindustTy which characteriZes Joa-
quin Miller.
She first wrote to him, and then asked
him to come to her. She says: 81 wrote
letters descriptive Of the wild, romantic
scenery. / told him of the gloomy pines
and the moaning cedars; of the wild
roses and the gay flowers that crammed
the bluffs; of the spotted fishes that stole
away up through the silent streams; of
the white lagoon and the little sail-bOat
that waited on its shores at my behest;
of the birds that shrieked from their
nests upon the reefs, and foated, in
dizzy 1ocks, down the little river. And
then l told him of my own desolate life, r
ofmy longing for a congenial spirit, etc.
l told him that u delightful, dreamy trail
wound over the mountains, and if he
would come / would ferry him over the
river in my little boat. Now, say this, ,
in behalf Of the young poet Of the Ser
ras: What young man, who had the en-
bryo nature Of a poet within him, could
do less han forsake the cold delusive
realms Of Salmon river, and, ignoring /
the roses and pinks Of the Willamette, !
turn a deaf ear to the tender voices Of
the maiden of Eugene reek-the poetry
AlGcu OF the sea shore T..
"He came riding on the famous spot !
ted horse. He stopped before the door, F,
dismounted and came in. The dashing !
Roman General who captured Cleopatra J
could not be more digniied. l felt the :
magnitude Of the situation, and tried TO :
assume the bearing ola Spartan maiden, !
but failed. Not knowing what else to =
&c, / asked him to come in and sit down
and make himself at home. j will not [
narrate what followed. {
"'In the four or five days that followed {
we rode and walked, and sailed and !
talked, and together watched the sun !
set upon the ocean, and rise over 9
the forest. We lived in the atmosphere !
OF poetry. On Sunday We were married. !
It was mostly my fault. Joaquin has |
often reproaehed me for it, and 1 feel the
justice Of his reproach. 1t is true, the S
marriage was vastly more like a funeral
than "a wedding. Many Of the guests
did not hesitate to say that il would be f
better far if the bride We're a corpse. The S
dashiug, daring young editor who anne c
so grandly on his spotted e0urser had e
not captured their hearts as he bad mine. f
But be was not himself. He felt called G
upon, As he does to-day, 70 10 m j
thing grand and awe inspiring. He did
not think it best to compromise his Dig 8
nifty as editor Of an Oregon paper by be- {
ing affable, sowhen the generous hearted i
miners approached him, he waved them
of with a bland wave Of the hand, and 0
smiled that peculiar smile OF his, which b
is all below his eyes" f
Mrs. Miller here went into the Byron 3
ic period Of Joaquin's existence, and re- C
ferred hnmorously to his search for a 0
May Chaworth in the person Of a Will 0
annette girl. From that little episode
she came to their life in this city, where :
they eked out an existence by writing y
for the papers. il
Then to their life in Grant county, I,
Oregon, where Joaquin was elected a n
Judge, and where Mrs. Miller a y her d
baby was born. She drew a beautiful a
and most poetic picture Of her cottage K
there, and said that the tenderest reeol- e
lectiOns clustered around that place, for q
there was not only born hersecond baby, d
but '"rhe Songs Of the Sierras.n And Y
then followed the description Of Joa- p
GUMS studies, as follows: n
"NOw, ladies and gentlemen, with
your permission, I win introduce you q
into the poetic workshop. We go up an Il
stairway, enter a hall, and from Is
a small dingy room, which IS Os- o.
tensibly the Office Of the County Judge Il
Of Grant county, but really the poetic Il
workshop Of the "Poet Of the SierFas.n e.
And here We should behold the artist At NJ
work. There is q long table. covered Il
with black Oil-cloth and furnished with &C
irawers. Scattered I'VE this table are ia
looks, papers, stationery, and manu- il
At this table sits the artist, por- CT