, 1872-12-24
MINNIE MYRTLE MILLER.
Arrival in Chicago of the Poet
of the Sierr as Wife.
She Will Lecture in This City Be-
fore Proceeding Further
East,
The Lady Observation-Disclosures Of FAM
lily History---joaquin's First
Poem.

Poem.
Not the least among the many distinguished
persons which the hotels OF Chicago sheltered
last night from the severe breath Of winter was
Mrs. Minnie Myrtle Miller, tho divorced wife Of
Joaquin Miller, the Poet Of the sierras, who was
at the Gardner House.
A TRIBUNE reporter called On Hrs. Miller, last
evening. He found that lady busily engaged in
her room, in examining with her agent, Mr. Nc
Kinnay, the Eastern lecturing field, and prepar-
ing for the work which is the object Of her first
visit to the East.
The reporter was cordially received by Mrs,
Miller, and by her introduced to Mr.. Mckinney.
Mrs. Miller is q lady Of medium stature, with 8
wealth Of dark hair, dark brown eyes,
q small Roman nose, firm mouth
and delicately moulded chin,-she is,
indeed, handsome lady. She looks
like poetess. She wore q dress Of dark brown
color, trimmed with brown velvet Of a lighter
shade, made with an oyerdress Of the same tex
ture. About her neck VAS thrown worsted
collar.
After being seated and making the necessary
remarks regarding the weather, the reporter
asked Mrs. Miller it ahe anticipated remaining
long in Chicago.
Mrs. Miller-Yes; need rest, and expect to
remain here number Of days.
Reportor-Will you lectur in Chicago, Mrs.
Miller, before your departure?
Mrs. Miller-Yes, that WAS my intention what
do you think about it, since the weather is so
cold? ~
Reporter-I would most certainly delay my
appearance until the weather moderates. Chi
cago people are not exactly household plants,
but they do sometimes consult comfort.
IT, T. f+-$1 1or1 S1-hI
we'll here ? + fear that Eastern people have
placed the wrong Interpretation on my actions.
I trust they will know that my only object in
lecturing is to sustain my children, and that I
(meaning herself and Mr.. Mi1ler). But what do
you think,-ought my subject to be the same as
/ have been lecturiug On in the West?
Roportec-Alost certainly; that is the only
reason why at present you draw an audience.
Mrs. Miller-Weu, that's so; and suppose
must continue it; but want you to know that
it is anything but q labor Of love with me. It is
hard work.
Reporter-Do you hear from Mr.. Miller often
Mrs. Mller-No, sir; it is now two months
happy. Indeed, I know he is, for he has acquir-
ed that which be most twanted-fame-based on
his poetical labors.
Reporter-What was the cause Of your sepa-
rating?
Mrs. Miller with some hesitancy)-We1
suppose We were too much alike. never IN
deI.tood him, and he never knew me. To this
day, must acknowledge do not know him.
He always turned everything to poetry
cares Of family and the regular life it entailed
upon him was unsuited to his temperament.
He wns never cruel, as that word is generally ap-
Piled, but he Was inconsiderate and hasty, and
often made my heart feel sore BY these traits.
Reportcr-Do you think he truly loved you at
first?
Mrs. Miller-Wel, don't know was young
and foolish, and didn't know. thought he WIS
by far the most wonderful man I had ever seen,
and therefore loved him. But I do not think
he can love. He is too cold, too tickle to love.
Besides, he is for self-bnt only, permit me to
say, for self in desire for fame as poet. But,
after all, I don't know; he is g contradiction Of
himself, and can't tell much about him. Have
you ever seen him?
Ropo1ter-No, / have not
Mrs. Miller (rising from her chair and going
to the dressing stand, upon which rested num-
ber OF card and cabinet photographic is
bis picture: and those of my children: His is
sents him fairly. He ia handsome, don't you
think SO?
Reporter-Yes, and he certainly looks like q
poet.
Mrs. Miller-Yes, he does. This little boy,
Hail. is much like him. ALI my children, three
in number, are with my mother, in Portland,
Oregon.
Reporter-Do you think that A1r. Miller is a
born poet, or has ho cultivated the powers he
Mrs. Millor-Wen, in truth about that 1
would not wish to say much. I glory in hIr.
Miller's fame, and We both have received hearty
satisfaction from it. would do or say nothing
which would detract from that. But he always
was very hard student, and toiled long over
his poems. After they were written he would
alter and rewrite until there was little OF the
original left. He never was much OF R. plagiar-
ist, but he studied closely the words used by &C.
obo1 and +riai IN d
them into his writings. I think that be has
made himself to very great extent, for don't
believe q man so seemingly cold as he is pos
zon But the 'Fas wish BBGat'0 Bm all aadoess
and hope his future will be only a succession Of
victories. am q poor judge Of poetry, or books,
for, in truth, he never wanted me- to read much
or attempt to become as he was; so never ap-
piled myself.
Reporrter-Do you think you will ever reunite
Mrs. Miller-No; never expect it. It would
not be to the happiness Of either OF US. We are
now forever separated. But when think over
it al, our marriage, which you must know WAS
consummated after three days courtahip, it
seems like dream.
Reporter-Does he never write to You now, OF
send you money!
Mrs. Miller-He has sent me perhaps $50
since last June. Not long before I left San
Francisco he wrote to my mother, and enclosed
her two photographs Of himself. He has plenty
Of means, but he does not lavish it on me; and,
indeed, don't believe he spends it freely On
himself, for he WIS always economical.
Reporter-Did he begin his poetic labor when
young2
Mrs. Mil1er-Yes; he WAS but % when his first
poem was published. have it hare in an old
sc1ap-book. You will excuse the appearance OF
the book
Mrs. Miller here handed the reporter small
book containing Mr. l1iller's first published
poem. The following is the beginning and end
ing Of the poem:
EFor the Oregon Democratl
THE MINERS GRAVE.
BY Gi{es Gastin.
A miner in his cabin lay, dying, Tar away
From homo and hearts that loved him, in circle proud
and gay,
And com1ade stood beside him, and while he bsthed
his brow
He Saw that life was sinking and huttering fant and
low:
He raised him on his pillow, and tho essayed to
speak, .-..
While the last drop Of 1fe's blood Lit up his ghastly