Nashville union and American. [volume] (Nashville, Tenn.) 1868-1875, 1875-08-05
THE POET OF THE sIERRAs
Long Branch Correspondence Of the BaltimOr
American.

Long Branch Correspondence Of the Baltimore
American.
The first impression concerning him is
one of establishment that a man whose per-
sOnal appearance is so very much the re-
verse of peculiar, should have been de-
scribed as a sort of marauding buccaneer.
He says he is thirty-three, but he looks
older; is quiet, sandy-cOmplexioned man,
with clOsely-cropped hair, and full, short
beard. His apparel has hitherto been I'M
marked by any popularity, if l except the
wearing Of three large rings, two Of them
diamonds of size, one Of which decorates
his fOrefnger.
"My mother gave me those rings" he
said 10 me yesterday; "they have been in
the family for generations.
Last night damp sea breeze sprang up,
and joaquin Aliller's first eccentricity in
dress displayed itself. He came out upon
the piazza wrapped about the middle with
plaid blanket shawl Of the brightest reds
and greens, and which we at first thought
belonged to some lady, for We are not &C
custOmef TO see men choose such vivid
hues for their own wear.
''But love color" he explained. 'DOn't
you know some people are color blind?
am Just the reverse; my eye is more than
commonly alive to color"
A LION AMONG THE LADIES.
JOaquin's reputation as poet has made
him quite a seaside liOn-nOt to say sea
lion-thOugh l very much doubt whether
half the people who pay him such marked
attention ever read a line of his writings.
Everybody thinks everybody else has, and
as all carefully refrain from referring to
anything in particular which he has writ
ten, but all speak in vague terms Of "his
works" they are safe enough. One lady Ger
tainly did let a little kitten out of the bag
yesterday.
This man." she asked Of me, cOnfien-
TALLY, in a somewhat remote corner of the
piazza, ''this man is not Buffalo Bill, is
he?"
She has been one of the most cordial and
kindly of his lady cOurtiers, and talked
easily and gracefully about ''his works"
"And so he's the poet Of the Scorers, is
he?" we overheard a lsnk New Jersey
female say, as We sat on the piazza. "Well,
I'll never die satisfied till l 90 to Yurrup
and see them Scorers; seems as if all them
wonderful things was in GuTup."
A lady wanted the poet to dance with
her last night.
'Oe-u 3 lit Icpllcu1 i VIC 5us = OuLASs III
my leg"
"T6en, come play billiards." suggested q
gushing swell.
"Can't. I've got bullet in my arm"
Both his hands are SCARED, and | think
it is undoubted that he had some pretty
tough tugs with the Indians before he took
to writing poetry.
A POETIC JEWEL.
joaquin is reading the proofs Of new
| book and have cUlled from it the follow
ing Iipe description Of a lovely woman.
| The dew is on the rose in these lines, for
no ether eyes but yours and mine have
| seen them:
''Her m0uthl Twas Egypt's mouth of old,
Pushed out and pOuting full and bold,
! With simple beauty where she sat
Why, you had said, on seeing her,
| This creature comes from out the dim
| Far centuries-beyOnd the rim
| of times remOtest reach or stir.
| And he who Fought Semiramis
| And shaped the Sybils, seeing this,
Had bowed and made a shrine thereat,
And all his life had wOrshiped her,
DeyOut as North Nile wOrshiper,"
OLIVE LOGAN.