The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1878-12-12
Biiail and the P0etess.

IN VINO = VIII piece OF poetry, ana
/ wants to know 8 what you think of it. =
Bijah can tel 'em. The older he grows
..he easier it Is for him to recognize the
! female who sat up till midnight to make
i'' broom rhyme with moon" When
/ he opened his reception-room Saturday
a woman was in waiting, and the min
ute he got eyes on her he said to him.
self:
"I'll bet she's got. q poem on autumn
leaves or the last cornstalk!n
She had. .se
"Mr. JOY" she began as she took
the red rocking chair, and united the
strings of her bonnet, =" how many vol
umes of poetry have You written?''
ell don't remember the exact num-
Der, madamsI - a. -
Have you written any thing lately!n
"Well, no-nothing except letter TO
my sister,
81 suppose the papers and magazines
are continually annoying you with invi
tations to write for their columnsp" she
queried as she began to unfold her
poetry.
"Oh, of course
~ have written few verses-just
for my own amusement, which / should
like to have you read, Mr.. Joy. may
send them to either the Christian WI.
ness or the Chicago Times, if they offer
pay enough. don't know bat you can
dash in little of your peculiar senti.
ment here and there and add piquancy
to the whole. | will read it verse by
verse:
&c Summer dear, has fled and gone,
And autumn 1t is here;
The wind it has a lonely howl,
And every thing look. drear.
How is thatP''
"That, madam, is superb. I've read
thousands of Daniel Webster's poems
which didn't begin with that. 1t, how
ever, seems to lack tone.''
"How?''
swell, should have the last two
lines read:
And feel like drinking beer
You see, madam, you--n
"Sir! do you think I'd write poem
on beer?" she interrupted.
"Madam, the object in writing poetry
is to appeal to the various sentiments
of the human heart. In the first line
you appeal to memory. Summer has
He'd and gone, and we at once remem-
Der how we ate strawberries and cream
and went in swimming. In the second
you appeal to the present. In the third
as have it, you appeal to the sense OF
thirst, which, | assure you, madam, is
perfectly awful. The last line mentions
beer, and thousands of hearts will ct
once expand at the word. That verse
will be remembered when Shakespeare
is dead and forgotten.
MIR. Joy, is that honest?''
"Honest Injun, madam"
She hardly believed him, and after
some hesitation went on to read the
second verse:
The oaken oaks are robed in red
The grass has lost its green;
The leafiess branches leafiess are,
And clOudlets cold are seem"
Madam, that beats the other for
original thought and purity of cultiva-
ton, but l think you can make few
slight changes for the BETTER For in
stance, I'd start the verse off with:
The coalbin hasn't got lump
And I'd arrange to end it with:
And the price of Eaters is too high','
"Sir, how dare youp''
Elbow dare | what? If you don't APP
peal to sentiment, what is poetry good
for? We all know that the grass has
lost its green; we expected it to; it al
ways does about this time o year But,
madam, what sad echoes gallop through
the soul when you come to mention an
empty coal-bin at this time of year!
We know that cloudlets are cold. They
are out all night and the frost gets af-
ter them. Sentiment turns from cloud
let's to the price of Peachblow and Ear
" Rose potatoes, and there you appeal
to public indignation.
"Mr. JOY" she remarked, as she
rolled up the paper in determined
way, "we can not agree on poetry. L
don't think you can add piquancy to
this little effort IF mine.'
"Well, I'm sorry. My style is known
as the Eastlake, while yours is more on
the Corinthian, and if | should write
poem, | suppose you'd see several places
where you could improve itp''
81 don't think So" she diyly re-
marked as she rose to 60.
"Well, that flatters me, of curse,
and in return desire to say that could
read J our poetry till fell asleep.'
"Thank you'll" she snapped as she
shot through the door, and her heels
struck the walk as if she had unpleas-
ant thoughts Detroit Free Press.
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Explorations i'm Greenland.
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