Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1882-06-25
COLIN CLOUT.

Dut she always declared herself Ill
matched, and pronounced it impossible
to be happy with man who was not IA
nous. As the years advanced Mr.. Lit
tie felt that, in wooing Miss Grand so
strenuously that she had been compelled
to yield, he had performed an action of
peculiar baseness, only to be overlooked
at all by the fact of its having been COM
mitted in the almost Juvenile days of his
22d year.
"But perhaps shall be famous yet, {"
he said, sometimes.
s'No, no" replied Alicia, sadly. "It
is too unlikely. You won't go into Par
lament, and there is nothing else you
can do"
"But have no taste for Parliament"
said Mr.. Little. "H I am to be famous
it must be as nature dictates. You know
one could not expect every one to be like
your favorite- Colin Clout."
ooh, don't name Colin Clout," cried
the wife, raising her hands in entreaty.
"Your lips seem to profane his exist
ence. Colin Clout is splendid poet.
He will soon be the poet of the time.
You can't understand his poetry, and
you should not speak Of him. With me
it is different. I have been o poetess
from my birth"
Alicia had indeed written some very
fine poems, of great length and in blank
verse; but their success had not been
very great, and publishers, though po-
lite, had been unappreciative.
But she was wont to send copies of
her poems to six unknown friends, three
poets and three poetesses, whose &C.
quaintance she had formed through the
perusal of their verses in papers and
magazines, and with whom she CORE
sponded diligently, Notwithstanding
that the names Of some of them were
even less poetic and euphonious than
her own.
She had been married several years
when Colin Clout, the poet whose fame
wa1ed greater with every line he wrote,
published volume bearing the some
what curious title of ellis POEMS"
But its contents were incompatible.
The book was in every ones hand, it
was the theme of every tongue. Alicia
purchased it and learned much of it by
heart, keeping it carefully from her hus-
band.
81 could not bear to have you touch
it, my DEAR" she said, putting it be-
hind her back.
"Why not ?" he asked.
Chow often have I told you that you
had no soul, no IDEAS" said Alicia.
"You, who can sit scribbling on the
back of an envelope, amid chattering
crowd, cannot conceive the creative mo-
ment, when the poet, wrapped in soil
tude, forces words to express his
thoughts"
"No, I cannot" said Mr.. Little,
frankly.
"Then what would be the good of my
allowing you to read His Poems?'"
said Alicia.
cat least you might read them to
me-" he urged. Whereupon Alicia con-
scented so far as to read aloud the open
ing dedication to the poets wife.
Matchless p she murmured as she
closed the book.
"Spoilt by that comma at the end of
the third line" remarked MIR. Little. "It
should have been o semi-colon. Idon't
thig& very much of Colin Clout, if this
is as8e can do"
Alicia hardly deigned reply. A
slight shiver ran through her frame.
Undoubtedly if her husband assumed
the position Of a poetical critic her only
refuge was In silence She took up her
pen and began to write.
81 have invited my friends here on
Sunday" she observed, coldly. We
have never met, but it so happens that
oil nd -
mite in Offering congratulation and
homage to Colin Olout on the appearance
of His Poems.'"
"Whatl" exclaimed Mr.. Little.
"You are going 10 have the Budges
and Butchers, and all the rest of them,
here y
eyes," said Ali ,ia, reddening family.
"But we have all taken nom de planes,
to prevent the cruel necessity of speak
ing each others ames. which are most
ly so barbarous. My poetess friends are
no longer Miss Butcher, Miss Flint and
Mrs. Buzzard, but Clarinda, Daphne
and Sappho; while Mr.. Bulge, Mr.. Sal
mon and Mr.. Washington have become
Narcissus, Florimel and Eugenius.
''And what are you, dearest ?" asked
Mr.. Little, with great interest.
"They are good enough to call me
Thalia," she said, modestly. She re-
sumed her pen, but after dipping it into
the ink several times she still wrote
nothing.
"What are you doing?" asked her
husband could help you?"
Alicia started. "No indeed" she
said. 81 am writing few appropriate
lines to celebrate our first meeting but,
though I do sadly want a rhyme, it is
of no use your offering assistance.
Poets. my poor husband, are born, not
made"
But when Sunday arrived Alicia's
sonnet of inauguration was ready, and
she herself seated in state to receive her
guests.
"Ah!" she was thinking, fixing her
bright expectant eyes on the door.
"Now shall have an hour of really de.
ightful converse. 1t thrills my soul to
think of the poetic minds with whom ]
shall soon be in actual contact"
Sappho, in the person of Mrs. Buzzard,
was the first to arrive. She was tall,
gaunt woman, with blue spectacles and
a dusty dress, and an air Of timidity, as
if the man who had given her the right
to sign her name Buzzard was accus-
&onoad To ayaroisa oortoi,, ,.iuhfs of bic