The daily Cairo bulletin. (Cairo, Ill.) 1878-1???, 1884-03-09
BY THE GATE OF THE SEA.
A N OV Ell.
BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY.
CHAPTER VI.


of the clamor which arises is as important
as the volume of it, and the public recep
ton of Mr.. Marshs muse thor gh loud
enough to satisfy anybody, aroused the bit
terest scorn in the poets heart. Such
chariUdri of chaff, such a Jovian roll and
peal of laughter arose from the great re-
viewers, and was taken up by the little ones,
as has rarely rung in any poets tingling
ears since reviewing came into fashion.
The Times set him down to roast at a whole
column, the 7tser branded him with one
red-hot paragraph, and from every point OF
the compass the critics, big and little,
heaved the Goals of fire of friendless criti-
cism at him by the shovelful. But the poet
as Mr.. Tennyson had already written, is at
the moment of his birth "dowered with the
hate of hate-the scorn of scorn n-and Mr.
Marsh was not easily to be discounted Hi
bought sombreros of a wider brim than h
had ever worn until then, he vowed in hi
inmost heart that the shears Of the barber
should invade his rolling locks no more, ant
he ordered his tailors to add an inch or twt
to the poetical cloak in which he commonly
went about London. The faithless few whit
had worn his livery and gone about in hi:
likeness fed from their colors. They had
their hair cut in the normal way, and be-
gan to attire themselves in the conventional
garb Of gentlemen. When friends talked
about the Leader they made weak pre-
tense of having been in the secret all along
and tried to make it appear that they had
been hugely tickled by the fustian which
had thrilled their simple souls. The Leader
had lost his following, as most leaders do
when they lead to ridicule, but he faced the
world alone, and meditated fresh poems
with an undaunted heart
He abandoned none of his old haunts, but
he found many of his old friends pitiless
There are few men who need sympathy
more than the man whose book is failure.
Within it, tangible and visible, lie the
nerves Of his soul, if he has one; he has put
into it his acutest discernment, his sweetest
fancies, his lofties' thoughts his most cum
ming invention; has glowed with hope
and gone cold with fear about it; he has
loved it tenderly and admiringly, as good
wife loves her husband, and with a growth
of joy in its strength and beauty as father
loves his child. Then comes the grim re-
viewer born surely with bowels of brass
and heart of adamant and Stays this darling
Of the authors heart, scalps it, Sits its dear
little nose and tender ears, wreaks on it all
his barbarous humor of wicked invention,
and throws its remains aside without even
the poor satisfaction Of a Christian burial |
Who can need sympathy more than an au |
thor in such caseF But there is no more |
mercy in the world for him than there is |
milk in male tiger
Yet in the conclave of ten, which met in |
the cramped back parlor in the Strand, the |
murdered poet found men who had suffered |
aforetime, and known the joy Of resurrec-
ton. The man in the corner tossed the |
light quilletso of the brain hither and thither,
but he aimed them not at the unsuccessful, |
He had himself tried to stay the tempest,
and had written that the book was not SO
bad after all. Had the poet known him as
the dealer of that unkindest cut of all, he
would have slain m in his corner before
the spectral nine. When he entered and
took his seat among them, they greeted him
more kindly than old, and made more Of
comrade of him. Lorrimer who was
talking, made a point Of addressing him
personally, so as to make feature of him.
Your worship was the last man in our
mouths. You remember being here one
day, long ago now, when / sang the praises
of Miss Churchill"
Perfectly" replied the poet. ~ went
with you to the final dress rehearsal, and
you put into my hands the letter she left
behind herr
was saying 50 as you came in. That
brings the history up to the end of her con-
sto oil rInJ
knows what mystery that looked. Not
tor
~ know" said the poet al met her
aiter"ard. She married fellow named
Iregarthen-disreputable fellow, who was
dismissed the army, insisted on using such
fearful language at the mess table that the
other men wouldn't stand him. Well-con-
nected fellow-I believe he's the last of one
of the oldest families in Cornwall-but an
awful blackguard so I'm told &.
"Well, upon my word" said Lorrimer,
that's pretty sort of cove to forbid his
wife, with his dying breath, to 90 upon the
stage"
Mr.. Lorrimer's theory carried him that
length.
Dead" said the poet. "Is he dead
Wen, shesvery attractive, and quite young
WIN such fortune as he conld leave hel
she won't be long without husband
fortunel" echoed Lorrimer. "Sht
hash I any fortune. Bless your soul, she'
as poor as church-mouse. Living in ,
boarding ouse-and very seedv hoard
lng-house 1t is, can tell you-iust off IN,
Strand jaw 'i 'i'
s. SUPPOSE he made ducks and droLos =.
everything, said the poet "My father "a,
aplace at Gorbay years ago, and thew ba,
a good deal Of land in those days-the Ire Ire
garthens, Poor thing!r
The poet held no malice, except for hi
reviewers. Outside his verses he was
harmless man, and had not the least desi,
to hurt anybody He had long ago bee
able to forgive Mrs Tregarthen for snu
bing him, and he was sensitive to tale
beauty in distress-as poet ought to be.
Lorrimer told his story Of the intervie
between himself and the lost star of &
stage, and everybody agreed that the de,
Tregarthen Of Mr.. Lorrimers imaginat
was the last sort Of person who had rig
to have his dying wishes gratified VIII
the conclave parted and the poet walk
into the Strand he dived into the sire
Lorrimer had mentioned and read the doc
plates With some little trouble in the gath