The new North-west. [volume] (Deer Lodge, Mont.) 1869-1897, 1884-10-10
JOAQUIN'S CABIN.
The little Log Layout" Built BY
His Own Hands.
A Chat with the Poet OF the Sfers
ras-Life I'm n Log Cabin
Curiosity-Seekers'
Visits.
PHILADELPHIA Press.

Philadelphia Press.
"Can you tell me where Mr.. Miller, the
poet, lives" asked Washington news-boy
on Pennsylvania avenue. "Wawkin' Miller,
that funny man who lives In the hut up herel"
reIl Cd the street gamin "Yes, there's his
shanty, top Of the hill-that little log lay
out"
Going round 10 the rear gate of the shanty,
the front entrance being barred by high
fence, passed through a long lot Of rank
grass, at the far end of which, under a huge,
shady oak, sat the man whose pen charms
wherever his productions are read.
The distinguished litterateur. who is appar-
emily about 40 years Of age, with ferocious
crop Of auburn brown hair, heavy mustache
and goatee all Of which are now growing
considerably streaked with silver, wore a
heavy SLOUGH hat, dressing gown of red and
white carpet material, from under which
emerged few inches Of black cloth trousers
and rough pair of slippers.
In reply to the query whether he was the
celebrated Joaquin, the reply was given, in
accents decidedly western: "Yaas; what IL
itF Then he seized his guest cordially by tho
hand as IL the latter were an old acquaint-
ance, and invited him indoors, meanwhile
remarking he was living there in considerable
poverty, trying to think out the great prob
lem Of human life.
Here is my morning mail, ;" added the poet
"Herc are letters from men from all parts of
the COuntry-men Of whom / never even
heard-eulogizing my writings Here are
others from persons of the same class cavill-
ing at my views OF human nature while here
are begging letters and few from publishers
accepting and declining my productions
Look at them, and then we'll talk"
After hasty glance at these epistolary
curiosities, the poet and his visitor entered
the house. The first room-there being no
hall-was the study. No books and but few
newspapers were visible. Above the rough
wooden table, upon the wall, was pasted cor
respondence with prominent journalists and
publishers referring TO the poets writings,
while on a wooden bench here and there were
scattered saddles and different trophies Of far
western life "Here is my dining room. The
remains of my breakfast are here" said Mr..
Miller, pointing to another plain wooden table
in an ad joining room, scattered with few
crIsts of bread, a dish of molaSses and an
other of butter. This kind of life has many
advantages, but it also has a few disadvan-
{ S. Hele is my Led-room" entering a
small chamber leading from the dining room
-" It's plain, but comfortable. | built all
this myself, and this morning have been busy
digging ditch around the log cabin to carry
OF the water. You may have been south.
Ii so, you will perceive that my house is a
n del Of the real southern log hut"
The visitor admitted having been south
IN I that the cabin was southern 10 perfection.
Well come outside under the trees and we'll
have a chat; It's more pleasant under these
grand old trees than indoors"
Mr.. Miller's cabin is in the midst Of clump
Of giant oaks, under which are several rustic
seats, while 10 the branches of the trees are
suspended one or two hammocks. From
across the grassy sward through which the
cabin is reached may be had splendid view
Of the capital in the valley two miles below.
During the visit several parties Of curiosity
seekers came TO the gate, and were courte-
ously received by Mr.. Miller. The whole
shanty was shown to them. You may think
am very lonely here" said the poet, "but
am not half so much as you think. Several
times during the day l receive calls from
poor fellows eager to get a piece Of bread
and molasses. assure you have plenty of
company"
An hours visit convinced the visitor that,
what with curiosity-seekers and beggars, the
poets words were only too true. Ladies, lit
terateurs, loungers and loafers focked in by
the Lalf-dozen at a time.
What about the presidential possibiltiesim
he was asked. my dear fellow, he answered,
a think know who are the respective can
didates; that's about all Politics are en-
tirely out of my line. care nothing for pol.
itics. The only thing l long for Is that
heaven may throw upon my benighted
mind some Of the mysteries of our being. /
have no de. ire to get rich; all / need is
to earn enough upon which to live out my
natural life and to feed the hungry who may
apply to me- The world may pronounce this
q queer kind Of life, and may dub me
crank still am happy. wish that no one
was less So"