St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1885-06-28
A MODERN MILTON,
The Police Reporter Gets Tip on the
Sublime and Works for
Scoop"
Pouring Out His Emotions in Flood
of Apostrophes on Natures
Randiwork.
Pathetic Musings on the Sable God
dess That Poets VIII Read
With Interest.
Deep-Laid Plot in Which the.
Mississippi Takes Lead
ing Role.

'sI think 1 could write something that
would be little more on the sublime and
beautiful than my usual work if there was
room for it" said the reporter that copies
the police court record, yesterday after
noon Something that requires more
brain work and would attract the attention
Of the cultured people Of the city rather
than the toughS alone"
AS the police reporter said this, the morse
reporter gave snort of contempt, and the
man whose regular assignment is to cover
The sublime apparently did not hear the re-
mark. but continued with short epic poem
he was practicing on to get his brain into
shape after dinner and set the gray matter
in active movement, preparatory to half
column of sublimity that he was going to
turn off later in the afternoon. The city
editor lifted his blue pencil from the copy
ne was disemboweling and simply said:
''All right, perhaps you can do it. Do you
want a special assignment or will you go
out and skirmish for the sublime?
81 was thinking of doing up little some
thing on the river and the general grandeur
of St Paul's scenery" said the police re-
porter Il don't remember to have seen
anything about them lately and it might be
a SCOOP"
1.-The real estate man has covered that
pretty well,'' said the city editor, ''but you
can Try it,"
81 think I will wait until evening, for l
am more poetic at eventide," replied the re-
cOrder of DRINKS and disorderlies. Il be-
lieve with little practice l could get SO
rould be as deeply spiritual as the Pioneer
Press dramatic critic, for | took a partial
course at the Concord school of philosophy
7 ho1 or d haU
ranked well up toward the valedlctOry."
SWELL, DON'T FORGET
TO call in and get the police court record"
said the city editor, land don't try to write
up running report of your emotions, but
boil them down as much as possible" and
rs the police reporter went from the office
the city editor stepped to the elegant rose
wood grand piano that stood over by the
file cases and began playing symphony in
Y. while the horse reporter said: Hes
too fresh. He wont make the quarter pole
before he's distanced, if he goes into any
such event as that" and then went on with
his write I'D of Commodore KittSOn'S
trotters.
''He didn't show up with his sublimity,
did hep" asked the horse man the next day
when the rest of the men had gone out,
81 thought, he would break before he got
far from the wire" -.-..--
Eyes, he brought in something" said the
city editor, ''but we couldn't use it. 1t was
very measly stuff l have kept it; this is
the way he sings:
sob, Night! you are hummer, you are.
You knock out the day in the first round.
You mount your ebon throne and stretch
out your leaden sceptre DER slumbering
world. and the world don't kick any more
than tramp when a cop stretches out his
billy over him. When the moon rides the
sky and soft winds blow over the marshes,
from the south. then you come down,
and the Rice street gang gets out and rustleS
up the neighborhood, oh, Sable Goddess
When the day, the hot and dusty day, with
all its turmoil and strife, has been upon us
with its long, weary hours, that, like little
blisters, have burned and stung until our
weary frames have become sick and our un-
dershirts wet with perspiration, then,
OH, SABLE NIGHT,
you come forth and lay your cool hands
upon our fevered brow, and two glasses of
beer will keep us comfortable all the rest
of the evening. You are a Jim Dandy, oh,
Sable Goddess. You bet you are. The
flowers love the night; so do the boys
''When the sun, the great round, golden
orb of day, has plowed his red-hot furrow
through the sky, then. o Night, you plant
the stars-the No. hard grain of the sky
and the moon, with her silver harrow, levels
off the ground. The great blue ether bill
lows fan the crop, and when it comes to
harvest it takes the first Minnesota grade
and weighs fifty-eight pounds to the bushel,
with dockage for dirt. o Sable Goddess.
you catch us all; small children cry for you.
You take the cake.
.'Oh, river, thou mighty stream, the
Father of Waters, that rushes through the
whole broad continent, you are lah lah.
Oh, sylvan stream, that hast thine head in
the bosky dells of Northern Minnesota,
where the great dams have been built cross
the Winnebagoshishl lakes, On thy shape also
am l stuck. Oh, Father of Waters, what
rackets you must have had since
first you were boy and none
had learned to call you father. You are a
hustler. Oh, mighty Father of Waters
You grind more No hard than all your
children put together. Your great black
waves leap over the rocks and the echo
sounds like the rattle of
THE PATROL WAGON
down Third street after drunk at the
union depot. You could give out tips on
great sensations if you could only talk
How many Indian maidens have
walked along your banks in the
silent watches of the night while
their dusky lovers had gone on the warpath
over through West st. Paul? How many
palefaced dudes have taken their best girls
out boating on your clean waters and whis-
pered tender words; while you said, 'sThat's
all right; don't give anything away?" Oh,
mighty Father of Waters! How many sui
cides have jumped into your lap and been
quietly gathered into your great bosom,
and you don't wait for a post
norton and inquest, but hustle
the corpse down to st. Louis
where the graves never give up their dead
Oh, Father of Waters, you are an elegant
old gent, that's what you are How many
children have you and where, oh where, is
their mother? You sly old rake: there's a
chance for big sensation in your own
family. Why do you hurry so fast, and
toss up your great waves till the moon
shines through them like the electric light
through the trees in Rice park? Pm onto
your racket. You used to be one of the
boys yourself, o Father of Waters.
ooh MOON,
you naughty thing, you come out with the
boys every night and streak the town with
red. o, queen of the evening, that with a
mellow, golden light doth deck the forests
and the vine-clad rocks and hills, what fun
you have. When the laborer has done his
work and gone to rest; land the gentle lullaby
OF the water rat swells peacefully out over
the dark streams and the boys 90 out to
see the great round world by gaslight. then
you, too, climb up where you can see and
lake in all the racket.
so, queen of night, you may be all right
yourself, but if you were a law-abiding
citizen you would come home earlier. O..
queen of night, and not be out with the
gang so late. Thou art beautiful and fair.
silver jewel in the dark blue setting of the
sky, with countless stars about like smaller