St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1889-04-25

| 1HOIc Strange lneIc lldH Oh liiS -hO
jave desert. Everybody is in awe of
the valley, and there are mighty few
men, however nervy they may be or
dinarily, who care to go there much. ="
Il San Francisco Examiner.
CONFESSIONS OF Il REFORMED HUI
MORIST.
When | sit down and Think do
think sometimes seldom think of
anything humorous; my thoughts,
| with rare exceptions, are serlOuS,-
indeed, rather sombre in their ten
dency. OF late years especially, am
aware of a constant struggle against
melancholy. But when | look away
from myself, | see world full of lu-
dicrous situate comical incOn-
gruities, humorous incident, and
often find myself laughing at peo-
pie and things, while those around
see nothing but commonplace sur
rOundings. This sometimes wretch
ed faculty of seeing the humorous or
ludicrous side of everything was born
with me, | think. Outlines it got
me into trouble when | was a boy,
in school and in church and in socie-
| ty. So | write usually of what |
have really seen, dressing the incl
dent in a good deal of spangle and
| high complexion, of course, to make
| it appear well before the fOOtlights.
And yet | don't like to laugh at peo-
pie. don't think the people about
whom | write ever recognize them
selves in my sketches. | know l do
~, Il 4l,n,- 10, ,rrI,
| with a man a hundred times than
laugh at him once. For that mat
ter, l figure as the centre-piece in the
most ridiculous light in many of my
personal sketches. But all that goes
for nothing. 1t never hurts you to
pinch yourself, you know.
AS Mrs Burdette's health failed,
did more and more of my work at
home, soon withdrawing entirely
from desk work in the Hawkeye Of
flee, and writing altogether at home.
"Her Little Serene Highness" was at
this time quite helpless, suffering
every moment, in every joint, rheu-
matte pain, acute and terrible. But
in these years of her suffering help
lessness, more than ever is visible her
uscript was read to her before it went
| to the paper. She added a thought
here and there, suggested change of
word or phrase, and, SO tenderly that
in her trembling hand the usually
dreaded and remOrseless blue pencil
| became wand of blessing, struck
out entire sentences and pet para
graphs. How well she knew what
not to print'' Blessed indeed is the
man who writes with such a critic
looking over his shoulder wife
who loves and prizes her husband S
reputation far above his own vanity
or recklessnessl At times she wOve
into our work whole pages of her
own, and in some instances she wrote
One-half of a long sketch or letter !;
and | think only ourselves could see
where the sketch was joined. One
copy" which represented the morn
ing's work, she slipped into the leaves,
with comically feigned timidity, a
little poem, which, she said, she ven
tured to lay before the great editor,
and would like copy of the paper
containing it, if published. 1t was
''RObin's Nest" a tender little story
of her own life. 1t was her only pub
lished poem; although after she fell
asleep | found several fragments of
| her verses, written with pain-stficken
| fingers that could scarcely hold the
pen.
In the winter of 1877, | wrote a
lecture about two hours long, and
went out and said it without hesita-
ton, manuscript, or remorse. The
writing of that lecture, The Rise
and Fall of the Moustache, was a
comical piece of business. DIR. Charles
| Beardsley, then editOr-in-chief of the
| don't you write a lecture ~ Straight
way l went home, and told Her Lit
tie Serene Highness what he said.
Her face lit up like a ray of sunshine
"Ah," she exclaimed, Or Beardsley
is as wise as he is good. I've been
waiting for this for years" | was
afraid to venture; but Her Little Sc
renity coaxed and petted and argued
in her womanly way, and at last the
| lecture was completed. She calmly
sent her little blue pencil cruising over
its blotted pages, and, after making
many prizes and sinking many gal
liant rhetorical three-decker, she sent
me out | am afraid l didn't go out
very grandly. L was badly frighten-
| ed. | had no voice, no elOcutIOnary
training, no presence, no attitude, no
gesture; my pronunciation was
faulty, and my grammar uncertain !;
l had nothing but my lecture and my
| wife How could I foil
The critics were kind; they were
more than kind. Indeed, they have
always dealt very gently with me.
POSSIBLY think ably-because
l am scarcely worthy of the enven-
omed steel, but possibly because the
critic is not so lurid as he is painted
| Certainly | have every reason to feel
grateful to him for his forbearance,
because he has in silence passed over
faults that are so glazing can even
see them myself, and has often given
me praise where censure was due.
And if ever he shall see fit to with
| hold the hOneycomb of pleasant
words, and hand me the bittcrest
gouEd that ever stung the palate, l
will chew it with all meekness and
content, for the sake of the many
sweets have already eaten from his
! hand
Always with fear and trembling do
face an audience. This is due partly
| to keen consciousness of my own
limitations, and partly to that indie
scribable something which terrifies
most public speakers. They go be-
fore the audience as before jury.
This feeling passes away in a few