Wichita eagle., 1889-11-08


land, and it il funny sight to 80 their nix
months old baby sitting on buffalo robe
eating raw beef"
Surely a savage way Of bringing up an
infant in New York cityl The most beauti-
full quality Of Joaquin Millers exalted mind
is his grand, reverent love Of nature, OF all
the sights and sounds Of the virgin forests
and the aspiring hills-it is his paadon, his
highest conception Of worship. He is capa-
bic of changeless love for men and OF many
loves for women. There are, indeed, for
him, in the words Of his own song, "Many a
love in the land, my love, I" and he takes them
on the way. Altogether, he Is beauty low
ing, unspoiled, untamed, noble nature very
interesting man to know.
A large, fine head, small i'll clad, narrow
chested body, splendid soul-lit eyes, were the
salient points in the first impression had Of
Mile W. Carpenter, q woman of brains,
whose stories, poems and critical essays
graced some of the foremost magazines few
years ago She was frail, shrinking wo-
man, with high and dauntless spirit and an
immense capacity for work. When ! knew
her she was a widow and very poor, depend
ing upon the whins Of editors, not only for
her own bread but for that of her little
daughter. She lived in a small Hudson river
village near New York.
Once, with superb application and almost
frenzted ardor, for she was always sick, she
completed a novel which was accepted on
fiattering terms by a noted Boston firm and
burned in the confagration Of their large
establishment before a word of it was ever
turned into print. Did they pay her the
stipulated price! All! no, for where would
their profits have come in! And 30, having
no copy, for it was before the days of cheap
and rapid type writing, the poor, heroic wo-
man set to work and rewrote the whole book,
which, please heaven may have rewarded
her in solid comforts for her long and painful
toll
She wrote sThe Last Token" that noble
poem founded on the splendid picture by
Gabriel Marx of n lovely Christian martyr
who stoops just as death is about to claim her,
to pick up glowing, sun tinged rose that has
been thrown to her by her lover. Many will
remember, too Mrs. Carpenters grand verses
TO George Sand, in which, with an apprehen-
sion rare in women, she writes Of George
Sands, noble folly and atoning pain" 1
have not seen this richly lowered little wo-
man in many years, but wherever she is I
know she ia at work, for work is her passion,
that she is writing pure prose and musical
tender poems, and that she is living every
day of her life 'up to the level Of her best
thought"
] knew Charles Warren Stoddard, author
of South Sea Idyls," the most poetical book
that has ever been put into prose. He be-
longed to that rare fraternity Of genius that
used to make The Overland Monthly of San
Francisco SO brilliant and delightful It was
no uncommon thing to receive number con-
tanning articles by Stoddard, Bret Harte,
Joaquin Miller, Prentice Milford and Ina D.
Coolbrith. This was in the palmy days when
this remarkable monthly was edited by Lau-
renee, who, by his discerning taste and help
full appreciation, launched many Of the best
writers of the Pacific coast
When 1 knew Stoddard he was writing for
The San Francisco Chronicle. He had pub
lished several books and his usual newspaper
correspondence was choice enough, elegant
enough and beautiful enough to be enshrined
between covers. If you ever come across a
little brown book entitled ''South Sea Idyls,"
do not pass it by, for 1t Is one of the most ex-
quisite things in all English literature. Read
the chapters called "In Transport and
THE Chapel of the Palms'-read, read
every word of them, and they will charm you
from beginning to end.
Mr.. Stoddard when 1 knew him was deli
cate looking man about so years of age, easy
as to manner, but modest and shy. He i'm
pressed me as a man who wrote because his
soul was SO full of beauty and grace that 1t
would find expression, and he always showed
q pleased and genuine surprise when any one
praised his work. When I told him how much
priced my copy Of South Sea Idyls" and
how often had read it, he said: Il thank
you, but cannot understand how you can
think SO much of it"
Many of the keen, literary criticisms, pi-
quaint and sometimes daring interviews with
noted and notorious men and women, fashion
articles, descriptive sketches, in fact, every
thing that comes within the scope of the
most readable newspaper work, has been con- |
tributed to The New York Sun, by Mrs |
Emily V. Battey, Of Georgia. Mrs. Battey |
belongs to distinguished people both by birth |
and marriage. Her maiden name was Yer |
derry, family of French origin well known |
in the south. Marion J. Verdery, the forci- |
bic and successful New York writer, is cou- |
sin to Mrs. Battey. Imay as well admit that |
it was to Mrs. Battey that William Gilmore |
Simms made the astounding reply given |
above.
Alone and unaided, this courageous woman
left home and friends in the early days of |
women journalists and entered that hard
fought field in New York, determined to sue
coed. She had lived in ease, and had no
training for the hard work, rough and some
times CALLING experiences OF metropolitan
newspaper work, but she was blest with a
doughty spirit and pride that would not
let her fall How well she has succeeded is
known not only to the public who have de-
lighted in the fruits of her efforts, but a
large circle of relatives and friends who have
been helped substantially by the laborS of
this energetic and generous woman.
Without permanent home of her own, she
has beautified, by her lavish gifts, the far
away homes of others; childless, she has
given to the children Of others the benefits of
travel and of the skilled instruction to be
found only in New York. Her Ink bottle,
opened with such fear and trembling over
twenty years ago, has turned into horn of
plenty for all whom she loves and the spark
ing, fervid, noble little woman has found
put what she is fit for
Mel r. CoLQUTTT.
hs Od3cs (vock