The Sunday herald and weekly national intelligencer., 1891-10-25

If one is determined to feel poetic and to
experience sensations in the city parks, there
are plenty OF sights and sounds to help along
his illusions. The next time you feel particu-
larly yearning take a little walk into the
nearest park and sit down on the grass under
the largest tree, and IL you try real hard you
will after a while imagine that you are really
in your native wild. Get position where
the great staring brick buildings around are
not visible, and IL possible don't look at any
of the benches. The benches, simply to look
at, are not poetic. There are (or were earlier
in the season) the mowers and the rakers OF
hay, and the boys throwing stones at the birds,
the lovers sauntering dCwn shady lanes, the
ocusts and crickets, and more than all else
there are the bugs, the country bugs. There
is nothing that reminds one so much Of the
happy days down on the farm as the bugs.
or course, there are drawbacks, but truly
powerful Imagination will easily overcome
them The mowers don't use scythes much In
the city parks. The machines are more co n
venient. They don't stand together under the
trees and sing songs to the merry music Of
their whetstones either, as the stage mowers
do; but then the real countrymen don't do
that. Maud Muller you can have in the city.
She is generally an old Irish woman though,
with bag over her shoulder which she fills
for her goat at home. Sometimes she Is
colored. The bag of grass for the goat is the
nearest approach to the hayrick which was
so dear to your young heart. The boys are
the same. They are just as dirty and ragged.
They use just as many bad words, and do as
much mischief as you did.
Don't be discouraged if at first these little
differences get the best of you and you keep
painfully aware of the Gathering street cars on
the nearest street and Of the generally conven-
tional air Of the lovers and the park police
men. have the word OF real poet that he
has overcome all OF these inconveniences.
He had to write a poem about August not
long ago for magazine, and he followed the
plan that I have outlined with surprisingly
good results. He couldn't afford to go to
the real country, but doubt II one person in
hundred would ever know the difference.
He made really admra BILE forest out OF the
two rows of cedar trees, and he excelled him
self on the soft song zephyrs that whispered
sweet woodland poetry to each other. The
lowing herd was excellent, and no one would
imagine that the goat was alone responsible
My poet not only wrote his August poem but
also sonnet on SIN the Twilight and another
about "The Mighty Sea-" The mighty sea
was suggested, of course, by the fountain and
also partially by the sign "Please Keep
Out the Fountain Basin" The fountain is in
front of the entrance to public building and
evidently is of very wild and stormy disposi-
tion. Imagine fountain so eager to rush on
the brick walls that the authorities have to
request all passers-by to help keep 1t away.
The sea is nothing to it. Some of the finest
pastoral poems in existence were composed
in parks. haven't any references here now
but am confident of it.
This is all supposed to be in the daytime.
At night the delusion is much less difficult.
Any ordinary man can do 1t with ease. But
even if you don't want to be poetic the parks
are interesting. Lots OF peculiar people go to
them. know a man who has not done any
work for two years except sit In parks. He
Is strong looking man, in the prime of life,
but you come across him at all hours of the
day leaning back on the benches and smoking
bad cigars. The cigars are awful. l would
remember them even II l forgot him. He al
ways has two-days'-old red beard on his
face and always wears the same clothes. The
thinker for he never reads nor talks with any
one. He is evidently working out some very
weighty problem.
There are the old gentlemen who bring their
books and pipes out, too, and there are the nur-
serymaids and babies, and the lovers, and the
Sunday crowds. The Sunday crowds ire diff
ferent from the everyday people. If they
are young ladies they have on pretty dresses
and they usually firt good deal. IL they are
little girls they have on tight, squeaky boots
and they walk primly up and down the paths
in mortal terror Of the watchmen, never dar-
ing to run on the grass. The Sunday young
men are bad lot. They usually come to the
parks to make every one else miserable. They
sit four on bench, and smoke cigarettes, and
tell naughty stories, and comment on the
passers-by.
But it is at night, too, when the philosopher
as we'll as the poet will be most interested
perhaps. You stroll slowly along on the
grass so as not to make any noise and pre-
sently hear something like the following con-
versation carried on in two very low voices
which proceed from two dusky forms very
close together on bench:
"Mabel, may kiss you, noVW
"No."
'.Please."
"No.n
"Why not?
'See that man,
SHE'S not looking this way"
swell, Harry, don't want you to kiss mo
yet. Wait till it gets little darker"
But Harry don't wait You hear very
loud kiss and then Mabel moves to her end of
the bench But Harry soon has his arm
around her again and says: "There, nobody
saw us, and II they did, who cares They
wouldn't know who we were."
"Yes, they would, too. Any one would
know this red dress, and besides you kiss so
loud. don't like people who kiss so loudn
Harry tries again, and then asks II that was
loud. Mabel says it wont be aloud again,
and then they snicker and do 1t some more.
He always holds her hand and sits very close
to her. Generally they change rings, and
sometimes they say poetic things about the
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