Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1892-10-03

THE SOUND OF THE GRINDING.
A Vain Attempt to Court the Unwilling
Muse,

muse.
"Mr Scoriel," said the editor Of The
Weekly Polished Mirror of Society, enter
ing the room where the staff poet had his
desk 81 wish you would turn out few
stanzas on Rudyard Kipling-something
light and airy" he added, neither too
grave nor too gay. You needn't condemn
him, and you need not, on the other hand,
indorse him or gush over him. Treat the
subject whimsically rather than seriously,
and don't take up more than about four
and half inches of space"
With this injunction the editor went
out, leaving the staff poet alone in his den.
1t appeared to be an off day for Mr..
Scorjel's muse. There was no pressure.
The affiatus was not on.
Needn't gush over himr' he groaned,
as he took fresh block of paper, sharp
ened pencil, and squared himself in front
of his desk for the coming struggle.
Needn't gushl No, l don't think I'll
gush. If it's his object to make his sub
scribers forget the cholera scare" he con-
tinued, absentmindedly dipping his pencil
in the ink bottle and glazing at the ceiling,
"he's getting at it about right"
The first rhyme that naturally suggested
itself was this:
"Rudyard Kiplng,
Immortal stripling!"
"No, don't think that will do" said
Mr. Scorjel after he had written it and
looked it over. SIT sounds like indorsing
him." He tried again, with this result:
"Rudyard Kipling,
Clever stripling"
That's BETTER" he said. "Now, let me
see."
"Rudyard Kipling,
Clever STRIPPING,
Shooting skyward like rocket
Mr.. Scorjel wrestled few moments
with this and added two more lines:
I'm his mad flight
Meier loses sight
mo gush about that" exclaimed Mr.,
Scorjel, dashing ahead recklessly:
"Ofhis capacious, greedy pocket
Now let's see how it sounds:
"Rudyard Kipling,
Clever STRIPPING,
Shooting skyward lie rocket.
In his mad flight
Meier loses sight
Or his capacious, greedy pocket"
ut doesn't strike me very favorably,"
unused Mr.. Scorjel. "I'll be hanged if it
does 1t needs something explanatory:
His diatribes-um! A-ibes, bibes, cibes,
dibes, e-ibes, fibes, gibes-that'H do!
Gibesl"
His diatribes
His peevish gibes,
That glut the literary MARKET
"A-arket, barket, carket, darket, e-arket,
farket, garket, harket, i-arket, jarket,
karket, larket, market, o-arket parket,
quarket, rarket, sarket, tarket, u-arket,
varket, warket-blame the luck!-blarket,
clarket, starket, snarket, sparket, squar-
ket, glarket, plarket-no thoroughbred
Blind alley! Whoal"
Mr.. Scorjel savagely drew his pencil
through the last line he had written and
tried again
His datribes,
His peevish gibes,
Are written not alone for glory;
His caustic lash
He wields for cash,
While we-but that's another story"
THAT last line," soliloquized Mr.. Scor.
jel, "helps me out of tight place and fin
ishes the stanZa in pretty good shape. Now
let me see what l can do with the next
one."
He ran his hands thr gh his hair, look
ed hard at the wall, heav Il lugubrious
sigh, and with much effort produced the
following:
His privates three,
Mulvaney, Lea,
Royd, Orth'rs, won our admiraton"-
Now if can work the idea in somehow
that his suddenly acquired fame made him
so badly stuck on himself that-let me see
how will this go?'
But when he tries
With scornful eyes
To ridicule the Yankee nation"-
"That's simply abominable," walled the
poet, "but I'll see if it will lead up to any
thing"
HE takes step
That
"A-ep, bep, cep, dep, e-ep, fep, gep, hep,
lep, mep, nep-. Doggone the whole
businessW exclaimed Mr.. Scorjel crum-
pling the manuscript of his incipient poem
into shapeless mass and throwing it on
the floor. 'If he wants any lines on Rud-
yard Kipling or anybody else he'll write
'em himself-that's alp
With these words Mr.. Scorjel, staff poet
of The Weekly Polished Mirror of Society,
seized his pencil, took sheet of paper,
wrote his resignation, left it lying ON the
table, stole softly out of the office and van
ished forever, n victim to the blind stupid
ity and penuriousness of newspaper that
possessed no rhyming dictionary and in
sisted on working man for poem when
his muse was away on vacation. Chicago
Tribune.