The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1892-07-03

authors are difficult to drive; more's the
pity, l was writing something the next
evening for Saturdays Sldsher when Har
| old came in with q merry smile on his face.
l saw no deviltry in it then.
"Do you want a subject for one OF your
real good things!" he asked. Here is a
new volume Of poems just out; they are
screamingly funny"
"Where did you get themln l asked.
81 found them in fellows room and
borrowed them for few days. No one
you know" he added hastily.
He handed me thin volume, dainty got
up in white-and- gold boudoir binding,
lettered in scarlet on the cover, "Sighs
from my heart by Sappho."
Modest young lady, isn't she" sug-
gested the Saxon quiZzically.
IF she is lady, replied sententiously,
with the air Of one who was too old hand
to Jump at obvious conclusions.
Listen to this then,n cried Harold,
snatching the book from my hand, and read
ing with very comic effect poem addressed
ITO my Hero,n each verse Of which ended
thus:
His locks are gold,
His looks are bold,
My Hero
"Just suits you, Penrose,n he said, as he
finished. you have red hair and your
looks are perfectly brazen."
vagaries All, l see. Well, I'll run through
it, and if it is all like that stuff it will come
in useful. I've a lot OF dull, solemn things
here. nothing TO make fun off,
ssNow do write good one. Let US have
o specimen OF your cayenne pepper papers,
as Crofts calls them. l shall come in and
keep you up to it.
His locks are gold,
His looks are bold,
Eldridge struck an attitude as he re-
cited this, laughed aloud at me in his merry,
high-spirited way, and went OFF, leaving me
the volume.
1 read the poems, and found them Just
the weak sort OF rubbish expected, and
knocked off notice of them. l sent down
to the publishers to find out why we bad
not got copy of tue SIdshcr, and was told
that it would come in on Friday. l wanted
something light for half page, so 1 did
tue ordinary kind of sneerlng. smart re-
view that the public cEuckles over and en-
Joys. Even as wrote it l sighed to my
self as often did. for | never grew cailous
ABOUT other peoples feelings, and | always
blame an authors friends as much as an
author for the nonsense he publishes.
shall never forget that review; every
wretched word of it is burnt deep into my
heart. and when / remem Der the hundreds
of equally cruel and equally just notices
| must be fair to myself-that l had
written, feel happy to have left the trade
TO others who have less tender consciences
ndstougher hearts.
On Sunday morning rose early. l had
not slept WE'LL do not wish to pretend
had, neither did eat good breakfast, but
/ l was awake to the necessity OF dressing
carefully-and this did. l strolled north
ward toward Park Crescent, where Mrs.
Winterton lived. All the good people were
coming out OF church and the dinners were
coming to meet them out OF the bake
houses. 1t was clear, frosty morning.
every one seemed cheerful and contented.
had never known London look so bright
and happy. AS for me, l walked on air
erect, with swinging steps, smiling pleas
antiy at the passers. by, for did not know
what was before me.
or courpe Mrs. Winterton was st home
to me, Just as she had been for the last ten
Sundays at this hour. No one was there,
and she would be down in minute. Jane
smiled at me as usual, for | was very
regular visitor, and remembered Jane