The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1892-08-18

die how happy would be the Bags
family. ..
i We often said as how Tennyson
could write. Didn't /, Juliap" he
would ask his hungry wife; and she
would try to smile and say Yes,
dear. =
Well, Tennyson's played out now,
and he ought TO step out and let some
one else be laureate, There was only
two could ever, handle that job in this
century only two Julia, and them 5
me and Teanyson!'
II there was one supreme source OF
JOY in Potiphar's life which almost it
not entirely equaled that begotten OF
sending POEMS to queen Victoria, it
was that he eNperiencedin the receipt
Of her majesty's Acknowledgements OF
said poems
They were generally worded thus:
BUCKINGHAM PALACE, London x
Sir-l am commanded by her majesty to
state that she has received your poem of
the - instant, and that she thanks you
for the same.
have, sir, the honor to be your obedient
servant THOMAS BIpDULpH
To Potiphar Baggs, Esq, San Francisco.
Read it. Julia" he would exclaim,
after that good woman had already a
dozen times perused the cheering
missive. 'Read it. Julia From Sir
Thomas Biddulph himself and he
commanded comma ded, mind you
by her Maiesty's own self to write to
lie. And then his calling me Esquire.
and signing himself my obedient SER
vant!'
Mrs. Baggs would smile again and
say: Yes. dear; why shouldn't heg''
and Potiphar would lean back in his
chair and dream sweet dreams of
happiness. ......., - .
She was proud bit was the poets
wife, but then Emily's cough hacked
her so much; and-well Harry Selby
wanted to marry her. but with that
horrid cough of hers Emily was
afraid to accept him, and yet they re.
garded him as one of the family.
When January came along that
year things were in a bad way gen
orally with the Baggs and Emily's
cough was worse.
Don't you think you could keep
the poem for a little while, Potlphar
dear?" asked Mrs. Baggs when her
husband started out one morning on
route for the consul's office.
i'm afraid it's impossible. Julia.
I'm sure it is in fact You know the
Duke Of Connaught has had a bad
cold and Prince Henry of Battenberg
has got that new ailment-the grippe,
you know-and then Tennyson's very
sick, and if he were to die it would be
so much better to have one of nv
poems come in just then, so that they
would remember the address at once
and give me the job before some
other chap was made laureate through
outside influence
% No Julia; simply must send Of
that poem. Never mind about any
dinner for me. You know. as long as
l have good poem on hand never
can feel the least bit hungry. You
must see this one too. It's on violet
satin, trimmed with silver and printed
oh, simply magnifcently. I'll bring
it home tonight, dear and we'll post
it in the morning:
And Potiphar Baggs was gone.
Emily was feeling very weak that
evening. Her white cheeks had red
spots in them that burned. and her
eyes shown like hot Goals. She had
sausages for dinner sausages and
milk. The doctor had ordered beef:
but there was nothing in the house
but sausages. Yet sick though she
was. she could nct help feeling fright
ened on her fathers account when
she saw the old man come into the
room. his hand shivering as though
palsied and his face livid with excite.
lnent. s-.
1--we sent it! 1--we sent it," he cried
1--we sent the poem, and Tennyson's
dying at last! Look here, Julia
dear My eyes feel all blurred, and I
cant see the type. But l know it's
there on the front page-a small
Little paragraph. Do you see it.
dear?n r.. :.
His wife took the paper. The par
agraph was there plain enough: but
she had not even had sausages and
milk and she was feeling too weak to
get excited. Nevertheless she read
the two lines. "a dispatch from
Cowes. Isle of Wight, says that Lord
Tennyson is down with la grippe.
Owing to the poets advanced age his
doctors are uneasy about his chances
OF recovery
1t was bound to come. dear! It was
bound to come. He'll die now sure
and I'll be poet laureate of Englandr'
That evening while Emily Law in
her bare little room. tossing in one of
those wretched night sweats Of
phthisis, her mother entered her room.
Emily, darling" said She YOUR
papa is very i'll. I'm afraid he's GOT
the grippe. l wish we could get a
doctor'
III go and wake Mr.. Selby, moth
er: I'm afraid | dare not go out my
SELF"
And the girl got up and dressed
herself and knocked at the door of
the telegraph operator.
Three days later Emily did not 90
down to the telephone Office. The
doctor had told Selby everything the
night before. 1t was pneumonia not
grippe. that had attacked the poet.
Potiphar Baggs would never be lame.