Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1893-08-04

| city editor, but didn't like it, ] liked to
have fun with people. / liked to have my
fun as | went along. About this time
married the sister of the friend who went
with me to Europe, and feeling my new
responsibilities, | went up to st. Joseph as
city editor" He unused for a moment in
silence. at was terrific hard work, but
| wouldn't give give good deal for those
two years"
"Well, in 1877 / was called back to the
journal in st. Louis, as editorial writer of
paragraphs. That was the beginning of
my own line of work"
"When did you do your first work in
veTse?' asked Garland.
The tall man brought his feet down to
the floor with bang and thrust his hand
out toward his friend. "There! I'm glad
you said verse. For heavens sake don't
ever say | call my stuff poetry. | never
do. | don't pass judgment on it like that"
After little he resumed. The first that
l wrote was Christmas treasures wrote
that one night to fill in a chink in 1.-THE
paper.
81 next went to the Kansas City Times
as managing editor. l wrote there that
Little peach, which still chases me round
the country
81 went to the Denver Tribune next,
and stayed there till 1888. The most con-
spicuous thing | did there, was the bur
lesque primer series. See the policeman.
Has he a clHb? Yes, he has a club, etc.
! These were so widely copied and pirated
that put them into a little book which is
very rare, thank heaven. l hope | have
the only copy of it. The other thing which
rose above the level of my ordinary work
was bit of verse, The wanderer,' which
l credited to Modjeska and which has
given her no little annoyance"
THAT brings you up to Chicago, doesn't
it?"
SIN 1888 Melville Stone asked me to join
him on the News and did. Since then
my life has been uneventful."
81 might not think so. Did you estab-
lish the column 'Sharps and Flats at
onceF'
Eyes. told Stone I'd write good deal
of musical matter, and the name seemed
appropriate. We tried to change it several
times, but no go.
Garland, I'm newspaper man. |
don't claim to be anything else. I've never
written a thing for the magazines, and
never was asked to. till about four years
ago. | never have put a high estimate
upon my verse. That it's popular is be-
pen to run on parallel lines just now.
That's all. Not much of it will live"
81 don't know about that, Brother
Field" said Garland, pausing to rest. a.
think you underestimate some of that
work. Your reminiscent boy life poems
and your songs of children are thoroughly
American, and fine and tender. They'll
take care of themselves
Eyes, but my best work has been along
lines of satire. I've consistently made war
upon shams. I've stood always in my
work for decency and manliness and hon
esty. l think that'll remain true, you'll
find. I'm not much physically, but NOR
ally I'm not a coward"
"Yet some of your finest things, | re-
peat, are your reminiscent verses of boy
life" pursued Garland, who called himself
veritist and enjoyed getting his friend as
nearly on his ground as possible.
Eyes, that's so, but that's in the far
past" Field admitted Garland took the
thought up.
thine helps you then. Time is 70.
mancer. He halves the fact, but we VERT
lists find the present fact haloed, with sig
nificance if not beauty"
Field lodged the point
Eyes, like to do those boy life verses.
l like to live over the joys and tragedies
because we had our tragedies
Didn't We. Wedding the onion bed on
circus day, for example"
Eyes, or gettin terrible strappin for
goin' swimming without permission. Oh,
it all comes back to me, all sweet and fine
somehow. I've forgotten all the unpleas-
ant things. | remember only the best of
it all. | like boy life. like children.
like young men. | like the buoyancy of
youth and its freshness. It's a Gods pity
that every young child can't get a taste of
country life at some time. It's a fund of
inspiration to a man." Again the finer
quality in the man came out in his face and
! voice
"Your life in New England and the
South, and also in the West, has been of
great help to you, think"
Yes and big disadvantage. When |
go East, Stedman calls me typical West
erner and when l come West they call me
a Yankee-so there | ami"
There's no doubt of your being a West
erner"
II hope not. | believe in the West. |
tell you, Brother Garland, the West is the
coming country. We ought to have
big magazine to develop the West. It's
absurd to suppose we're going on always
being tributary to the East"
Garland laid down his pad and lifted his
big fist in the air like a maui. His enthu-.
siasm rose like flood.
'Now you touch great theme. You're
right, Field. The next ten years will see
literary horizons change nightly. The
West is dead sure to be in the game from
this time on. A man can't be out here
week without feeling the thrill of latent
powers. The West is coming to its man
hood. The West is the place for enthu-
siasm. Her history is making"
Field took up the note. give got faith
in it. love New England for her heritage
to you. l like her old stone walls and
meadows, but when get back West-well,
I'm home, that's all. My love for the West
has got blood in it,"
Garland laughed in sudden perception of
their earnestness. "We're both talking
like a couple of boomers. 1t might be
characteristic however to apply the meth
DDS of the boomers of town lots to the de-
velopment of art and literature. What
say?''
at can be done. 1t will come in the
course of events"
sin our enthusiasm we have skated away
from the subject You are As, then-you
realize there's lot of work before you,
hope