The Portland daily press., 1894-08-20
4 s w AMI IUE.f.

"The Shelley of Muskrat Swamp" lay
dying in his bunk. There was no doubt
about that whatever to any ordinary dis
passionate observer. But the one observer,
the sole critic OF the moribund poet was
not dispassioratc, and he refrained from
obtruding the fact upon the notice of the
sick youth. Outside the wind roared
through the bush. The churned waters of
the angry Ottawa beat against the wood
en- PIERS their rough music calling upon
the youthful Shelley TO depart through the
valley of the shadow, although he knew
it not
Amid the bowling of the wind, the
hoarse roar Of the flood, the crackle OF the
logs upon the hearth, came the soft silvery
tones of the invalid reciting a moving
composition Which had occupied his atten-
ton for the last 10 hours-that is, when
he was not otherwise occupied in splitting
blood or coughing. The one oil lamp on
wooden stool by his bunk gave out a
smoky light, through which the boys eyes
shone with ueiearthly brilliancy. Jake
Timber Jake. as he was popularity known
among the gentlemen whom he distin-
guished by his jovial preference-sat on
the only other stool which the log hut
boosted.
Now and then he threw in different
suggestions as to the originality of the
poets natural history, suggestions which
the latter received with petulent impa-
thence. Though these contributions to the
literature of his native land were invari-
ably rejected Timber Jake continued to
listen to the poem with labored cordiality.
At intervals, when he was evidently ex-
pected to applaud, he did SO with tin
spoon against battered old kettle, at the
same time drawing the coverlet over the
wasted arm which held the sheets of MS.
''There!" said the poet as he finished.
"Stop your internal row for a moment
What do you think Of that, Jake?"
me not bein a scholard, Jake replied
in slow, simple tones, as he dropped the
spoon on the ground-s'me not bein a
scholard, you sex to me, ez between man
and man, Jake, old pard, how does it pan
outS' And l seq TO you, me not bein a
scholard, but ez between man and man:
Bedrock, every darned line of it'll Bed
rockr Thar's things there like the singin
of robins in spring; thar's things there
like the little flashes of light when dragon
flies goes across the sunshine; thar S
things there ez Shakespeare couldn't ha'
done, or-or,' he somewhat lanely3 add
ed, 1.-THE Frisco Times, or any of them
mud colored ink singers over the river. Z"
The youths cheek flushed warmly at
this whole hearted eulogy. At the sound
of it he turned momentarily away from
the entrance to the valley of death. Then
he shook his head and fell in the bunk,
with sigh.
maybe, jake he said, smaybe, but
for all that the burned old editor at Ma
rysville won't print 'em unless they re
paid for at advertiser rates. He sent back
the last lot sorter sarcastic, with his COM
pliments to the Shelley of Muskrat
Swamp and he wasn't takin any stock
in poetry or chipmunks just then.
An ominous frown gathered on Timber
Jake's brow.
''Bein one boss concern, he nat rally
wouldn't know real high toned poetry
when he had it chucked under his nose,
the fapdoodle eatin slumgullion. You
lowed just now ez you felt sort of chill
| when his arnser came back?"
ga death chill, Jake. Timber rafting
begun it, and that Marysville coon's sort
er finished me up. Yes, I'm goin under.
| Don't you hear the river calm, calm,
callin-come away?'
Jake gazed thoughtfully into the fire,
with puzzled, simple eyes. He was man
who thought slowly, but who always acted
with commendable promptness when be
had once made up his mind.
II was over to Hutchinson's today" he
resumed presently and the doc give ME