The Washington times., 1894-10-07

for illustrating Riley's poems. but he. with
very few exceptions in his quaint and kindly
way, has always declined to use them. His
work is so homelike and real that it is very
difficult for an artist to delineateit When tine
publishers expressed the desire that there be
frontispiece for his new volume, "Arma-
zindy," he shook mis- head and said, mo pict-
ures, jes' plain readin'." Fortunately a
mutuaa friend solved the vexing question in
an unexpected way. While on an outing last
summer, rambling along small stream with
camera and rod, he came upon an old
fashioned watergap. Attracted by the pictur-
esque scene he was preparing to take a ''snap
shot" Of it when a country maid. with sun
bonnet and apron, came unexpectedly into
view.
In airy poise she, gazing, stood,
matchless form Of womanhood.
He caught her in the photograph in all her
grace and naturalness, and without her know
ing it.
The picture delighted both author and pub
fishers. and the graceful little maiden does not
know even to this day that she is ''Arma-
zindy," and that thousands of her likeness
will be admired all over the country by the
readers OF Riley's new volume.
Although Riley is known chiefly as the
great poet of the Hoosier dialect and in this
is mastery, unapproachable and true; that
he can write as pure English as even Shelley
or Keats, many gem in his various volumes
bear witness; but none more so than num-
Der of poems which appear in "Armazindy," :"
and in which he Intentionally feigns, in a
delightful way, the characteristics of Long
fellow, Tenny5on, and several of the English
poets That he has been successful in this
is proven by the vivid manner. IN which
Longfellow is recalled in the following:
THE VOICES.
Down in the night hear them;
The voices-unknown-ungues
That whisper, and lisp, and murmur,
And will not let me rest.
Voices that seem to question,
In unknown words, of me,
OF fabulous ventures, and hopes and dreams
OF this and the world TO be.
Veices of m1rth and music,
AS in sumptuous homes; and sounds
OF mourning, as Of gathering friends,
In the country burial grounds.
Cadence of maiden voices
Their lovers blent with these;
And Of little children singing,
As under orchard trees.
And often, up from the chaos
OF my deepest dreams, hear
Sounds of their phantom laughter.
Filling the atmosphere.
But ever and ever the meaning
Falters and falls and dies,
And only the silence quayers
With the sorrow OF my sighs
And answer: o, voices ye may not
Make me understand
Till my own voice, mingIing with you,
Laush shs in Shadow land
Riley's love of children is more noticeable
than ever in ''Armazindy." great many of
fteay. in, hn oh oil n
so dear to the hearts Of mothers, and to which
even the aged gran'ma always listens with
rapture and delight. Mr.. Riley has taken
keen note of all the conscious and uncon-
scious humor of children and in this book
charmingly reproduees it. This is the way
the little boy goes to see his gran'ma:
An pa ist snuggles me tween his knees
An help hold the lines
An peek out over the buffalo robe
An the wind ist blows-an the snow iss
SHOWS
An the sun ist shinesl an shinesl-
An the ole horse tosses his head an coughs
The frost back il our face
An 7 ruther go 70 my gran mas
Than any other place.
Over the river an through the wood
Now gran'mother's cap / spy;
Hurrh fer the fun-Is the puddin' done2-
Hurrah fer the punkin-ple.
He uses the negro dialect in his happiest
manner. and as in all other productions of the
work the developed and matured Riley is
noticeable. Here is a random oulling:
NOON LULL.
'Possum in de 'tater-Datch;
Chick enhawk a-hanGin'
Stiddy 'bove de stable-lot,
On carpet-lovm a-banginI
Hi Mr. Hoppergrass chawin' yo' terbacker,
Flick ye wild er buggy-whirp yer spit er little
blackeri
Niggah in de roas'in-yeers,
Whiskers in de shuckin';
Weasel croppin mighty shy,
But ole hen e-cluckin'i
What's got de matter er de mule colt now2
Drapt in de turnip hole, chasin' FUN de cow
Riley realizes the universal prevalence of
the critic. and with quaint humor speaks to
him as follows:
TO POET CRITIC,
Yes-the nee sings-I confess it
Sweet as hOney-Heayen bless i'll
Yit he'd be a sweeter singer
Eff ne didn't have no stinger.