The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1895-11-10

fellow, who lowered above her, a syca-
more beside a rose.
In time they were married and from
that time henceforward the spring OF
poetry in his soul, which had been run
ming through channel subterranean,
broke forth and poured in Sparkling
stream until the hour when the shad-
ows of the land beyond settled on the
softened face, and the grey eyes CLOSED
In the slumber which knows not an
awakening.
From little gems of verse, which
sparkled like small jewels which add
to the lustre on beauty's face, he came
to produce the superb drops when
deck the brow of literary royalty; and
those which sparkled brightest were
the simplest, because while he wrote
many great and good things, those
which appealed deepest to the reader
were those told OF the days which were
gone The hills of the New England
state where he spent the time when
boy were favorite theme. Who mas
not read those many simple poems
who did not at once picture the llmpld
waters of the purling brook as they
chased each other down the pebbled
slopes to mingle in Connecticut's broad
bosom?
But the brightest of all were those
WuiCil lOlll The WOIlu lldl u NC IL
Lefty was found only in the love of
man for woman and children and the
love of woman for children and man.
And through all the vicissitudes which
environed him there was never a mo-
ment when he did not find comfort
in expressing to the sharers of his
hearts joys and sorrows his lasting
love and devotion to her. Witness the
few lines he wrote her at one time
when away in the east and st. Valen-
tines day arrived:
you are as sweet and fair and tender,
Little brown-eyed sweetheart. mine,
AS the day when, calloW youth and
slender,
Or this when in London:
''In the great big Bank of England I
have forty pounds or more, which
l am likely to spend ere evening
falls, on some antediluvian store;
But I'd give it all, and gladly, too, if
for an hour or so, you and 1 could
walk together, again in Lovers
Lane, st. Jo."
His Little Boy Blue" which ap-
peared in The Herald yesterday was
merely the echo of a grief caused by
the death of little friend. "Caseys
Table d'ote" was the pleasing recol-
lection of the days when Rothaker,
Stapleton and he rambled around Den
yer printing the old Tribune, which,
of course, was not financial success,
as the efforts of the modern genius,
when he unites with another, are al
ways failures. "Rare Roast Beef is
shit, as is also Billings of Louis
ville," "The Clink of the Ice in the
Pitcher" and many others, but they
all tell the story of his life better than
the most gifted photographer could
write it.
Gene had critics, as who has not?
There were the long-faced and the
Would-be righteous who say that had
he lived life confined to more rigid
hygiene he might have stayed longer
and done better in this world BAH
God creates few men like Gene Field
and when he does he maps out a
course for them and, like the stream
which follows the channel its prede-
cessor has cut for it through the rocky,
finty walls, they follow that course
And now that he is dead and gone
and the places which knew him once
will know him no more; now that the
| children will go to his grave and strew
flowers over his eternal couch; now
that the deWs of night and the heat of
| day will make the green grass grow
where he sleeps, / would rather be in
his place than to live and acquire the
pomp and grandeur that victory's
sword would carve out on a hundred
battlefields, or the sumptuous splendor
which millions would purchase.
c. NJ. J.