Iowa County democrat. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1877-1938, 1901-11-14

iongings grew so aggressive | often
pinned the curtain down and shut out
| the rays that seemed to intensity mz
loneliness, and I would creep into my
little couch under the sloping caves
musing, Another beautiful night OF
youth wasted and lost" And | would
waken happy in spite of myself and
put all my previous melancholy into
| verses-and dollars.
| Once l read a sentence which be-
came lfe-motto for me: IF you
haven't what you like, try to like what
you have"
The elder children married and had
cares Of their own. was so sorry
fer thenl-missing the beautiful things
l knew life held.
Slowly, so slowly, it seemd to me,
my work and my income increased. 1
longed for sudden success, for sudden
wealth, II was so hard to wait
there was so much to be done There
was a gentle hill south Of the house;
often on summer evenings, after writ
ing all day, | climbed this ascent at
sunset and looked eastward, wondering
what lay for me beyond the horizon.
always had the idea that my future
would be associated with the far west,
yet it was to the east | invariably
looked. Ny knowledge of the east was
bounded by Milwaukee and Chicago
the goal of happy visits two or three
times year.
I cd a
pasture and young woods, half mile,
to call on Emma, the one friend who
knew and sympathized with all the
family troubles. And Emma would
walk back with me, and we would
wonder how many years longer these
walks and talks would continue for
US. l would tell her Of my successes in
my work, and she and her gentle
mother rejoiced in them as if they
were their own personal triumph.
Such restful walks and talks they al
ways were. Dear Emma!
Created Sensation.
When publishing Maurine had pur-
posely omitted more than twOscOre
poems of a very romantic nature in
order to save the volume from too
much sentiment. Letters began to
come to me requesting copies of these
verses-ardent love-songs which had
appeared in various periodicals. This
suggested to me the idea of issuing a
book Of love-poems to be called''POenls
of Passion" To think was to do-for
| possessed more activity than caution
in those days.
AS just related, every poem in the
book had been published in various
periodicals and had brought forth no
criticism. My amazement can hardly
be imagined, therefore, when Jansen
& MCClurg returned the manuscript of
my volume. intimating that it was i'm
moral ] told the contents Of their
letter to friends in Milwaukee, and it
reached the ears of a sensational
morning newspaper. The next day
column article appeared with large
headlines:
TOO Loud for Chicago.
The Scarlet City by the Lake Shocked.
BY Badger Girl, Whose Verses out
Swinburne Swinburne and out
Whitman Whitman"
Every newspaper in the land caught
up the story, and found myself an OBJ
ject of unpleasant nOtoriety in brief
space of time l had always been
local celebrity, but this was quite an
other experience. Some friends who
had admired and praised now criti-
cised-though they did not know why.
was advised to burn my offensive
manuscript and assured that in time I
might live down the shame I had
brought on. myself. Yet these same
friends had seen these verses in peri
OdicaIs and praised them.
All this but stimulated me to the
only vindication I desired-the publ
cation Of my book. A Chicago pub
Usher saw his opportunity and offered
TO bring out the book, and it was an
immediate success. 1t has been is
sued in London also, where it met with
immediate favor. The first proceeds
OF its sale enabled me to rebuild and
improve the old home, which was fast
going to ruin. Life, which had been
slowly widening stream for me, at this
period seemed to unite with the ocean
of success and happiness.
My engagement, though not an
nOunced, occurred the week my book
was issued One year later, in 1884,
was married, and came east to live.
Burdens long borne alone were lifted
by strong, willing hands, and dreams
long dreamed became realities. But
work, which had been a necessity, had
grown to be habit and still forms
large element of Iife's pleasures for
me.
The questions and longings of those
summer evenings when I stood in the
dying glory of a Wisconsin sunset on
the south hill back of the lonely little
home have all been answered.
For [ am one who lives to say
Ny skies have held more gold than
gray,
And that the glory of the real
By far outshines my youths ideal.
THE PlNE-coNE FIRE.
One night more by a pine-cone blaze,
With the steep farm roof to cover
us;
One last night, while the blue flame
plays
And the wildwood breath steals
over us