The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1901-08-25

! terrace aIter terrace, 1aceQ with rough
stone, were myriads Of roses of every
kind. Roses, In fact, were everywhere;
the air was laden with the rich perfume,
| and the paths were strewn thickly with
blossoms cut the night before. The view
! of the surrounding country was singular
| ly beautiful the air sweet and fresh and
the birds singing melodiously around u.s.
| In the foreground were the rolling lands
green, Hkvily wooded, patched here and
there with yellow. In the distance re-
posed the magnificent bay Of San Fran
cisco, shining like quicksilver with re-
| hected light, the masts of the shipping
| standing out as if white threads against
| the dark background of sky, and the
| great city looming up indistinct until
| it's outlines were lost in the black fog
bank which was drifting in from the sea.
An air of peace was diffused around;
| one felt the inspiration of redundant ma
| ture, and we realized then why the poet
| loved his airy abode.
Our silent admiration pleased him. He
| talked on the beauties of nature and
gradually drifted to art We talked on
| poetry, but Joaquin Miller repeated little
! from the books. shakespeare he said,
81 have read but little, 1 remember one or
two of his sonnets. My favorite poet
| is Wordsworth. He is the true poet Of
nature. No man ever got closer to
| Wordsworth. But have not even read
! anything he wrote. ''Yarrow Stream
! is my favorite poem. All! there is moth
| ing like that in the language; it is the
very essence of the poetry of nature 1t
never can be surpassed But 1 am not
a reader of books. My study it nature;
she is my friend and companion, and
need none other"
The poet lapsed into silence. For a
few % in
He presented then wildly picturesque
! appearance. He looked what he is, a
! tiller of the soil, for with his own hands
! had Joaquin Miller turned the BARR n
land he purchased into garden fit for the
gods. The chestnut trees and olives
scattered around were planted by him,
and the flowers which he would not sci,
are carefully attended by himself. After
while he led US to his conservatory,
where were some of the choicest of roses.
An old gray-haired man was his gardener.
| May 1 take a rose for these gracious
J people?' inquired he almost humbly or
the gardener. Yes, but take care you
| don't prick your fingers. You're always
pricking your fingers" said the other n
much the same tone one would use to-
ward spoilt child. Then the poet en-
tered the conservatory and cut a branch
! bearing a dozen blooms
'He doesn't like me to take his flow
ers without asking him. whispered Mil
| ler, nodding slyly toward the old garden
! er; but he IS the best of gardeners aft
er all. And now" he added, 81 must
leave you, kind people. Come and see
me often. You are always welcome You
are not curios ty people, like most who
| come here and ask impertinent questions
! and destroy my flowers. May good luck
! follow you everywhere" In a moment
scaled r.
] ed into the bushes but we could hear
| him reciting as he went:
Be Yarrow stream unseen unknown,
It must or shall rue it.
We have a vision of our own,
All why should we undo it?
Then we started back to the great city
! taking with us visions of flowers and
| singing birds and a great, supplemented
/ man, who seemed to live with nature
/ and in nature.
Inquiry showed that Joaquin Miller was
a prophet little honored in his own coun-
try. An amusing anecdote was related
which is well worth reps ating When
! Sir Edwin Arnold visited San Francisco
some years ago on his visit to Japan, he
was given a dinner by the Bohemian
club. With dessert rose a discussion as
! to the greatest poet of the United States.
There is one-but I do NOT see him
! here, however" said Sir Edwin, gravely.
according to the story, whom we in En-
rope believe to be destined to immortal
! ity."
The guests canvassed a dozen Names
to all of which the author of 1.-THE Light
of Asia" shook his head. At length he
was called upon to name the man. the
! others having exhausted their list.
II refer said Sir Edwin. amid pro-
/ found silence, ito Joaquin Miller"
/ Next day "a strange sight was witnessed.
! The road to Miller's home was lined that
afternoon with vehicles of all kinds. and
! even pedestrians, all eager to pay hon.
/ age to the poet of the Sierras" The
/ grim old man saw them afar off. From his
! terrace he recognized the would-be lit
erary lights Of the contracted circles of
the Golden Gate. Running to his gate
! he locked it securely and nailed on 1t
| the notice, mo admission After that
event he was left severely alone To this
! and jealousy his friends attribute the
/ fierce local newspaper attacks which were
directed against the old poet, who, how
! ever, seldom read the papers. He lived
| at that time comfortably enough on the
/ income from his various books and arti-
cIes, occupying with his mother the lit
| tie cottage I have attempted to describe.
| She was digniffed old lady, whom he
! treated with the utmost Difference and af-
| lection 1t was said that he never ap-
peared in her presence with his hat on,
! and should she approach him unexpected
| ly he would instantly uncover
A somewhat whimsical story of MfIler's
lack of reading was told to me once at
the Bohemian club. A great friend of
Miller's was Gen. Lucius Foote, who was
the first envoy sent from this country to
Korea, the hermit land He was secre-
tary at the time of the Academy of Sci
ences. and a little group of men who
! loved literature for it's own sake were
| accustomed to make their headquarters
in his rooms in the academy building.
Miller one day dropped in and the dis
| cussion turned upon some verses by a
local writer which led Miller to remark
that he had a new idea for a poem based
upon the fact that of all creatures man
alone walked with face upturned to the
skies.
'"That is old" interjected a man who
! had written some sonnets.
"Oldr' cried Miller. What do You
mean?'
why, do you not remember Bobbie
! Burns lines?" asked the other:
But man, whose heaven erected face
The smiles of love adorn-
Mans inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn
A look of disgust spread over Miller
face. 81 have never read Burns" he
cried almost harshly, but he has robbed
me of an idea."-H V in New York
Commercial Advertiser.