The comet. (Johnson City, Tenn.) 1884-1916, 1908-09-10
POETRY AND SECB.
Conspiracyto Rob Har-
denan Free Press
OF FAME AS A POET.
Some Selections that Prove
Its Title to Being Some
Nubbins as a Poet.

IN uDUlllS dS a OCL.
Memphis Commercial-Appeal
A base conspiracy has been unearth-
ed to swipe our fame as a poet and rob
us of the laurels that we have carved
out with the pen. We useter write
good many PONIES, but we warn't never
appreciated, and it warn't no easy job
to write good verse between feeding
mules. We was some nubbins with the
gals in them days, and Of course we
writ number of love SUBMITS. In lat
or days, when the battle of life has Of
ten made us walk in the footsteps of
the bitter pill of adversely, we amt
never felt much like writing PONIES un-
less we ware soused. Give us a few
gourds of Ticker and few duzen stines
of beer, and we feel the divine firewa-
ter raging and sloshing around in us.
The following etcetera frum the Norfolk
Landmark will explain the conspiracy,
hatched sgin us by the Nashville Amer
ican, the Washington Times, the New
York Post and several other skate news
papers:
Some weeks ago the NewYork Even
ing Post, undertaking to get up to the
Round Table occupied by the charmed
circle Of poetical experts of this section,
thrust it's head into the tent while q
discussion was going on between the
Ian ndmark and the Charlotte Observer.
The Post recited in competition certain
verse which we took be its own, begin
ming as follows:
"Late in the golden afternoon,
| sat on the bridge at midnight,
And thought of the girl / loved,
Over the hills did themoon shine bright
The Nashville American comes for
ward with the information that the au-
thor of those lines is not the New York
Evening Post, but the editor of that
imaginary and thirty publication, the
Hardeman Free Press. This is inter
esting enough, but the American has
more to tell. The said editor is the
author of the celebrated pathetic ballad
interspersed with refrain:
"She's the only girl love;
Has face like horse and buggy,
met her leaning on the lake,
| n HrnOnon nnya m VI nhildpj
We understand that this brilliant
composer is known IN Tennessee Of
"the sweet singer of Wolf river" HI
does not write in as refined style al
the Virginia poet whose ahlatus pre-
duced the "Ode to the Skunk" but b,
is q master of the emotions. TENNESSEE
is entitled to sit with Virginia, Nortl
and South Carolina, and Alabama as
producer OF deathless verse. The editor
of the Hardeman Free Press has carvet
his name large upon the cliffs of Time
; AS our fame as poet has been git
ting kinder dim recently, we wish t
: call attention to some other verse tha
we have writ. We need not refer t
J. "The Beautiful Snow" and "All's Quit
i on the Potomac" which we dashed O
years ago and which air as familiar O
household verbs throughout this gres
: republic. But here's little gem whic
v we think shows our genius at its tor
not:
: The night was growing old
AS she trudged thro' snow and sleet
Her nose was long and cold
And her shoes ware full Of feet.
In looking over our scrap-book "
air simply amazed at our versatalit,
= We seem to have teched on all the emit
tions of life. Nothing could be bett'
& than the PONIES beginning:
8 Be kind and tender to the frog,
b And do not call him names.
B Speak gently to the herring and kind
E to the calf,
e Be soshubable with the cock-roach,
E the buffalo gnat don't laugh.
= Perhaps the best pome we ever WI
was INSPIRED by visit to Cy Lyle U
u in the Moonshine Belt. We rememb
S how we hit the Jug one night, al
when We went to bed snaik kept {
I pulling the kiver off'n us, and v
& couldn't go to sleep. SO we set u
n lifted candle and writ the followin
& (Note; We didn't know how to sp
that night.)
Prodiggus reptile! long and skaly Gus
g You air the dad -bingdest biggest thir
d l ever
Z Seed that cud ty itself into double bo
Not, and cum all strate agin IN a
q Minnit or so, without winkin or seem
Il To experience any partickler pane
3 In the diafram.
n Stoopenjus inseck marvellous annimil
q You air no doubt seven thousand yer
n Old. and have q considerable of a
81 Family sueekin round thru the tall
3 Gras in Afriky, a eetin up little gree!
Il Niggers, and wishin they was bigger
Y Some of our love ballots have be,
& quoted by the parties in this here co
4 troversy, but here's one we compos
b when we was saving logs on the B
s. Scantlin in 1867:
, There's not bedbug in the shy,