The Birmingham age-herald., 1912-08-18

the realms of poetry, and Will not be forgotten by the few who find time to appreciate the heroic and beautiful for men may come, and men may go, but there will always be men who will read Little Giffen' of Tennessee. and it will create desire for something better than the everlasting grind for the mighty dol lar. This poem was written by Francis orrery Tichnor of Columbus, Ga, whose merit as poet was recognized by few. He was an humble country doctor who gathered inspiration from the singing Of the wild birds and the sparkle of the dew kissed rose that grew in the wild wood way as he went to visit some humber patient whose pay was an unknown quantity.
 In the eos he wrote to the sound of the fife and drum. the call of the bugle was between the lines. Ten years after the civil war he fell asleep, but the greatest roem he ever wrote was to commemorate the death of blue-eyed soldier boy whom he sutcored in time If carnage. This boy was suffering horribly in the hospital at Columbus. Tichnor carried him to his own home and nursed him back to life This country doctor had the rare intuition that is given to the chosen few and he easily recognized the heart of a hero in the frai form of ths wounded lad. While Dr. Tichnor had been denied y sung as the white throated thrush sings at the early dawn. His impulses were always stirred by the presence of the heroic and the glorious. and this he found in tho frail form of the boy who was willing to die for the southland.
 For fear we who live in a world cut through and through with the dollar mark will forget to look for this lyrical gem. in tho undusted book shelves of our H. fra riac if is copia1 hot you open your paper and begin searching for the stock quotations, your eye may be arrested by the caption. after you have swallowed back the big lump that Is sure to rise in your throat--if you are man you will look far away into space, beyond the skyscrapers to the hospital cot of Little Giffen,'' and feel that you are a better man for forgetting for the nonce. the lust for gold that swamps the tender emotions of the commercial man of to- day.
 LITTLE GIFFEN." "Out of the focal and foremost fire. Ont of the hospital walls as dire;
 Smitten of grape-shot and grangrene, tEighteenth battle, and he sixteen,) Specter, such as you seldom see, Little Giffen of Tennessee
 Take him and welcome" the surgeon said
 Little the doctor can help the dead So we took him. and brought him where The balm was sweet in the summer air; We laid him down on wholesome bed,- Utter Lazarus, heel to head.
 And we watched the war with bated
 breath,
 Skeleton boy against skeleton death. Months of torture, how many such? Weary weeks of the stick and crutch: And still a glint of the steel blue eye . Told of a spirit that would not die.
 And didn't. Nay more in death despite The crippled skeleton learned to write Dear mother.' at first of course; and
 then
 Dear oaptaln:' inquiring about the men. Captains answer: Of eighty and five Giffen and I are left alive.
 Words of gloom from the war one day: Johnscr pressed at the front. they say. Little Giffen was up and away; tear-his frst-as he bade goodby III write. if spared, there was news of
 the fight
 i'ut none of Giffen-he did no. write. 'I sometimes fancy that were I a king The p.1ncely knights of the golden ring With the song of the minstrel In my ear And tro tender legends that trembles here I'd give the best on pended knee. The wi itest soul of lay chivalrv
 For Little Giffen' oe Tennessee"
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