The Telegraph-courier. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1888-1946, 1916-07-27
THURSDAY, JULY 27, 1916.
out INTO the Afterwhiles.

o~"SSSNNN~
Little Wesley, Old Doc Seifert, and the
Old Sweetheart Of Mine are sad, for
crepe hangs on the door posts out at
Old Aunt Mary's and another of the
boys has heard the call. Tell the
boys to come and all is well'; the flag
hangs at half mast at Grigsby's Sta
ton and the windows in the Little
Town of Talbot are darkened with
the shadow Of death, for following the
Turing lengthening miles James Whit
comb Riley has gone out into the At
terwhiles. He has gone to learn the
personal story of the fglimmering
worlds and wings-of mystic smiles
and beckonings, which people the shad-
owy aisles of those Afterwhiles. He
has gone to that beautiful City"
whose rapturous praises resounded
through the poems with which he cheer
ed the world. AS he himself would
have put it:
E'With CHEEKY smile and wave of
his hand,
He has wandered off to an unknown
land,
And he left us dreaming how very
fair
It needs must be, since he lin
gers there.
The death of Riley brings world
sorrow for few men who found the joy
of life in literary work had so many
friends as Riley. Most of them never
knew him save in the fact that they
heard the echo of his song in the
depths Of their heart, but their loyalty
to him as a friend knew no bounds
and the sorrow that gathers about the
little band of friends at home, is a
sorrow shared wherever there is love of
human affection and ties of home.
He sang songs Of childhood in the
vein that childhood loves, he sang songs
Of home and songs Of love. He was
man of the people and in his homely
and heartfelt song he uttered their joys
and their sorrow. His poems were
songs filed with truly democratic sym
,pathy for common humanity. The
poems he wrote will live as long as
the hearts of men and women crave
human sympathy for in the most win
ming Of his verses he blends a pathos
and humor both of which are delight
full. He claimed smile from every
one who read his writings and many a
time the page was soiled by the drop
ping of tear.
AS he said Of himself: ct went
among the people: I learned their wants
and their sufferings and their joys and
/ put them into rhyme
"He believed in his own heart that
'The tanned face, garlande with mirth,
Tt hath the kingliest smile on earth;
The swart brow, diamonded with sweat,
Hath never need of coronet.o
He found the creatures of his song
in the real every day life, wandering
by the Green Fields and Running
Brooks, by the Old Swimmin' Hole and
those characters which he selected were
typical of life, not as it should have
been, but of life as it really was.
The world was made better by James
Whitcomb Riley living. Tt was made
brighter and happier because he wrote
In all the poetry that came from his
pen there was not a line which caused
blush or brought the heartache of
sarcasm. 1t was filed with kindly low
ing charity for the erring and pointed
to the beauties of the beautiful.
In the death of Riley the children
of world lose one of their greatest
friends. As he wrote Of Field 'TThe
love of little children laureled him. -
His love for children-possibly the
brightest thing in the rather prosaic
life of childhood's greatest poet--was
reflected in every volume which came
from his pen.
The Knightly Rider of the Knee was
TO him greater than the king in sables
and ermine and in the Happy Little
Cripple he found surer way to woo
pleasure to the people who read his
poems than he could have found in any
other character >of fiction The crea-
will live long after the grass grows
over his grave. His name will be re-
membered and revered because he sang
the song of the heart and because he
was able to make that song real
part of the lives of others. 1t can
be truly said of him:
"And, yet dead and buried they Is
blossoms of May
Our theyr medderland graves in
our hearts,
Riley was the prophet of cheerful
ness and we believe that if he could
select some poem by which he could
be remembered, he would say let it be
that one-not best known-but best
loved by those who know it best,
which runs:
There is ever a song somewhere, my
dear.
There is ever q something sings Away:
There's the song Of the lark, when
the skies are clear,