The Telegraph-courier. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1888-1946, 1917-01-11

cHStoe IHuldHd HdS COubTlDubCu ~ WIS
consin its greatest statesman John G.
Spooner' and that it gave to Illinois
its second most unique religious pro-
phet, Wilbur Glenn Voliva Of our own
Zion City. Indiana men refer with
pride to these fellows but after all
when we come to picking the Greatest
Hoosier' we pass over the beauty of
Mirandy Means, the scientific know
ledge of the Owens and the Wit and
sarcasm of the AIDES and the McCutch-
cons. We forget the distinguished
patriotism of the Harrisons and the
learning Of Voorhees, and with every
other Indianan we are ready to admit
that the really greatest Hoosier is
James Whitcomb Riley and on his
shoulders must rest the states endur-
ing fame.
In Indiana the love of the people
for Riley amounted almost to adora-
ton and the reverence for his memory
almost along the line of worship. Had
Hoosierdom the right to confer the
Cross of the Legion of Honor or the
decoration of the Star and Garter it
would have given them to him in life
and had Indiana the power to elevate
the dead to the house Of the Saints he
would have been cannonized in death.
Riley was a man of the people and
in this is summed up the charm of his
life and his work. He gave to our
newer native literature a quality ex-
pressive Of interesting local conditions.
In his homely heartfelt songs he
uttered the joys and sorrows Of the
folks about home and the folks about
home repaid him with an affectionate
admiration which few men ever re-
ceived from those who really knew
them. His poetry reflects such truly
Democratic sympathy for common hui
mainly, that it has a tone which finds
echo in all hearts. The Old Swimmin'
Hole and Grigsby Station are real
places on the map and the only color
that Riley added was the beautiful
tinting of applied human nature. Many
people have made the trip from Delphi
to Camden, Little Hoosier Towns with
Riley. The Frost upon the Pumpkin
is Real, and the Mulberry Tree with the
rip Of his pants is as true to the life
OF happy boyhood as the NOW Lay
Me Down To Sleep Erasmus Wilson
and Joey, who had a hair lip, and Will
liam Leachman who buried his first
woman were real men and even Coon
Dog Wess was familiar sight at
every Indiana home.
Among all of the poets Riley came
nearer than any other to being the poet
of the real and this made of him the
real poet.
Many people are too capt to think
OF Riley as peddler Of dialect or as
humorist who rhymed because it was
easier to write verse than prose but
the poetry of Riley will stand the most
critical analysis and he never suffers
IN comparison with others. We love
his poems of dialect, we laugh and
drop tear now and then as he deals
out IN purest rythm the idle prattle
OF childhood, but in his more serious
verses we find the beauties of a milo
sophy as interesting as Browning and
we md it written in the simple Ian
guage of the people rather than in the
severe diction of the student. The man
who reads his Browning thinks that
nowhere in all literature is found the
pathos of Evalyn Hope. Did you ever
read Riley's little gem, The Passing
OF a HEARTH 1t goes:
0, touch me with your hands
For PHYS sake:
NY Brow throbs ever with such an ache
~ only your cool touch may take away
And 50 | pray;
You touch me with your hands.
Touch--Touch me with your hands
Smooth back the hair
You once caressed, and kissed and called
SO fair
That | did dream it's gold would wear
Away,
And 10, today
Q touch me with your hands.
Just touch me with your hands,
And let them press
MY weary eyeHuS with the old CareSS,
And lull me till | sleep, then go your way.
That Death may say:
He touched me with his hands
Where in all of Browning or Keats
or Wordsworth is there any more beau
tiful sentiment or any more showing Of
real feeling9
Riley was untutored in the art of
poetry, but with poetry in the heart he
needed no teacher. His pen naturally
found the way to drawl in dialect or
to reach the highest pinacle of poetic
license. Most of you know Knee Deep
in June, The Little Town of Tail
holt and 'Grigsby Station and the
Old Sweet Heart of Mine, but did
you ever catch the wondrous beauty of
{ When She Comes Homes? May I read
It:
When she comes home again: A thousand
ways
| fashion, to myself, the tenderness
or my glad welcome: / shall tremble-yes; :
And touch her, as when first in the old
days
I touched her oirIishs hand nor darod