The Idaho Republican. [volume] (Blackfoot, Idaho) 1904-1932, 1919-03-04

SCurNy Jog!
Good lack! thou might'st have heard
me call him dog
A pebbles toss from this; but now that
thou art come,
My dagger-points Of wrath do melt
away
Before thy genial smile as icicles
Might ooze to nothingness at summer
noon.
That other flask, you dog and have q
Thou handle it more gently than the
first,
Lest I, as thou didst it, thy noodle
burst"
Although expecting something after
the Shakespearean school, I was not
prepared for this, and in reading 1t
aloud actually found myself endeav-
oring to initiate the stage manner Of
Hackett, whom years ago had seen in
king Henry Nv" at the old Metro
politan, Indianapolis. "Ah" said the
old man. you are more familiar with
that I see. Tell me. have you ever
seen those lines In Shakespeare 7"
There was such a look Of conscious
triumph in his face, SO self-satisfled an
expression. that I-although half be-
heving I was in some way being duped
could but reply that I was most thor
0ughly convinced the lines did not &C.
cur in any Of the works Of that great
master.
"They do not" said the old man
briefly. ..-.
"But how" said I, "is it possible for
you to initiate his style so perfectly,
not only in language, but theme, ex.
preston, force, character, grotesque-
ness"
"Stop, my son; stop" he broke in.
"Must again remind you that 1t is
not imitation: take no credit to my
self-how dare I, when in writing thus
my individual mind is gone, simple
chaotic? It Is not imitation; 1t is
Shakespeare"
l could venture no further comment
without fear of offending, and he al
ready stood as though hesitating to
depart.
= "Stay, them" said I, until see
further exercise Of this marvellous pow
er you possess. Here, sit down, rest
a while; you seem almost exhausted"
II am nearly So" he replied, "but
there is no rest for me until this in
fluence Is entirely subsidized. No rest
for me yet; no rest! no rest"
He was again pacing his old walk,
now like weary sentinel, and I
thought as I gazed upon him, "What
riddle Of the human kind is this?"
Over and over again came the ques-
ton; and over and over an old rhyme
I had somewhere read, mockingly re-
sponded-
"Rain, rain, and sun! q rainbow in the
sky!
A young man will be wiser by and by;
An old mans wit may wander ere he
de-"
And lulled by the mild monotony Of
this, was fast drifting into dreamy
train of thought, when the old man
halted suddenly, and with one elbow
on the counter and his head
resting on his hand, he began humming
a tune-a strangely sweet and tender
air; low, and just a little harsh at first
and indistinct, but yelling softly into
wonderfully rich and pure;
then quavering again in minor swoons
Of melody SO delicately beautiful can
but liken the effect produced to that
ethereal mystery Of sound unraveled
from, the zithern by master hand
"A slender thread of song in saddest
tune" -.
had leaned forward with my own
head resting in my hand, that might |
listen the better, and was not aware,
until the song abruptly ended, that the |
old man had been writing 40 he sang.
There" said he, handing me the
scrap, you have heard the tune; here
are the words, perhaps"
It may have been a very foolish |
thing, 1t may have been weak and |
womanish. yet as my eyes bent over it |
and read. the lines grew curiously
blurred toward the last; nor did / |
Zuess the cause until a tear-a great
ripe tear-drop-fell upon my hand.
And, reader, could present the song
% you just as 1t came to me, with all
he strange surroundings-the stranger
experience of the hour; the solemn 81
ence Of the group; the wailing Of the
Wind outside as though the world,
weary Of itself, could only sigh, sigh,
'igh!-could I prelude It with that low,
'weet murmuring of melody that
launts me even now, your own eyes
leeds must moisten as you read:
The Harp Of the Minstrel.
The harp Of, the minstrel has never a
As sad.as the song in his bosom to-
:, night,
Tor the magical touch Of his fingers
alone 80
Cannot waken the echoes that