Jasper County Democrat, Volume 9, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 June 1906 — LITTLE VISITS WITH “UNCLE BY” [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

LITTLE VISITS WITH “UNCLE BY”

The Riley Retreat. James Whitcomb Riley is building a summer home in Indiana with twentyseven rooms and a sunset drawingroom. It is to be known as the "Retreat for Authors.” the “Trysting Place of Poets” or something equally as good. Bill collectors will not be allowed inside the sacred precincts of this literary haven and the rude, corn-fed populace who sign themselves "Vox Populi" and “Veritas” in the home papers, shall not trespass except by penalty of being indignantly set —upon by the poet’s dogs of war. To those of us whose divine afflatus fluctuates In unison with the heart-throbs of rhyme, this rendezvous from the rude, money-mad public will come as the Benediction .after prayer. Apathetic with the cares of the day, unimpassioned because <Sf the drudgery of associating wiah vulgar SSO-a-week magazine editors, we may cast all gloom and travail to the zephyrs and, crotchet work in hand, retire to the beatitudes of “The Poet's Retreat” and rest! Ah, such a life! I'm quite perturbed arid nervous. I fear my heart is Hart I The doctor says my system Is all run down amltuid! Ah, me! I'll knock off rhyming, And telegraph to “Whit” To meet me at UiF station With Ills pegasus fit. Then ho! It's to the haven— The “Whitcomb Riley Rest,” The author's home of glory On top of “Poet’s Crest." Bing ho! Sing,ho! the praises Of meadow, brook and fen, JTorgetting all the worries And things that "might have been!" The mornings will be splendid. The sunsets streaks of gold; The spring will gurgle gaily— Its rhythmic tale untold! Thus in Utopian dreaming I'll take of rest my fill, And Whitcomb Riley, poet. Of course, will pay the bill! * • • In the Soft Moonlight. They were alone! And in a hammock at that! The playful zephyrs rollicked in the moonlight and blew the loose tresses Of her hair so riotously they tickled his ear. He felt that, he was in danger, but he would not declare himself. She said nothing. The owl called, weirdly from a scraggly monarch on the hill. The lake chattered, and at the dock the boat chains grumbled! Far away he heard a bow-wow bark and the tinkle of a bovine bell! Still she said nothing! He did not look at her. He dared not. Yet he knew what a pretty picture she was making as the moonlight ravished her face for kisses! But, no! He would remain firm. He She stirred slightly. He gave no heed. “Jack," in a quiet, conquered spirit. “Jack —you—” He turned toward her patronizingly. "You may put—your—arm—under— my—head—if—you" But, after all, this is none of our business. •'Oh, laive' young Love! bound In thy rosy band; Eet sage or cynic prattle as he will, These hours, and only these, redeem life's years of ill.'' • • • Stick. , “Let the shoemaker stick to the last.” says the adage maker. Certainly. I would be the last one to pull him away from his flypaper. MoralMind your own business and keep an eye open lest you yourself fall into the tanglefoot and have to stick to the last! • • * Wrong Again. “The cracked pitcher goes niost often to the well,” pays the proverb

builder. In some wards It doesn’t, not by a jug full! It goes to the beer joint at the unchangeable rate of sixteen to one! • • • The Song. The brownthrush Bings her gladsome song— Ring likewise thou unto the throng' The same world throbs for man and blruThe scent of flower by aephyr atirrad, The sun, the sky, the breath of mem, The eventide when night is born! Oh, man, with reason more divine. Wilt thou not read aright the sign? Go! Rob thy cheek of guilty blush And gain more wisdom from the thrushl The aame good God did mankind bless A* taught the bird her happiness! BYRON WILLIAMS.