In his note introductory of this poem the editor of the Lily affirmed that I had named none but veritable localities (which was strictly true), and ventured the belief that the composition would remind his readers of Goldsmith. Upon which his scorpion contemporary in the next village observed that there was rather more smith than gold about the poem.
Up to the time when this poem appeared in print, I had succeeded in concealing from my father the nature of my incidental occupation; but now he must know all.
He did know all; and the result was that he gave me ten dollars, and sent me to New York to look out for myself.
“It’s the only thing that will save him,” says he to my mother; “and I must either send him off or expect to see him sink by degrees to editorship and begin wearing disgraceful clothes.”
I went to New York; I became private secretary and speech-scribe to an unscrupulous and, therefore, rising politician, and now I am in Washington.
I had a certain postmastership in my eye when I first came hither; but war’s alarms indicate that I may do better as an amateur hero.
R. H. Newell (“Orpheus C. Kerr”).
YAWCOB STRAUSS.
