The man stopped again. The mtis
cles of his face were twitching
queerly. Suddenly his weary frame
assumed the appearance of a savage
warrior. His eyes-burned with a
strange light. Then his voice came
out clear and strong.
""Rut. T'll find t.hfim " hfi nried nut
"-By God I will." And he turned aind
left the place.
The party that heard his story
were hushed when he left. Then
some one to break the spell ordered a
drink. Then the whistles blew and
the man's sadness was forgotten in
the greetings extended to young
POETS IN VERSE DUEL
New York, Jan. 5. Petulant, ap
parently, because England jailed him
when he arrived on her chalk cliffs
a penniless stowaway, Harry Kemp,
the hatless long-haired Kansas rhym
ster, ook a bitter fling at Rudyard
Kipling as a poet. Bertoh Braley took
up the cudgels for the creator of
"Mulvaney," and this brought on
a poetry duel recalling the famous
interchange between William Watson
and Richard Le Gallienne when Wat
son with his:
"She is not old, she is not young,
The woman with the serpent's
made a veiled attack on th6 wife of
Kemp wrote this:
"To Kipling." .
Vile singer of the bloody deeds of
And of the bravery that exploits the
Exalter of subservience to masters,
Bard of the race that bound and
robbed the Boer
We note your metaphors that shine
But, underneath your sounding
The exploitation and the wide cor
The lying and vice and misery.
Your people lay upon the backs of
The bullet and the prison and the
Wherewith ye scourge the racesthat
And then blaspheme by blaming it
, To which Braley promptly replied:
"To Harry Kemp."
Emitter of unnecessary noises,
Blowing a penny whistle -loud and
Trying to drown the blowing of the
With puny tootlings or with futile
We hear your notes of thin and strid
ent clamor; '
We see you whirl in wild and Dervish
Shrilling at Kipling and we look up
Saying in wonder, "Ooinellishe?"
Not always does the master sing his
Sometimes he carols in a dreary
But who are you you cheap and
To hint him servile or to call him
An Easterner, who thought he
could write touching poetry and had
spent all his savings, buying Pacific
coast real estate, sent the following
telegram to his father: "The rose is
red, the violefc blue, send me fifty, I.
O. U." He received this reply: "The
rose is red,, the pink is pink; send you
fifty I don't think.".
TIT FOR TAT
"I had a bgard like yours till I saw
myself In the glass; then I cut It off."
"I had a face like yours, but I
couldn't cut it off so I grew this beard
to cover it" .
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