INGRAM CROCKETT
Ingram Crockett, whom a group of critics have hailed as one of the most exquisite poets of Nature yet born in Kentucky, first saw the light at Henderson, Kentucky, February 10, 1856. His father, John W. Crockett, was a noted public speaker in his day and generation, and a member of the Confederate Congress from Kentucky. Ingram Crockett was educated in the schools of his native town, but he never went to college. For many years past Mr. Crockett has been cashier of the Planters State Bank, Henderson, but the jingle of the golden coins has not seared the spirit of song within his soul. In 1888 he began his literary career by editing, with the late Charles J. O'Malley, the Kentucky poet and critic, _Ye Wassail Bowle_, a pamphlet anthology of Kentucky poems and prose pieces. A small collection of Mr. Crockett's poems, entitled _The Port of Pleasant Dreams_ (Henderson, 1892), was followed by a long poem, _Rhoda, an Easter Idyl_. The first large collection of his lyrics was _Beneath Blue Skies and Gray_ (New York, 1898). This volume won the poet friends in all parts of the country, and proclaimed him a true interpreter of many-mooded Nature. _A Year Book of Kentucky Woods and Fields_ (Buffalo, New York, 1901), a prose-poem, contains some excellent writing. A story of the Christiandelphians of western Kentucky, _A Brother of Christ_ (New York, 1905), is Mr. Crockett's only novel, and it was not overly successful. _The Magic of the Woods and Other Poems_ (Chicago, 1908), is his most recent volume of verse. "It contains poems as big as the world," one enthusiastic critic exclaimed, but it has not brought the author the larger recognition that he so richly deserves.
This work surely contains Mr. Crockett's best work so far. One does not have to travel far in any direction in Kentucky in order to find many persons declaring that Ingram Crockett is the finest poet living in the state to-day. His latest book, _The Greeting and Goodbye of the Birds_ (New York, 1912), is a small volume of prose-pastels, somewhat after the manner of his _Year Book_. It again reveals the author's close companionship with Nature, and his exquisite expression of what it all means to him.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Blades o' Blue Grass_, by Fannie P. Dickey (Louisville, 1892); _The Courier-Journal_ (August 3, 1912).
AUDUBON[15]
[From _Beneath Blue Skies and Gray_ (New York, 1898)]
Not with clash of arms, Not 'midst war's alarms, Thy splendid work was done, Thy great victory won.
Unknown, thro' field and brake, By calm or stormy lake, Lured by swift passing wings-- Songs that a new world sings--
Thou didst untiring go Led by thine ardor's glow, Cheered by thy kindling thought Beauty thy hand had wrought.
Leaving thy matchless page Gift to a later age That would revere thy name-- Build for thee, surely fame.
O, to have been with thee, In that wild life and free, While all the birds passed by Under the new world sky!
O, to have heard the song Of that glad-hearted throng, Ere yet the settlers came Giving the woods to flame!
O, to have with thee gone Up the white steps of Dawn!
Or where the burning west Crimsoned the wild drake's breast!
Yet better than bays we bring Are the woods whispering When life and leaf are new Under the tender blue!
Master, awake! for May Comes on her rainbowed way-- Hear thou bird-song again Sweeter than praise of men!
THE LONGING[16]
[From _The Magic of the Woods and Other Poems_ (Chicago, 1908)]
I am weary of thought, forever the world goes by With laughter and tears, and no one can tell me why-- I am weary of thought and all it may ever bring-- _But oh, for the light-loving fields where the meadow-larks sing!_
I have toiled at the mills, I've known the grind and the roar Over and over again one day as the day before-- And what does it all avail and the end of it--where?
_But oh, for the clover in bloom and the breeze blowing there!_
Fame? What is fame but a glimmering mote, earth cast, That e'en as we grasp it dulls--dust of the dust at last.
For what have the ages to say of the myriad dead?
_But oh, for the frost-silvered hills and the dawn breaking red!_
Ah, God! the day is so short and the night comes so soon!
And who will remember the time, or the wish, or the boon?
And who can turn backward our feet from the destined place?
_But oh, for the bobolink's cheer and the beauty of April's face!_
DEAREST
[From the same]
Dearest, there is a scarlet leaf upon the blackgum tree, And in the corn the crickets chirp a ceaseless threnody-- And scattered down the purple swales are clumps of marigold, And hazier are the distant fields in many a lilac fold.
Dearest, the elder bloom is gone, and heavy, dark maroon, The elderberries bow beneath a mellow, ripening noon-- And, shaking out its silver sail, the milkweed-down is blown Through deeps of dreamy amber air in search of ports unknown.
Dearest, full many a flower now lies withered by the path, Their fragrance but a memory, the soul's sad aftermath-- The birds are flown, save now and then some loiterer thrills the way With joyous bursts of lyric song born of the heart of May.
Ah, dearest, it is good-bye time for Summer and her train, And many a golden hour will pass that ne'er shall come again-- But, dearest, Love with us abides tho' all the rest should go, And in Love's garden, dearest one, there is no hint of snow.
FOOTNOTES:
[15] Copyright, 1898, by R. H. Russell.
[16] Copyright, 1908, by the Author.
ELIZA CALVERT OBENCHAIN
Mrs. Eliza Calvert Obenchain, ("Eliza Calvert Hall"), creator of _Aunt Jane of Kentucky_, was born at Bowling Green, Kentucky, February 11, 1856; and she has lived in that little city all her life. Miss Calvert was educated in the private schools of her town, and then spent a year at "The Western," a woman's college near Cincinnati, Ohio. Her first poems appeared in the old _Scribner's_, when John G. Holland was the editor; and her first prose papers were published in _Kate Field's Washington_. She was married to Professor William A. Obenchain, of Ogden College, Bowling Green, on July 8, 1885, and four children have been born to them. _Aunt Jane of Kentucky_ (Boston, 1907), the memories of an old lady done into short stories, opens with one of the best tales ever written by an American woman, entitled _Sally Ann's Experience_. This charming prose idyl first appeared in the _Cosmopolitan Magazine_, for July, 1898, since which time it has been cordially commended by former President Roosevelt, has been reprinted in _Cosmopolitan_, _The Ladies' Home Journal_, and many other magazines, read by many public speakers, and finally issued as a single book in an illustrated _edition de luxe_ (Boston, 1910). Many of the other stories in _Aunt Jane of Kentucky_ are very fine, but _Sally Ann_ is far and away superior to any of them. Mrs. Obenchain's _The Land of Long Ago_ (Boston, 1909), was another collection of Aunt Jane stories. _To Love and to Cherish_ (Boston, 1911), is the author's first and latest novel. Upon these four volumes Mrs. Obenchain's fame rests secure, but _Sally Ann's Experience_ will be read and enjoyed when her other books have been forgotten. She struck a universal truth in this little tale, and the world will not willingly let it die. Her most recent work is a _A Book of Hand-Woven Coverlets_ (Boston, 1912), a large and delightful volume on coverlet collecting and the study of coverlet making.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Cosmopolitan Magazine_ (July, 1908); _The Bookman_ (October, 1910).
"SWEET DAY OF REST"[17]
[From _Aunt Jane of Kentucky_ (Boston, 1907)]
"I ricollect some fifty-odd years ago the town folks got to keepin'
Sunday mighty strict. They hadn't had a preacher for a long time, and the church'd been takin' things easy, and finally they got a new preacher from down in Tennessee, and the first thing he did was to draw lines around 'em close and tight about keepin' Sunday. Some o'
the members had been in the habit o' havin' their wood chopped on Sunday. Well, as soon as the new preacher come, he said that Sunday wood-choppin' had to cease amongst his church-members or he'd have 'em up before the session. I ricollect old Judge Morgan swore he'd have his wood chopped any day that suited him. And he had a load o' wood carried down cellar, and the nigger man chopped all day long in the cellar, and nobody ever would 'a' found it out, but pretty soon they got up a big revival that lasted three months and spread 'way out into the country, and bless your life, old Judge Morgan was one o' the first to be converted; and when he give in his experience, he told about the wood-choppin', and how he hoped to be forgiven for breakin'
the Sabbath day.
"Well, of course us people out in the country wouldn't be outdone by the town folks, so Parson Page got up and preached on the Fourth Commandment and all about that pore man that was stoned to death for pickin' up a few sticks on the seventh day. And Sam Amos, he says after meetin' broke, says he, 'It's my opinion that that man was a industrious, enterprisin' feller that was probably pickin' up kindlin'-wood to make his wife a fire, and,' says he, 'if they wanted to stone anybody to death they better 'a' picked out some lazy, triflin' feller that didn't have energy enough to work Sunday or any other day.' Sam always would have his say, and nothin' pleased him better'n to talk back to the preachers and git the better of 'em in a argument. I ricollect us women talked that sermon over at the Mite Society, and Maria Petty says: 'I don't know but what it's a wrong thing to say, but it looks to me like that Commandment wasn't intended for anybody but them Israelites. It was mighty easy for them to keep the Sabbath day holy, but,' says she, 'the Lord don't rain down manna in my yard. And,' says she, 'men can stop plowin' and plantin' on Sunday, but they don't stop eatin', and as long as men have to eat on Sunday, women'll have to work.'
"And Sally Ann, she spoke up, and says she, 'That's so; and these very preachers that talk so much about keepin' the Sabbath day holy, they'll walk down out of their pulpits and set down at some woman's table and eat fried chicken and hot biscuits and corn bread and five or six kinds o' vegetables, and never think about the work it took to git the dinner, to say nothin' o' the dish-washin' to come after.'
"There's one thing, child, that I never told to anybody but Abram; I reckon it was wicked, and I ought to be ashamed to own it, but"--here her voice fell to a confessional key--"I never did like Sunday till I begun to git old. And the way Sunday used to be kept, it looks to me like anybody could 'a' been expected to like it but old folks and lazy folks. You see, I never was one o' these folks that's born tired. I loved to work. I never had need of any more rest than I got every night when I slept, and I woke up every mornin' ready for the day's work. I hear folks prayin' for rest and wishing' for rest, but, honey, all my prayer was, 'Lord, give me work, and strength enough to do it.'
And when a person looks at all the things there is to be done in this world, they won't feel like restin' when they ain't tired.
"Abram used to say he believed I tried to make work for myself Sunday and every other day; and I ricollect I used to be right glad when any o' the neighbors'd git sick on Sunday and send for me to help nurse 'em. Nursing the sick was a work o' necessity, and mercy, too. And then, child, the Lord don't ever rest. The Bible says He rested on the seventh day when He got through makin' the world, and I reckon that was rest enough for Him. For, jest look; everything goes on Sundays jest the same as week-days. The grass grows, and the sun shines, and the wind blows and He does it all."
"'For still the Lord is Lord of might; In deeds, in deeds He takes delight,'"