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Show I JOAQUIN MILLER AT THE FAIR. By A. K. N. The Portland Fair is a very inspiring spectacle spec-tacle indeed, with its flaunting banners, architectural archi-tectural splendors and luminous vistas, but to the student of literature essentially western, nothing noth-ing is more inspirational or attractive than the lofty figure of Joaquin Miller, who has been conspicuously con-spicuously noticeable among those handsome environs en-virons during the past few weeks. Much has been written regarding this erratic poet of the Sierras, but even the most graphic portraiture fails to give an adequate impression of this unique western singer, who has given probably the most vivid pictures pic-tures of its pomposity of the grandly picturesque. A great poseur is Joaquin. Both in the remarkable re-markable attire he affects and in the studied and stiff idiom of his address, he gives the impression im-pression of having been carefully tutored in the Balasco or Frohman school. His white beard flows wide and free, and looks as defiant as some of his sturdily independent epigrams. He looks like a modern Diogenes, without any of the philosopher's phi-losopher's acrid sincerity. He wears the garb of a village editor, but affects the voice of a charlatan charla-tan and the stride of a Victorian tragedian. Still this old nomad of western lyrics is a peculiarly pe-culiarly strong and cleanly silhouetted figure. If one could forget for a moment that both in habiliment ha-biliment and articulation all he achieves is a studied portrayal, he could be viewed as the typical product of all that is most admirable in the rugged evolutions of the early west. He dresses like a back-woods preacher. A wide hat covers his white locks, he ambles in long boots and wears a frock coat of a pattern not strongly suggestive of the tailor-made. A soft shirt is part of his equipment, and while at Portland he wore a tie that flamed like the tartan tar-tan of a war-like Highlander. The writer of this saw him on the broad piazza overlooking the long causeway leading to I the Government building. He was easily approachable, ap-proachable, but stated that at that moment he was the busiest man at the exposition. "I have an impromptu speech to deliver to-; to-; morrow," said the poet, looking at his watch, "and I must begin writing it immediately," an expression rather reminiscent of a bon mot by Chauncey Depew. Mr. Miller was asked what he thought of the Fair, a question which he had probably survived sur-vived many thousand times during his stay at Portland. But he answered it promptly, as if he were rehearsing a well-remembered declamation. "It is all quite marvelous, I consider," said the poet. "It struck twelve o'clock when I was here, and it has been Sunday ever since." After showing apparent satisfaction with this epigra-matic epigra-matic offering, he continued: "I haven't heard an oath since I have been here; I haven't seen an angry man nor an ugly woman. The fair is R grand beautifully grand. The St. Louis affair was too large; this is just my size. It is an architectural ar-chitectural poem." This appeared to please the bard of the Sierras, and with a graceful sweep of his well-manicured hand, he disappeared toward the Administration building. Mr. Miller was greatly impressed with the Forestry building, and is now engaged in writing writ-ing a poem, in which he will excoriate every one who ever lifted an axe, by proxy or otherwise, toward the expurgation of the Oregon forests. The building, which was erected at a cost of about $200,000, is the most impressive at the fair, and in its construction ho nails or similar I equipment were' used. The main pillars are of I tremendous Oregon timbers, and the vastness II and grandeur of the interior give to the building II the appearance of an immense cathedral. It was IS this fact, indeed, which led to the installation on the upper balcony of a church organ, the melan- choly tones of which sound many limes during the day through the great hall in ghostly melodies. melo-dies. But Joaquin does not believe in the felling of trees, even if the result is the erection of so artistic ar-tistic and splendid a structure. So the dear public pub-lic may shortly expect some towering denunciatory denuncia-tory lyrics, possibly after some such fashion as the following: The sun with inconsequent iridescence Smote the white brow of fairest Arcady; Sweet blossoms in their red hearts held the mystery mys-tery Of hymns that in far Hellas, blent with mirth, Made wanton faun and nymph, fantastic scurry, In fancy susurations on the eerie heights; But soon hove on the mount the ruthless axeman And smote the sky-defying trees as once Did Xerxes cleave the Grecian helmet with his adze; Grave giants who, in what tall palisades, Have watched the ages as in aeons vast They felt the mysteries of the vaulted hemisphere. hemi-sphere. Stern reliquaries, on thy lovely forms Abrasions of the rugged axeman now are writ; Cleft thy rich soul and mute obituary It proclaims through paradise and earth The infamy of the axe and of the axeman. If Joaquin happens to be dissatisfied with the diatribes he is evolving against the axeman, he has the full consent of the unambitious writer to use the foregoing. |
