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Show i JA MOORE IM BERMUDA h Poet Wrote Verses to Calabash Tree That Is Still Preserved, Pre-served, arce'.ona. Winter tourists in the of Bermuda are still reminded of sojourn in the Arcadia of the poet .re, not only by the religiously pre-ed pre-ed roof that gave him shelter, )tt'J the almost reverential cnparVT a calabash tree," possibly-Tji-ttcr remembered re-membered than many more interesting interest-ing relics of the Irish lyrist through vurse he dedicated to them when he was "his majesty's registrar" for the island of Bermuda, says a correspond-" ent. In a poetic epistle to a crony he leaves this metrical souvenir of the tree under which the winter wanderer perhaps now for the first time reads the "amorous and convivial outpourings" outpour-ings" of the rollicking poet: " 'Twas thus by the shade of a calabaajn tree, With a few who could feel and remefrn- ber like me, The charm that to sweeten my goblet I threw Was a tear to the past and a blessljhg to you." In this mingled merry-go-roind of social dissipation and really astounding astound-ing accomplishment it would nMurally fcWfr V ' '"Vet Moore's Calabash Tree. be taken for an impossibility to relax Into the heavenliest diversion inherited inherit-ed by the sons of men courtship and marriage. But the engaging Celt, true to his racial instinct, didn't forego that crowning completion of manhood, the taking of a wife. When he found leisure to win the adorable actress, Bessie Dyke, even his own memoir doesn't dilate-on, but but he was married at the time that half the erand dames of the social cenacle were making soft eyes to eyes that spoke back not less invitingly. inviting-ly. Earl Russell, who wrote Moore'a biography, signalized the union in these significant words: "She proved the best of wives, receiving re-ceiving from her husband the homage hom-age of a lover from the hour of their nuptials to that of his dissolution." The equal of this testimony can hard-iy hard-iy be found in literary unions; the single exception that comes to mind at the moment is that of Elizabeth Barrett Bar-rett Browning and her husband Ro ert For this wife, who fills James Russell Rus-sell Lowell's picture, "not as others are, she who to my soul is dear," Moore broke from the enchantments of the world he loved, took up his abode in a dovecot in Leicestershire, hard by the mansion of Lord Moira, where he substituted the noble lord's library for the Pierian spring, iny:. " gling its earnest drafts with thelnt'X-icating thelnt'X-icating bliss of the honeymoon drean. In fact, to the day of his death tie union was a honeymoon, for the genia Besie found her gallant lord tla most domestic of rollickers, the tei-derest tei-derest of mates. |