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December 1917.

No.Dcccxi

A POET AND HIS CHILD FRIENDS James Whitcomb Riley's Letters To Children Arranged with Comment by Edmund H. Eitel—

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AMES WHITCOMB RILEY always greeted the applause which came to him with something of the surprise and wonder of a child. When he was praised as the man who had introduced the real child into American literature, he said, "I have only been trying to do the little fellow simplest, purest justice." But he was genuinely pleased, and was not too grown-up to acknowledge his gratification. "The letters received from delighted fathers and mothers," he wrote to an old friend, and even the pencil-printed ones from the lovely little chaps themselves, allall go to make me one of the happiest, gratefulest of men-with never a child of my own, and yet with a world of them thank the Father of us all."

It was the children themselves who helped him most to his success. Whoever has seen a child listening to "Little Orphant Annie" or "The Raggedy

Man," and has watched it tingle with glee through every line, comprehends how amazingly Riley understood the child. It was natural that the children should applaud and ask for more, at school and at home. In Riley the teachers found "a key to child-nature." And in Riley the children instinctively knew they had a friend who understood. And so they wrote to him, and made his growing years beautiful with their trib

ute.

On Easter and New-Year's they showered letters, drawings, rhymes, and flowers upon him. At Christmas-time Riley's correspondence rivaled that of St. Nicholas. On his birthdays the postman on Lockerbie Street had to throw up his hands, and Uncle Sam's automobile brought around in mail-bags the letters from boys and girls. On his last birthday, October 7, 1915, ten thousand messages came, many representing

Copyright, 1917, by Harper & Brothers. All Rights Reserved.

entire classes or whole buildings of school-children, and many written out of school in a burst of confidence.

"I think Indiana should be proud of such a child as you," a little girl wrote. "Not only Indiana, but the United States should be proud of you. I am proud of you myself."

Riley's appeal to the child was universal, for the people who liked him lived in all parts of the world. Sometimes immigrant children, Italians, Armenians, Slavs, remembered him with letters. "I am a little Hungarian boy just one year in this country," wrote a child, "but that one year was enough to learn to love your lovely poems. I like the Old Swimmin'-Hole best." An Indian boy wrote, "I think the Raggedy Man is nice, but I can't go back on the Bear Story.'

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So the letters came, some in big, wabbly handwriting, some in faultless vertical, and once a letter in Braille from a school for blind children. It seemed the writers had not the slightest doubt that the poet would gladly hear anything and everything that they were interested in.

It would be impossible to quote many of the amusing things children wrote to Riley. Some of them ought not to be forgotten. One little boy wrote, "I tell you what, Mr. Riley, I was surprised to learn that you was living because I thought all poets was dead." A very little girl sent this birthday message in an immense and wabbly hand, "I hope you have had a happy day. I think it will pay both you and both me to keep up your writting of good poetry." A boy wrote, "I have read so many of your poems that I have a strong taste of poetry myself." Another boy asked, "Did you ever stop to think where that boy went in 'Little Orphant Annie'?" Another said: "I past your home about a month ago on Lockerbie street. It looks like it is filled with poetry from foundashun to roof." "I have never saw you, and you have never saw me,' wrote a very ungrammatical little girl, "but I do wish I will see you some time.' Frequently the children told Riley which poem was "loved best." "The Raggedy Man" and "The Bear Story' were the favorites. "Little Orphant Annie" was a close third. The boys

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usually liked "The Old Swimmin'-Hole" best, but often mentioned "Out to Old Aunt Mary's," which perhaps has reached their hearts through its description of good things to eat. Almost all of the verses mentioned by his little correspondents are in child dialect.

The children favored Riley with their own poetic efforts. On one birthday they gave him a poetry shower, and marched past his gate on Lockerbie Street with their contributions. This came from a little girl in Portland, Oregon: "When I was nine years old Í wrote a poem. I will send it to you. I was sitting on the porch one night and composed it in a few minutes. I started another but did not finish it." One little boy inclosed a pome,' which was everything that a poem should not be: "I am twelve years old, live in the country, and am not fit for hard work. If you think it is all right I will try and be a poet.

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Again and again the children in their letters told of their desire to meet Riley. "You naughty little poet!" one letter from Indianapolis read. "To think of both of us living in the same city and never meeting as I would like to do very much, but deep in my heart there is forgiveness for you. I realize that you are no longer young and cannot get around to visit and meet all of your unknown friends."

One enthusiastic boy wrote: "Can't you come down to California and visit us? We have never had any important. people to come to visit us, only relations and they are not important.'

Some of the most charming of the letters were those which tell of meeting the poet:

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