The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley, vol 1 | Page 9

worth telling after all. Put into the humorous-story form, it takes ten
minutes, and is about the funniest thing I have ever listened to--as
James Whitcomb Riley tells it.
"The simplicity and innocence and sincerity and unconsciousness of
Riley's old farmer are perfectly simulated, and the result is a
performance which is thoroughly charming and delicious. This is
art--and fine and beautiful, and only a master can compass it."
It was in that The Old Swimmin' Hole and 'Leven More Poems first
appeared in volume form. Four years afterward, Riley made his initial
appearance before a New York City audience. The entertainment was
given in aid of an international copyright law, and the country's most
distinguished men of letters took part in the program. It is probably true
that no one appearing at that time was less known to the vast audience
in Chickering Hall than James Whitcomb Riley, but so great and so
spontaneous was the enthusiasm when he left the stage after his

contribution to the first day's program, that the management
immediately announced a place would be made for Mr. Riley on the
second and last day's program. It was then that James Russell Lowell
introduced him in the following words:
"Ladies and gentlemen: I have very great pleasure in presenting to you
the next reader of this afternoon, Mr. James Whitcomb Riley, of
Indiana. I confess, with no little chagrin and sense of my own loss, that
when yesterday afternoon, from this platform, I presented him to a
similar assemblage, I was almost completely a stranger to his poems.
But since that time I have been looking into the volumes that have
come from his pen, and in them I have discovered so much of high
worth and tender quality that I deeply regret I had not long before made
acquaintance with his work. To-day, in presenting Mr. Riley to you, I
can say to you of my own knowledge, that you are to have the pleasure
of listening to the voice of a true poet."
Two years later a selection from his poems was published in England
under the title Old Fashioned Roses and his international reputation
was established. In his own country the people had already conferred
their highest degrees on him and now the colleges and
universities--seats of conservatism--gave him scholastic recognition.
Yale made him an Honorary Master of Arts in 1902; in 1903, Wabash
and, a year later, the University of Pennsylvania conferred on him the
degree of Doctor of Letters, and in 1907 Indiana University gave him
his LL. D. Still more recently the Academy of Arts and Letters elected
him to membership, and in 1912 awarded him the gold medal for
poetry. About this time a yet dearer, more touching tribute came to him
from school children. On October 7, 1911, the schools of Indiana and
New York City celebrated his birthday by special exercises, and one
year later, the school children of practically every section of the
country had programs in his honor.
As these distinguished honors came they found him each time surprised
anew and, though proud that they who dwell in the high places of
learning should come in cap and gown to welcome him, yet gently and
sincerely protesting his own unworthiness. And as they found him
when they came so they left him.
Mr. Riley made his home in Indianapolis from the time judge
Martindale invited him to join The Journal's forces, and no one of her

citizens was more devoted, nor was any so universally loved and
honored. Everywhere he went the tribute of quick recognition and
cheery greeting was paid him, and his home was the shrine of every
visiting Hoosier. High on a sward of velvet grass stands a dignified
middle-aged brick house. A dwarfed stone wall, broken by an iron gate,
guards the front lawn, while in the rear an old-fashioned garden revels
in hollyhocks and wild roses. Here among his books and his souvenirs
the poet spent his happy andncontented days. To reach this restful spot,
the pilgrim must journey to Lockerbie Street, a miniature thoroughfare
half hidden between two more commanding avenues. It is little more
than a lane, shaded, unpaved and from end to end no longer than a five
minutes' walk, but its fame is for all time.
"Such a dear little street it is, nestled away From the noise of the city
and heat of the day, In cool shady coverts of whispering trees, With
their leaves lifted up to shake hands with the breeze Which in all its
wide wanderings never may meet With a resting-place fairer than
Lockerbie Street!"
Riley never married. He lived with devoted, loyal and understanding
friends, a part of whose life he became many years ago. Kindly
consideration, gentle affection, peace and