5 Riley Bio

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.COM

"Where we celebrate the child in us all"

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
THE POET AS FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT
by Thomas Earl Williams with primary illustrations by Katherine Kuonen and the great assistance of Robert Tinsley with Riley artifacts, Copyright, 1997, Thomas Earl Williams

Riley was Jucklet in his early schooling. He was an errant scholar and traveler even before he got Riley into mischief in many other ways. He loved fun. As a scholar, Riley knew how to slide a piece of wood under the old school clock and get it out of plumb so it ran faster, shortening the school hours which seemed far too long. This way Riley caused his school to be dismissed early from time to time pleasing the other pupils, especially his 'swimmin'-hole' buddies. Riley was often a hero of his schoolmates. If caught on any of his pranks, he took his "licking" like a boy should, and did not try to lay the blame on someone else.

William B. Davis recalls it was in the winter of '59 that he first saw and met Jim Riley. He was in the rear of the old music hall at Greenfield working on a horizontal bar. "He was the quickest fellow - boy -that I ever saw. He was just like a squirrel going round and round in a cage. He was 10 years old then - and he could turn either backward or forward." Riley often went out to the Davis's farm because Reuben kept his horse there.

There is another incident about Riley's schooling of this period. Inside his big geography and held down under a rubber band, Riley frequently had a copy of Longfellow's poems which he read surreptitiously. When Riley's

instructor, Lee 0. Harris passed up and down the aisles between the rows of desks and came near Riley's desk, he always pretended not to see the book of poems. How it would delight this old professor to know that toward the end of this little pupil's life he would

receive so many college degrees that he would remark he would have to stop writing poetry so as to remember his degrees.

When the Greenfield Academy fizzled out due to the Civil War, Riley went to study at the home of Rhoda Houghton Millikan who arrived in Greenfield in 1862 and opened a school in her home. Rhoda Millikan was the daughter of a Superior Court Judge and a native of Vermont. She was a cultured, educated lady and possessed many talents. She was the widower of a

man who had left his family in Ohio to An example of Riley's early "horrible" pen-prospect for gold in Calfornia during the manship. (From "Man's Devotion"). Riley's

"gold rush. The husband never returned containing twenty-four poems some of which leaving Rhoda Millikan to raise five chil- were written when Riley was a boy. This one

Riley practically moved into the Millikan home. One of the daughters was Nellie Millikan who was "Dwainie" of "The Flying Islands of the Night." Nellie was slightly older than Riley and enchanted him with her playing of the piano and guitar. One of the boys, Jesse, became Riley's best friend.

Rhoda Millikan's family were readers and had many books. They were musical and both girls played and sang.

Riley held the mother in great esteem. She had a bright schoolroom, pictures which she painted on the walls, and wooden benches for the students to sit on. She kept hanging jars filled with garden flowers in summer and in winter, parlor ivy and wandering jew trailed about. The woods were visible from her back yard to offer shade for a recess playground.

She directed Riley's studies along the lines of his interest, art, literature and poetry. Riley was memorizing verse she discovered. She gave him prominent parts in Friday afternoon exercises and allowed him to recite poems he memorized from his mother.

Mrs. Millikan - who was an artist - began a Saturday afternoon class in painting and drawing. Riley became a pupil and found he could draw almost anything and easily became her star pupil.

As a young self-conscious teen, Riley's face was covered with freckles and he was called "Spotted Face" by friends. As an adolescent he became very conscious of these. He tried many things, buttermilk, vinegar and salt and was often washing his face with lye soap. He took an old custom seriously and prayed for May to wash his face in its due which he was told would get rid of them. One day his mother sent him to the store to get sugar for 50 cents and he bought a bottle advertised "A sure cure for freckles, -Balm of a thousand flowers" instead. He charged the sugar, went home to deliver the sugar, and stopped at a deserted barn to coat his face with the Balm of a Thousand Flowers without reading the instructions. When he arrived at school, Ms. Millikan was angry and while the schoolmates laughed took him from the room to look at his face as yellow as a pumpkin. The Balm was supposed to be washed off almost immediately after being put on. His face was stained for several days and when it came off the freckles and also a layer of skin came with it. He never again had freckles.

There really is no play character from Riley's autobiographical poem "The Flying Islands of the Night" who relates to Riley's adolescence except Nellie Millikan Cooley, "Dwainie," in Riley's life. This reflects the great unhappiness and poverty Riley knew as an adolescent.

Riley was not a happy teenager. He ascribed his lack of a social life to a "poor start" from those days. He claimed frustration from the very first. When he wished to escort his first sweetheart to a party, Riley said he dressed very carefully and knocked at his first love's door. Her father opened it, eyed him critically and demanded: "What you want, Jimmy?"

When Riley said, "Come to take Bessie to the party," the father snorted, "Humph! Bessie ain't goin' to no party; Bessie's got the measles!"

As the Civil War came to a close, Greenfield reopened the Academy. In fact, Reuben Riley was chosen as the president of the public meeting called to plan its operation. This school began in 1866 and ran a fourteen week session. Riley started this school but attended in a very haphazard manner. He was truant as much as he was present. During one such truancy, his father beat him severely. It did not help. Riley quit school at sixteen.

lower. The other boys weren't to be around him. In a youthful letter to a friend who has been told to stay away from him, the sixteen year old Riley comments,"Your father forbids your associating with me. Well, with his understanding of my character, he did what was right. Well, so long as he thinks me a mean boy, just so long you must abide his law, for he thinks it for your good. Sometime, maybe, I can show him my real character..."

Riley did not attend another school for several years but he was present on January 26, 1870 when Greenfield opened its first

Riley book covers became such works of art that some were removed and framed for Hoosier homes as was this one.

public school with 236 students. The school ran from January to May. Lee 0. Harris was one of the teachers. Riley distinguished himself as an editor of one of the two school newspapers, his being The CRITERION.

Meredith Nicholson, Riley's friend in later life and noted American author, believes that Riley "would have been injured rather than benefited by an ampler education. He was chiefly concerned with human nature, and it was his fortune to know profoundly those definite phases and contrasts of life that were susceptible of interpretation in the art of which he was sufficiently the master.-

Riley's education best came from riding his horse about the American woods and towns and from contacts with the popular culture of America itself.

Riley's first employment was as a decorator of the shaving mugs that ornamented and did service to the customers of the barbershop of a black barber of Greenfield, George Knox. Knox says he received "35 cents per mug, for which there never was a time he did not seem duly grateful and appreciative. ...during five years, in return for the many services rendered in the line of his trade (painting), I kept him "shaven and shorn" without price or remuneration save as he paid me in the manner indicated above."

We remember that Riley lived in a poverty stricken home after his father was discharged from the Civil War as a disabled man. The sting of poverty never left Riley. As an old man, he refused to take change from any newsboy after buying a newspaper and when asked about this he explained that he remembered when he was that age when "coins were scarce."

Knox has written, "I nicknamed (Riley) Mr. Jones and we played at imagining that he was a rich farmer of eccentric ideas, and fixed im

pressions of his importance and standing as a tiller of the soil. I would frequently say to him: "Well, Mr. Jones, how does it happen that you are in town so late today," and he would reply in the dialect of the Hoosier farmer, accompanied with the peculiar nasal twang that have made his

recitations famous - "Wal, I kum into town George Knox. Riley's benefactor and to-day, intendin' to go right back as soon as Greenfield barber.

possible, and what did they do but pop me on the jury first thing. I put up at the tavern and there was so much noise about I couldn't sleep, so I got up about 4 o'clock this mornin' and bought me a cegar - two fer five you know - they last longer. I kum over to git a shave; how much do you ask for a shave, George." I would say ten cents. "Now, that's too much; I'll give you five cents for a shave." etc., etc."

George Knox remembered the neighbors "sneered at him (Riley), (spoke) derisively of him and declared him no good."

Riley escaped into literature to avoid his wretched poverty as a teenager. He read more out of school than in. He came to love the literature of Charles Dickens most of all. Jucklet seized upon Dickens even though Dickens was not known for his poetry but rather for his prose. Meredith Nicholson, commented: Riley "knew his Dickens thoroughly, and his lifelong attention to "character" was due no doubt in some measure to his study of Dickens's portraits of the quaint and humorous."

Early in his schooling, Riley ran away when Dickens's "The Death of Little Nell" was read. "It was a matter of eternal wonder to me, how the other children could go strong- voiced and dry-eyed through those tragedies that almost broke my heart," he once said.

She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life; not one who had

A strange thing happens when we read about the life of Charles Dickens. It begins to sound like Riley's.

We review the facts of the life of Charles Dickens, 1812-1870, to note the great parallels of the lives of Jucklet and him. Dickens was born in Portsmouth, but spent nearly all his life in London. It would turn out that Riley, born in Greenfield, would spend most of his adult life in Indianapolis.

Dickens's father was a conscientious man, but lacked capacity for earning a livelihood. This reminds one of Riley's father. In consequence, Dickens's youth was much darkened by poverty as was Riley's. Dickens began his activelife as a lawyer's apprentice; but soon left this employment to become a reporter. Riley did the same. Dickens followed this employment from 1831-1836. Dickens's first book was entitled, "Sketches of London Society, by Boz." This was followed, in 1837, by the "Pickwick Papers," a work which suddenly brought much fame to the author. His other works followed with great rapidity, and his last was unfinished at the time of his death. Riley's books of poetry were very popular from the first and Riley kept on writing them. He wrote on and on and on.

Dickens visited America in 1842, and again in 1867. During his last visit, he read his works in public in the principal cities of the United States. This was what Jucklet came to have in mind for Riley to do.

The resources of Dickens' genius seemed exhaustless. He copied no author, imitated none, but relied entirely on his own powers. He excelled

especially in humor and pathos. He gathered materials for his works by the most careful and faithful observation. And he painted his characters with a fidelity so true to their different individualities that, although they sometimes have a quaint grotesqueness bordering on caricature, they stand before the memory as living realities. His writings present very vividly the wants and sufferings of the poor and encourage kindness and benevolence.

Finally, somehow, despite his poverty-striken youth. Dickens came to great fame and, when he died, was honored with burial in Westminster Abbey, London.

Riley's life parallels that of Dickens. 1 think this is intentional. Riley looked to Dickens as a role model. Out of such devotion, Riley gave to America figures as compelling as Dickens did for his Englishmen.

Dickens gave to England "Little Nell," while Riley gave to America "Little Haly" of "On the Death of Little Mahala Ashcraft" (1882).

"Little Holy! Little Holy!" cheeps the robin in the tree; "Little Haly!" sighs the clover, "Little Haly!" moans the bee; "Little Haly! Little Haly!" calls the killdeer at twilight; And the katydids and crickets hollers "Haly!" all the night.

The sunflowers and the hollyhawks droops over the garden fence; The old path down the garden walks still holds her footprints' dents; And the well-sweep's swingin' bucket seems to wait fer her to come And start it on its wortery errant clown the old beegum.

Riley took from Dickens the impetus to get close to his own people in order to reflect them in his writing.

Riley learned from Dickens in the novel way that Riley did things. He made a play about Dickens' characters and got his chums to act them out in their lives in Greenfield. The shoeshop of Thomas Snow was "base." In fact, the cobbler, a recent immigrant from England who knew his Dickens, was the "stage manager." The adolescent boys mixing it up with Riley in this Dickens "life production" of Riley's called themselves the "Fagan Club."

Occasionlly, things got out of hand as when the Fagan Club members acted as Fagan's thieving band of children and literally stole everything they could "pickpocket." It was fun and Riley was learning how to become Dickens. They did not get caught often enough to get thrown in jail.

To be as Dickens was, Riley felt it necessary to write publicly at every opportunity. This included writing letters to the editor of newspapers. In 1873 A friend in Mooresville, A.W. Macy, suggested Riley write a letter from Anderson to the Mooresville paper about his life in Anderson and Riley did so. Doc Marigold was the name Riley used in a correspondence letter published in the May 8, 1873 issue of the Mooresville ENTERPRISE. In one of Dickens' short stories a vendor of cheap articles was named "Doc Marigold. "Riley's letter was written at Anderson, April 24, 1873.

-Dear ENTERPRISE: I have been intending to write you a letter, but have deferred it from day to day until I could bestow more attention to it than has been at my command for some time. I have not been still in one place long enough to write my "John Hancock" in a legible manner on hotel registers; and now that I have at last "found a level, I am not certain that I can interest you; for I know so little of general importance that, was there nothing else to write about, my little would be as brief as the tail of Tam O'Shanter' s mare.

Anderson is a very handsome little city of about five thousand inhabitants - good people,

church is in strong -The James Whitcomb Riley," the deluxe Coach Streamliner train." This train

drawn by a steam locomotive was named for the poet and made daily trips between power here; and Cincinnati, Indianapolis and Chicago on the New York Central rail line in the

bers are doing great and good work. The leading business men here are principally workers in the church - as I believe they are in every thriving place. The city has one flaw it is its Courthouse - that looks really lost and out of place and uncomfortable, surrounded as it is with beautiful business blocks..."

In keeping with the scheme of Dickens to write of what he knew, Riley
studied the Hoosier landscape very carefully and noted its many moods.
Jucklet kept his eyes open if he was going to have Riley survive as a writer.
The strained mind of the adolescent Riley saw in the life of Dickens not
just a man, but the range of characters that Dickens was able to portray.

Possibly out of this observation, Riley began to create his own characters, those he could see around him. Some of them were even promising "selves" for roles for him to become.

During Riley's twenties, Jucklet also very much liked hoaxes. Riley was familiar with practically all of such literature of every age. The Jucklet in him chose out the fantastic and weirdly amusing from it. One can imagine Riley overjoyed at coming across Poe's great hoax writing called "The Balloon Hoax." Riley no doubt wondered if the American public of 1878 would appreciate the sensational as had Poe's reading public. Poe's "The Balloon-Hoax^- opened with the headline: "ASTOUNDING NEWS BY EXPRESS, VIA NORFOLK! - The Atlantic Crossed in Three Days! -Signal Triumph of Mr. Monck Mason's Flying Machine! -Arrival at Sullivan's Island, near Charlestown, S.C., of Mr. Mason...in the Steering Balloon, Victoria..." This was of course impossible in Poe's day but the fun of concocting a hoax as Poe had done no doubt played on Jucklet's mind. Riley was determined to outdo Poe!

There wasn't two purtier farms in the state Than the couple of which I'm about to relate; - Jinin' each other - belongin' to Brown, And jest at the edge of a flourishin' town. ...

decides to buy one, live in the country "where the air is free" and take up farming, disastrously from a financial point of view.)

In as big a proportion, almost, as his wealth; So at last he concluded to move back to town And sold back his farm to this same Mr. Brown At very low figgers, by gittin' it down. Further'n this I have nothin' to say

Than merely advisin' the Smiths fer to stay In their grocery stores in flourishin' towns And leave agriculture alone - and the Browns.

There is something to be said about simply surviving. As James Whitcomb Riley grew to maturity, it was obvious that he was not going to survive easily. He was simply not born to be a domineering, noticeable person. Riley was a "shrimp" of a boy and man. He was not physical. He was not some macho study either. Most women took one look at him and said good-bye.

There is a letter Riley's friend, Nellie Cooley, wrote to him after she moved to Illinois. In the letter, Nellie tells him she has heard from a friend that Riley "has gone to the dogs." To which she replies that she "raved" about him as loyal Nellie always did. Nellie was the exception as she always was for Riley. Perhaps total loyal‑

Only by his wits did Riley survive. Riley needed to play Jucklet badly. As alcoholic as he was becoming, his wits remained. Some part of Riley needed to deal with his ever- increasing dependence upon alcohol.

Riley acknowledges in his autobiographical poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night," that he did it by relying upon his mischievous minstrelsy persona he calls Jucklet. Jucklet, in the autobiographical poem, is the "tool" of Crestillomeem for survival purposes. However, when Riley understands he must be sober for

some reason or another, he turns to his Jucklet role. When it comes to survival, Jucklet takes over the transformative role in the poem, "The Flying Islands of the Night." When it is necessary to "ditch" Crestillomeem, his dependency on alcoholism, Jucklet defies Crestillomeem

The "Seminary" - The Reuben Riley family home after he lost Riley's boyhood home to creditors - with the Riley family standing in front.

cries of "Plot!" "Treason!" "Conspiracy!" and "Down with the Queen!". "Down with the usurper!" Down with the Sorceress!")

(Growing confusion without - sound of rioting, - Voice, "Let me be taken! Let me be taken!" Enter Guards, dragging Jucklet forward, wild-eyed and hysterical - the Queen's gaze fastened on him wonderingly.)

O Queen, 'as he who cries "Conspiracy!" And who incites the mob without with cries Of "Plot!" and "Treason!"

Jucklet is not merely the survival force at work within Riley's alcoholism, but also Riley's savior. Riley saw his wit and capacity to be humorous and to "minstrelize" as a pathway to salvation from his alcoholism and to get by.

Riley's father sought out a more concrete way of getting by for his son when he arranged that Riley take up house and sign painting.

The former slave George L. Knox recalled, "One evening as I sat in my (barber) shop I heard three men

talking. They seemed very much interested in their boys. One suggested that the carpenter's trade would be a good trade for his son to learn, another thought the painter's a good trade. The parents of the three boys finally concluded that they would have their sons learn the painter's trade. The men were Captain (Reuben) Riley, Morris Pierson and Mr. Lipskin. It seemed strange to me to hear these white men talk of putting their boys out to learn trades, as where I came from (the South) white boys

did not have to work. The boy who was most indulged and petted and did the least was thought the most of. I wondered why three men took such an interest in their boys, as I thought to teach the white boys to work was out of the question. One of the boys who was to learn painter's trade was James Whitcomb Riley, now the Hoosier Poet, another Wm. Pierson, now Dr. Pierson of Morristown, and the other Harry Lipskin. They all learned their trade from a man by the name of Kiefer who could paint all kinds of pictures. He was thought quite an artist by the people of Greenfield. Some of the boys were more successful in their trade than the others. Young Riley seemed the most apt. He could drawn anything and would take up his pencil and a piece of paper and make a perfect picture of anything he wanted to. The boys, when they were out of the shop (Keefer's) would come to my place of business to lounge and idle the time away. James Whitcomb used to come quite often. He seemed different than the other boys and did not choose his associates from among the boys, but the men, such as Dr. Milligan, Ed Milligan and others. The other boys would keep coming, and bother me more or less, while young Riley would come around, but seldom bothered me or got in the way. I said to him one day, "J.W.^-I always called him that "you can come around to the shop when you desire; I like to have

you; you are not like the other boys." He gradually became a frequent visitor at my place."

When we think of Riley in his twenties, we think of Riley traveling around Indiana living as a wanderer. He often returns to Greenfield, his hometown, but he rarely stays. He has learned to be a painter. Employments are casual and transitory. He paints a barn or a sign to earn enough money to go someplace else.

In the Post-Civil War Era, it was customary for every merchant to have his windows ornamented with a neatly worded sign done in different colors and always in a sort of scroll design with many fancy letters, mostly in script. An example of one is recorded by Henry Miller, a retired merchant who painted with Blowney's at South Bend, Indiana, at the same time James Whitcomb Riley did. A Riley sign in South Bend was at George Muessel's grocery store on the two lower lights of each window which consisted of four large panes and on the two lower ones he painted the following signs: "G.C. Muessel-queensware and crockery," and on the other two panes,

Muessel -groceries and provisions." The sign was done with Riley's usual flourish and many colored paints.

Riley stayed where he could. He grew a long red mustache. The pace is quick. Riley needs money so he travels from town to town in search of painting jobs. He returns to Greenfield as we know he did in February, 1873 but then heads back to Anderson where he and his friend, Jim McClanahan branch out into the Graphics, named after the NEW YORK GRAPHIC MAGAZINE, a periodical popular with designers. The Graphics consist of no less than three but sometimes more living on craftsmanship services offered to residents of the Indiana towns they pass through. These gentlemen lived freely and easily.

The Graphics did many odd-jobs. Frank Spear dressed silk hats while Riley painted signs. Others of the Graphics and what happened to them

Riley and the "Graphics." Riley is seated with the droopy mustache. It is believed Jim McClanahan is in the middle of the back row. Between the ages of 22 and 25 Riley grew a line, droopy, dark red mustache while his hair was so blond it was almost white. Eventually he cut it off saying "I look like a walrus." (From the Barton Rees Pogue glass positive collection.)

were remembered in an Anderson IN Morning HERALD article on the death of Frank Spear of Jan. 4, 1895. Edward Lemon committed suicide in a newspaper office at Nellsville, Wisconsin. Jim McClanahan, who Riley called "The Poor Man's Friend," lived in Anderson. He subsequently died of exposure after being found drunk. Will Ethel] was an artist of prominence and Turner Wickersham ended up in Kansas City.

Life with the Graphics was an "off and on" employment for Riley for four years - from 1873 until the Spring of 1877. The Graphics modus operandi for making a living was worked out slyly and mischievously. They would dress fashionably and enter a town and entertain especially the girls and get contracts to make signs from merchants. Farm wives along the roads would give them pies. They would then survive having the fun of it all while they travelled togeth‑

er. In this journey, Riley found his way to South Bend, Indiana in July 1873, where the Graphics disbanded for a time and each went his own way until reforming again the next Spring. Riley stayed in South Bend for several days. One of Riley's most famous projects was the making of a mural about the

progress of South Bend that took two weeks to finish. In 1873, After five weeks, Riley heard his father married again to a Quaker woman from a farm near Pendleton. In November, 1873 Riley went back to Anderson to work for Doc McCrillus but went home to Greenfield shortly afterwards to see his father and meet his father's new bride. Riley stayed in Greenfield in late 1873 to help start up a theatrical troop, the Adelphians, to put on plays in Greenfield during the winter. Lee 0. Harris, Riley's old teacher, was still in Greenfield and they worked together on theatricals. Riley continued to write during this period of time and sent a poem

to the Danbury Connecticut NEWS published in its February 25, 1874 issue. Originally the concept of painting advertising signs outside the stores, on barns, fences, or prominent places was profitable. Sign painting was a new medium. As the group traveled around Indiana, Jim McClanahan was able

An interurban named "The James Whitcomb Riley" of the T.H.I & E. Traction Line is draped with an American Flag at the time of Riley's death. Interurbans or "streetcars" operated on electric power from overhead lines until they discontinued service at the commencement of the Great American Depression. This line quit in 1931.

to bring in many new jobs. New helpers were brought in. The Graphics made great profits. Soon, however, new advertising "firms" sprang up. Competition grew fierce. New jobs became scarce and profits were just a memory. The business of "The Graphics" dwindled away until nothing when in the spring of 1877 Riley and McClanahan returned to Anderson insolvent where they knew they had room and board at least in Mother McClanahan's household.

Riley was a witty and companionable associate. The "Ho!", often repeated as "Ho! Ho!" or Ha!, etc., in the autobiographical poem "The Flying Islands of the Night" is an identifier of Jucklet, the "minstrel" Riley persona. Perhaps it likens Riley "To the Wine-God Menlus" of a poem of that name subtitled, "A Toast of Jucklet's" wherein the "Ho! Ho!" represents Jucklet's state when "the jolly god, with kinked lips and laughter-streaming eyes," has "liftest me up."

As Riley's years with the Graphics ended, he wrote his "Craqueodoom" for the Anderson DEMOCRAT of June 1, 1877. In the newspaper world there was great consternation. What did it mean? Craqueodoom" was exchanged with other newspapers and reached other audiences.

Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies, And plead with the Plunk for the use of her hil

The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance, And the Squidjum hid under a tub

As he heard the loud hooves of the hooken advance With a rub-a-dub-dub-a-dub-dub

And the Crankadox cried, as he lay down and died, "My fate there is none to bewail,"

While the Queeen of the Wunks drifted over the tide With a long piece of crape to her tail.

At Kokomo, the Editor Oscar Henderson published not only the poem but also two queries to the poet as to the meaning. William Croan, Riley's Editor at the Anderson DEMOCRAT, passed the queries along to Riley who went on to draft a reply subsequently published in "The DISPATCH."

"Although in endeavoring to reply to the above query, I feel that I place myself in rather a peculiar position, I can but trust, in so doing, to escape the incessant storm in inquiries haled so piteously upon me since the appearance of the above mentioned poem - of whatever it is.

As to its meaning - if it has any I am as much in the dark, and as badly worried over its incomprehensibility as anyone who may have inflicted himself with a reading of it; in fact more so, for I have in my possession now not less than a dozen of similar character; and when I say they were only composed mechanically, and without apparent exercise of my own thought, I find myself at the threshold of a fact that over which I cannot pass.

I can only surmise that such effusions emanate from long and arduous application - a sort of poetic fungus that springs from the decay of better effort. It bursts into being of itself, and in that alone from the decay of better effort. It bursts into being of itself, and in that alone do I find consolation.

The process of much composition may furnish a curious fact to many, yet I am assured that every writer of either poetry or music will confirm the experience I am about to relate.

After long labor at verse you will find there comes a time when everything you see or hear, touch, taste, or smell, resolves itself into rhyme, and rattles away until you can't rest. I mean this literally. The people you meet upon the streets are so many disarranged rhymes, and only need proper coupling. The boulders in the sidewalks are jangled words. The crowd of corner loungers is a mangled sonnet with a few lines missing. The farmer and

his team an idyl of the road, perfected and complete when he stops at the picture of a grocery and hitches to an exclamation point.

This is my experience and at times the effect upon both mind and body is exhausting in the extreme. I have passed as many as three nights in succession without sleep - or at least without mental respite from this tireless something which

I walk, I run, I writhe and wrestle with it, but I cannot shake it off. I lie down to sleep and all night long it haunts me. Whole cantos of incoherent rhyme dance before me, and so vividly at last I seem to read them as from a book. All this without will power of my own to guide or check; and then secure a stage of repetition - when the matter becomes rhythmically tangible at least, and shapes itself into a whole of sometimes a dozen stanzas, and goes on repeating itself over and over till it is printed indelibly in my mind.

This stage heralds sleep at last, from which I wake refreshed and from the toils of my strange persecutor; but as I have just said, some senseless piece of rhyme is printed on my mind and I go about repeating it as though I had committed it from the pages of some hook. I often write these jingles afterward, though I believe I never could forget a word of them.

This is the history of the "Craqueodoom." This is the history of the poem I give below. I have theorized in vain. I went gravely to a doctor on one occasion and asked him seriously if he didn't think I was crazy. His laconic reply that he "never saw a poet that wasn't." is not without consolation.

I have talked with numerous writers regarding it, and they invariably confirm a like experience, only excepting the inability to recall these Gypsy changelings of a vagrand mind."

Riley's father thought his son was out of his mind for traveling with the Graphics and no doubt writing such strange poetry as "Craqueodoom," and got him home to learn lawyering.

Reuben Riley was a lawyer who taught many others to become lawyers in the county seat of Greenfield. We find in the county histories of Hancock County many members of the Hancock County Bar Association admitted on his motion.

On many occasions we find James Whitcomb Riley drawn to his father's law office. Now came one of those times. The father's hope no doubt was that James Whitcomb Riley was apprenticing himself for the law. The fact

While the father was away, Riley wrote poetry or fiddled around drawing funny pictures in his father's somber lawbooks. In the back of Riley's mind must always have been the expectation that he might return to finish apprenticing as a lawyer to take over his father's law practice. Mainly, I believe, he preferred his writing and was also rebellious against the law and order lawyering upheld. There are those in the legal profession who attempt to move the recalcitrant legal system into another posture usually failing miserably. Riley took a wider road toward humanitarian lifework.

Reuben A. Riley himself was a product of the legal apprenticeship system and was admitted to the Hancock County Bar after reading in Randolph county. Upon moving to Greenfield, Reuben was admitted to the Hancock Bar on motion of R. M. Cooper August 19, 1844. The Motion of Reuben to admit his son as a qualified reader in his office never came. Lawyers admitted to the Hancock County Bar on the Motion of Reuben Riley included Gustavus N. Moss, August 18, 1845; William P. Davis, August 10, 1847; Nimrod Johnson, August 10, 1847; Michael Wilson, August 10, 1857; William R. Hough, August 10, 1857; Joseph R. Silver, May 26, 1859; William H. Pilkinton, February 15, 1860; Brayan C. Walpole, February 1860; Oliver P. Gooding, August 15, 1865; Augustus W. Hough, February 13, 1866; W.W. Kersey, February 13, 1866; John H. Popps, August 21, 1866; Prestly Guymon, February 15, 1867; Matthias M. Hook, February 15, 1867; W.S. Denton on June 4, 1877; Richard A.M. Black, October 15, 1877; Samuel B. Waters, March 26, 1878; William C. Barrett, June 13, 1881, etc.

Since the party who moved the admission of the bar member was most often the master of the apprentice, it can be seen how active Reuben Riley was in educating new lawyers in Greenfield. He didn't get the job done with his son.

And so Riley's life in his twenties went...never very seriously...mostly as Jucklet truanting about in carefree poverty with friends.

Eventually, Riley settled down at Anderson, Indiana to write for a newspaper, the Anderson DEMOCRAT. Riley had taken odd jobs with newspapers before, but the Anderson DEMOCRAT offered him the steadiest work and the chance for a journalism career. We will note what happened to this position with the story of "Leonainie."

Riley's play character Jucklet deviously arranged for Riley to come to great fame in the way that the scheming, ludicrous minstrelsy of this character would do such a thing: through a "hoax" more outrageous than any

In July, 1877, shortly after Riley had composed the poem "Leonainie" and shortly after poetry he had sent to an Eastern magazine for publication had been rejected, Riley spoke with anguish to friends. He angrily pro‑

national publications in the Eastern cities simply because his name was unknown, not because his poetry was not good enough.

To prove the theory, Riley proposed to pass off his poem "Leonainie" as one written by Edgar Allan Poe. His hypotheses was that the poem would be immediately successful because its author was known to fame.

A representation of what "Leonainie" would have looked like to Nineteenth Century Americans taken from "sheet music" of the

poem. newspaper to approach about initially printing the hoax poem. Riley wrote the Editor of that paper, Oscar Henderson, the following letter:

Riley's friend, William H. Croan, Junior Editor of Riley's newspaper, the Anderson DEMOCRAT, and a journalist from the competing Anderson newspaper, William Kinnard of the Anderson Herald, together with Mrs. D.M. Jordan, a contributor to the Richmond "Independent" were the initial

I yearn for something to stir things from their comatose condition. Trusting to find you of like inclination, I ask your confidence and assistance.

This idea has been haunting me: - I will prepare a poem - carefully imitating the style of some popular American poet deceased, and you man "give it to the world for the first time" thru the columns of your paper, - prefacing it, in some ingenious manner, with the assertion that the original MS. was found in the album of an old lady living in your town - and in the handwriting of the poet imitated - together with signatures etc. etc. - You can fix the story - only be sure to clinch it so as to defy the scrutiny of the most critical lens. If we succeed, and I think sheer audacity sufficient capital to assure that end, - after "working up" the folks, and smiling over the encomiums of the Press, don't you know; we will then "rise up William Riley,²" and bust our literary bladder before a bewildered and enlightened world !!!

I write you this in all earnestness and confidence, trusting you will favor the project with your valuable assistance. It will be obvious to you why I do not use our paper here. Should you fall in with the plan, write me at once, and I will prepare and send the poem in time for your issue of this week. Hoping for an early and favorable response, I am,

1. Some might argue the times were not so dull. At the time of this letter, America was in the midst of a crippling and bloody railroad strike from Illinois to the Atlantic Coast, Indiana's current Senator and former Civil War Governor, Oliver Morton, was seriously ill. In Utah, Brigham Young, the founder of the Morman Church, was dying. Then, too, the Russians and Turks were in a desperate war.

2. The expression "rise up William Riley" was a reference to "Riley songs," old English or Irish ballads preserved by mountaineer bards of Tennessee and Kentucky. One began "Rise up, William Riley, you must appear this day\ The lady's oath will hang you, or else will set you free...

The Editor of the Kokomo DISPATCH wrote back the following:
The DISPATCH Kokomo, Ind., July 23, 1877

Your favor of this date is just received. Your idea is a capital one and is cunningly conceived. I assure you that I "tumble" to it with eagerness. You are doubtless aware that newspaper men, as a rule, would rather sacrifice honor, liberty, or life itself, than to deviate from the paths of truth - but the idea of getting in a juicy "scoop" upon the rural exchanges, causes me to hesitate, consider, yea, consent to this little act of journalistic deception. Yes, my dear Riley, I am with you boots and soul. But hadn't I better fore‑

stall the poem by a "startling announcement" or something of the sort one week before its publication? The public would then be on the tip-toe of expectancy, etc. I merely offer this as a suggestion. We would hardly be able to publish the poem, if of any great length, this week. Copy is well in for Thursday's issue now, same some local paragraphs. Send copy as soon as you can and we may print next week. If you like, you may also write the preface as you have indicated. Perhaps you could do better than I. I enclose this letter in a plain envelope to disarm suspicion. Let me hear from you. Fraternally,

Riley read the Henderson letter and communicated its good news to Croan and Kinnard and wrote to the out-of-town member of the conspiracy, Ms. Jordan, as follows:

I write - not in answer to your letter, for I haven't time to do that justice now - but to ask of you a very special favor.

I have made arrangements with the editor of the Kokomo DISPATCH that he shall publish the poem "Leonainie," under the guise of its being the work of Poe himself. Henderson is to invent an ingenious story of how the original manuscript came into his possession, and when it appears with a hurrah from the DISPATCH, I shall copy and comment upon it in the DEMOCRAT - in a way that will show that I have no complicity and I want you to review it, if you will, favorably, in the Independent - I don't want you to really admire it - but I do want you to pretend to, and eulogize over it at rapturous length, and as though you were assured it was in reality the work of Poe himself - as the DISPATCH will claim. Our object is to work up the "Press" broadcast if possible, and then to unsack the feline, and let the "secret laughter that tickles all the soul" erupt volcanically. The "Ring" around the literary torpedo as it now lies includes but four persons, including yourself, and it must be the unwavering resolved of every member to hold the secret safely fastened in the bosom quartette till time shall have ripened the deception, and the slow match had reached the touch-hole of success.

Now will you do this for me at once, for I shall not be thoroughly happy till the answer which I believe, in your great kindness, you will give, reaches me.

How are you, anyway? Happy, I trust, as I am to sign myself Your friend, J.W. Riley

Your letter did me good, and as I am something of an enthusiast, I am more than ever assured of the ultimate success of our detour. You ask me to fix up the story, and although I have two or three in crude design, I think it will be better, since the poem is to be unearthed at Kokomo, that you manufacture it to suit the surroundings; beside, were I to do it, the trick might be betrayed in some peculiarity of composition - no matter how trifling; for if the ruse succeeds at all, it will certainly receive most rigid scrutiny, and that too of a keenness that will probe to deepest limits. No, I think you will concede the propriety of weaving that fabric on your own loom, I will make suggestions, however, which you may use or ignore as they may be adapted to your surroundings, "In time of peace prepare for war" - that is get ready for afterclaps - or in other words fix a firm foundation. I would get some old woman, we'll say who does washing, or something of that sort, and if she hasn't got an old album, she's got an old book of some kind from which can be torn a blank leaf. Tell her frankly that you want to create a little sensation , and ask her to assist you by saying - should anyone inquire of her as to the truth of it - "that there some poetry written in the book, and that you had noticed it, and asked where the book come from, and she had said it was a book her grandmother used to have; then you had asked her if you mightn't tear out the poetry and print it, and she had acquiesced." Or, - hunt out an old wood-sawer, or an old chap who lives alone, and give him a good send off of some kind - swear him, and then tear a leaf from some old book of his - or if he hasn't got an old book, get him one and let him say "his mother gave it to him fifty year ago - that he don't know where she got it, only that he'd heard her say a young feller about twenty stayed at their house one night, and acted strange like, and looked pale, and paced the floor till morning, and the book was in his room, and when he went away she found the poetry written in it and signed simply E.A.P.^- -for I have selected Poe to imitate from. And now can you find anything in these suggestions you can utilize - or does not your own fancy suggest a better plan. think. there are a thousand ways, select the most feasible, and nip it at once - taking care to make it anything but complicated or sensational, -and right here while I

think of it: You will be called on to produce the M.S. - say simply that you have sent it to W.D. Howells, of The Atlantic," or some other eminent critic for inspection; and if Will Siddell is in your office, let him into it, and he can have seen it, and set from it - hut don't let too many know it - only a very few in whom you can repose every confidence.

And now my dear Henderson, I have worried you enough. I turn the whole thing over to you - feeling you will get all out of it there is in it. When you publish it, I will copy and review it in a manner that shall evince most thoroughly that I have no complicity with it; and do not be surprised if I exhibit, in what I shall have to say, a covert jealousy of the "DISPATCH" -I'll do anything to throw unfavorable comment out o' gear. It might be well, as you suggest, to prepare the people for it in some startling way. Do nothing tho' without mature deliberation. Copy the poem with every care and don't omit a mark, for I have taken every precaution to imitate the most minute characteristics of the erratic Original. Write me that this is received O.K. and what you think of it. Another thing, preserve our correspondence. Yours J.W. R.

-- LATER --It might be well for you to refresh yourself in Poe history - for such material cannot fail to be of most effective service in the "tangled web we weave." By such a course you will be enabled to locate the old lady at whose_, house the wild-eyed stranger stayed and penned the "Matchless lines;'' and also to most minutely describe the poet's chirography.

"State that the original M.S. has not a single word crossed out, nor sign of erasure - and is copied exact in all particulars. Henderson received Riley's letter that same day and had Will Siddell, his head type-setter, set up the poem "Leonainie" in type and strike off a galley proof to enclose with a letter to Riley reading as follows:

Your favor and poem received yesterday. Your suggestion is good. Will publish poem next Thursday. It is really Poetical in every word and line - a superbly written and matchlessly conceived poem It certainly would not

detract from Poe's transcendental genius to father the fugitive. I assure you it is withal a marvelous and rare creation, honoring you and the State as well. Have not yet matured my story but will have it in due time. Have you any additional suggestions? We have your -Kalamazoo"' Sargeant a left- handed dig in the ribs this week in the DISPATCH, but do not wish to antagonize the DEMOCRAT. Can't you favor us with a poem written over your own signature, sometime "when you have nothing else to do?" Our readers are quite well acquainted with "Riley the Poet," already.

1. "Kalamazoo" was the nickname of a baseball player named Sargeant who played for the Anderson baseball team and was called a notoriously "dirty player" in another article in the Kokomo DISPATCH.

Your letter has furnished me special pleasure, as it indicates that you are sanguine of success. You ask if I have any more suggestions; None I believe - unless it be to say that the typographical form of the poem is faulty in the regard of architectural construction; tho' doubtless you have already remedied the defect, i.e. - it is not properly indented. Have you noticed? If not, repair if this reaches you in time. Nothing more - only "Courage, Courage, Mon Comrade!" We'll drive 'em bald-headed I'm sure.

The Kokomo DISPATCH printed the following story in its issue of August 2, 1877, at the top of the fourth column of editorial page 2: POSTHUMOUS POETRY

Written on the Fly-Leaf of an Old Book now in Possession of a Gentleman in this city -- The following beautiful posthumous poem from the gifted pen of the erratic poet, Edgar Allan Poe, we believe has never before been published in any form, either in any published collection of

Poe's poems now extant, or in any magazine or newspaper of any description; and until the critics shall show conclusively to the contrary, the DISPATCH shall claim the honor of giving it to the world.

That the poem has never before been published, and that it is a genuine production of the poet who we claim to be its author, we are satisfied from the circumstances under which it came into our possession, after a thorough investigation. Calling at the house of a gentleman of this city the other day, on a business errand, our attention was called to a poem written on the back fly-leaf of an old book. Handing us the book he observed that it (the poem) might be good enough to publish, and if we thought so, to take it along. Noticing the initials E.A.P., at the bottom of the poem it struck us that possibly we had run across a "bonanza," so to speak, and after reading it, we asked who its author was, when he related the following bit of interesting reminiscence: He said he did not know who its author was, only that he was a young man, that is, he was a young man when he wrote the lines referred to. He had never seen him, himself, but had heard his grandfather, who gave him the book containing the verses, tell of the circumstances and the occasion by which he, the grandfather, came into possession of the book. His grandparents kept a country hotel, a sort of wayside inn, in a small village called Chesterfield, near Richmond, Va. One night, but before bed-time, a young man, who showed plainly the marks of dissipation, rapped at the door and asked if he could stay all night, and was shown to a room. That was the last they saw of him. When they went to his room the next morning to call him to breakfast he had gone away and left the book, on the tly-leaf of which he'd written the lines given below.

Further than this our informant knew nothing, and, being an uneducated, illiterate man, it was quite natural that he should allow the great literary treasure to go for so many years unpublished.

That the above statement is true, and our discovery no canard, we will take pleasure in satisfying any who care to investigate the matter. The poem is written in Roman characters, and is almost as legible as print itself, though somewhat faded by the lapse of time. Another peculiarity in the manuscript which we notice is that it contains not the least sign of erasure or a single inter-lineated word. We give the poem verbatim - just as it appears in the original.

Here below that they may grieve you -Tales are told you to deceive you -So must Leonainie leave you

Every heart but mine seemed gifted With the voice of prayer, and lifted Where my Leonainie drifted

A "slip" of "John C. Walker" (James Whitcomb Riley pseudonym) poem from the Kokomo TRIBUNE. A "slip" was a separate printing of an original newspaper piece sent by one newspaper to another as a courtesy. Slips similar to this one of the poem "Leonainie" and articles about it were sent by the Kokomo DISPATCH all over the country.

The next morning Henderson sent Riley a copy of the story of the hoax clipped from the DISPATCH with a letter:

We published the poem yesterday. The net-work enveloping the old book, ignorant possessor, etc., you will observe, has been altered materially, for the best, we think. We have our man, a Mr. Hurd, formerly of Va. all posted, primed, etc. The ruse works. Our people think it the "finest poem" Poe ever wrote. Those best acquainted with him declare "Leonainie" to be Poetical in every detail. It is success here. We have sent marked copies to Cincinnati, Indianapolis, Boston, New York, Chicago, and Louisville papers. Also to the Monthlies - Atlantic, Harpers, Scribners, etc. The thunder of their voices will soon be reverberating through the length and breadth of the commonwealth. Do you want any extra copies of the DISPATCH If so, will send you. What do you think of it? How are you pleased with it, etc. Answer.

Riley received Henderson's letter the same day it was written and immediately did two things to avoid suspicion of himself. He composed a squib for insertion in that days "DEMOCRAT" August 3, as follows:

The Kokomo DISPATCH of yesterday "startles the nation and the hull creation" by publishing a posthumous Poe poem clamorously claiming the honor of its first presentation to the world. Lack of space prevents us from further remark; but we will say, however, that of all the Nazareths now at large, Kokomo is the last from which we would expect good to come."

Secondly, Riley wrote Henderson a post-card, purposely worded to convey a message if read by the curious at Anderson or Kokomo, as follows:

Some literary thug has gobbled our DISPATCH containing your Poe discovery. Please send me two or three extra copies. What does it mean? Are you in earnest? I would like to enter into a correspondence with you regarding it, for even though you be the victim of a deception I would be proud to

know your real author. Do I understand from your description that the manuscript is written like printed letters? Write me full particulars and I will serve you in response in any way in my power. Very truly, J.W. Riley

Anderson Aug. 4, 1 '77 Dear, dear Henderson - and I've a notion to call you darling,‑

introductory is superb, and as for the leading paragraph, a neater, sweeter lie was never uttered. I fancy Poe himself leans tiptoe o'er the walls of Paradise and perks an eager ear to listen and believe. There may be a feature or two open to attack, but that's at it should be, for once the excitement of controversy started, a thousand hydra-headed critics will rise up in its behalf - if only to be contrary.

I am well pleased; and especially grateful for the evident interest you bestow upon it. Let me caution you again to guard the imposition with most jealous care. Let no one know it - not even your mother-in-law, if you possess so near and dear a relative. Nor would I seem over-anxious to convince unbelievers, for they will strive to run you thro' the gauntlet on that very point; - excuse me for useless suggestions, but I am so fearful of detection a shadow scares me, and I find myself

And so, dear Henderson, walk with me, "and the devil may pipe to his own" till our designs shall have ripened into the fullest bloom of victory, -then we'll have our day.

I sent you a postal yesterday which will understand and use perhaps to advantage. And now let me post you in regard to those who are assistants in the deception, - for you might be approached by persons claiming to be into the secret falsely, and by so doing catch you off guard. Mrs. D.M. Jordan, of the Richmond INDEPENDENT, and Mr. Kinnard here, of the HERALD, are the only ones outside yourself and DEMOCRAT who know of it. The former - Mrs. J. - will be of greatest value to the success of the scheme, and the latter -Mr. Kinnard - in his way, will be no less effective

and valuable. So now you are fortified on that point, and all you have to do is smile inwardly, "and with a lack-luster, dead blue eye" await the unfoldings of it at least a curious future.

I believe I have said as little and as much as now is necessary: but you must write me in the meantime, and keep me lubricated with the oily experience which I can but fancy will be yours. Send extra papers.

I shake your hand in silence and in tears; and in the language of Artemus Ward, - "I am here; I think so. Even of those." J.W. Riley

The fact was also that another person knew of the conspiracy. Riley also told his roommate, Jim McClanahan of all the details.

This from the Indianapolis NEWS of the 4th is rather pointed. Yet I trust it will not have the effect of discouraging you in the least. We can't expect the public to gulp it whole, you know; for they are bound to suspect the "worm" contains a hook. "Patience and shuffle the cards!" The singular reticence of the other dailies may auger good - or bad - time only will disclose; and bear in mind no critic has as yet pronounced upon it. We will give them "a long pull - a strong pull, and a pull all together," and in the meantime let me assure you that my ardor is not in the least dampened. Mrs. Jordan's review will soon prod them, and your humble servant's likewise, and should you receive letters or coms., select quotations etc. etc., and publish good and bad alike, in order to show your willingness to abide by the public decision - in a measure at least. I find it necessary for surrounding circumstances, to claim in my review that you may perhaps be the victim of a clever deception, and also to rend the tender fabric of the poem to some extent. I do this for the double purpose of directing the attention from your complicity, and to draw attention from my own; and although I evidently strive to condemn the poem, I indirectly furnish more praise than blame - but you understand. Let nothing discourage you, I shall not. I shall watch carefully for any new points, and in case I "drop" on anything, will alter criticism to suit the public appetite.

Write me if any new developments - write anyhow, and tell me you are not discouraged. Yours fraternally,

comment to its detriment, I will furnish you with a private letter in which I will express the belief that the poem is certainly genuine, and you may answer my article by reproducing it - see?

It will be well, perhaps, for you to give me a slur of some kind this week - in response to our notice in last issue. Make it hot - call us jealous, etc. etc.

I notice Harding of the HERALD steps round it as carefully as he would a torpedo. If he'd only bit I could die resigned.

I have examined two or three here with regard to it -but they're wary, and don't want to commit themselves.

Our best literary man says its a GRAND thing, and reads it like a Murdoch. Prof. Hamilton pronounces it a fine thing, but thinks it yours. He knows you, and is almost satisfied that it is your composition. This is all "fruit" for me, you know, and after an interview of this character, I generally "wind up" my face and let it "run down" the other way. I notice that it worries 'em, and that's a good sign -a good sign! Another feature, - everybody would like to believe- they want to the worst way, and all we have to do is to exercise proper policy: and as the old man has it "We study to please."

Let nothing shake your first convictions, and although we eventually cry Peocavi, the "euchered" public will be forced not only to forgive, but render homage.

And now whatever you do, write to me - Write, and keep me informed as to the welfare or the dangers attending our orphan venture - Very truly, J.W. Riley

The Indianapolis NEWS item referred to by Riley read, "The Kokomo DISPATCH publishes for the first time a poem said to have been written on the fly-leaf of an old book, by Edgar Allan Poe. The poem bears no internal evidence of such paternity." The Harding referred to is Reverend George C. Harding, owner and editor of the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD, one of Indiana's most distinguished editors. The Saturday HERALD commented, "The Kokomo DISPATCH prints what it claims to be an unpublished poem of Edgar A. Poe."

Dear Riley: Kokomo, Ind., Aug. 7, 1877. Your very kind letter was received yesterday. I admire your zeal and join

you heartily in the hope of ultimate success. Our people here believe the poem a "true bill." The TRIBUNE folks have interviewed me and I believe I succeeded in "stuffing" them to the muzzle. They feel a trifle jealous of our journalistic "scoop" - hence their reticence. That's their way. If they doubted the genuineness of the story or poem, they would stand on their hind legs and howl furiously. Please send us every extract or notice of the poem you find in the prints with the name of the paper in which you find it. Next week perhaps we will publish all "comments of the press" etc. concerning it. This week will be too early to hear from them. Be sure to send me Mrs. Jordan's notice. We don't get the INDEPENDENT. I will keep you posted. Do the same with me. Write. Fraternally, J.O. Henderson

On August 9th, the Kokomo DISPATCH published an item stating "Our Edgar Allan Poe poem, published in last week's DISPATCH, is creating quite a flutter over the country. The literary critics are giving it the closest scrutiny." Henderson continued to risk his professional prestige and that of his newspaper in participating in this hoax.

The dawn of success is breaking, and every day brings us fresh evidence of ultimate triumph. Glory! The N.Y. HERALD of last Friday, Aug. 5, is before me and it has nibbled. It republished the entire article from The DISPATCH, comments on poem and credits it to The DISPATCH; so did The N.Y. SUN last Tuesday. The Rochester UNION-SPY (Ind.) also publishes the entire article. Soon we shall hear its thunder reverberating through the length and breadth of the Union! It is a success. The plot or story that we told in introducing the poem seems to somewhat disarm criticism. Think of the N.Y. HERALD, the grandest journal in Christendom, gulping it down! Riley, your fame is assured! You are destined to become a second Thomas Chatterton! Shake!

I am sanguine and overjoyed for your sake. I feel that the poem has merit that should place it in the front ranks of poetry in America. Hail, conquerin^g, hero! Fraternally, J.C.

P.S. The reticence of the Cincinnati papers is strange indeed. I sent them all copies. Keep on the lookout and write me every paper that refers to it. J.C.H.

The only comment of the New York HERALD was in its headline: "EDGAR ALLAN POE - An Indiana Journal Professes to Have Exhumed a Hitherto Unpublished Poem - Inscription on an Old Fly-Leaf." The New York SUN published a condensed version of the DISPATCH story and the complete poem, but without any headlines or comments.

Riley wrote Henderson a letter the same day with this letterhead: --WILLIAM R. MYERS --

"All claims entrusted to his care will be
attended to without fear, favor or affection.
Anderson, Ind. Aug. 9, 1877

The JOURNAL this morning "nibbles," and other papers will zip it - in consequence the J. will be forced to

champion the poem. I can't tell you how sanguine of success I now am. I can only exclaim, in the delirious eloquence of the gifted Poe, -

Keep me informed of any new phases. I will send you Richmond paper when it appears.

I presume you have seen New York SUN of the 7th., and Cincinnati GAZETTE of yesterday - both got it - bad! The SUN reproduces a portion of your editorial, and the poem entire, but ventures no comment of its own. The GAZETTE heads article "An Old Poem by Poe." It must surely bring some critic to the fore ere long.

I have written my review in a way that will be apt to awaken a reply from some quarter, and I shall mark the article and ship it to the four winds. Why don't you write? I hope you are not losing faith, or becoming "tired

now and sleepy too" - for - God bless us - we are certainly at the very threshold of success! I am eager for the fray. That the poem has merit is established, you see, and all we have now to do is "Hold the Fort!" till our own good time, and in the meantime aggravate controversy from every possible quarter. Can't you come over and see me. If we could talk for one square hour we could make ourselves believe it! That's what we want - is to get together -Come over to-night or tomorrow - or Sunday - anytime that will suit you - only come. Yours "Till death us do part."

That same day Riley finished his review of "Leonainie" for publication in his own newspaper, The Anderson DEMOCRAT. As the day progressed, Riley's review was set up in type, placed in the form and was waiting press time when Riley decided to withdraw it from that day's issue. He then added a section to Henderson's letter before mailing:

I have "weakened" at the last moment. I have been afraid of my review, - I mean the effect of it - Is it right or wrong? 1 have withheld it from this issue. I will be sure I'm right before I go ahead. I send proof of it for your inspection. Examine carefully - mark what new points may strike you - suggest -etc. etc., and I'll hash it over for next issue - 'Twill be better maybe for the delay: tho' I much regret that I am not better assured of the success of the article. You know the object of it all - now criticize it impartially, and tell me how I may improve it. I do wish you would come over - Come, in god's name if possible.

Riley's request that Henderson come to Anderson should be put into perspective. Henderson was a co-owner of the Kokomo newspaper and Riley was an Associate Editor of his, merely an employee. Henderson simply couldn't leave his newspaper to come to Anderson.

Both the Anderson HERALD and DEMOCRAT were published on Fridays. Kinnard when he learned of the "Leonainie" story in the DISPATCH of August 2d then wrote the following for his newspaper, The HERALD:

"We expect a rhapsody of jealous censure from the jingling editor of the sheet across the way, and shall wait with the first anxiety ever experienced for the appearance of the DEMOCRAT. We look for an exhausting and damning criticism from Riley, who will doubtless fail to see "Leonainie's" apocryphal merit, and discover its obvious faults. As it is, we were led to

believe "Leonainie," to quote from Riley, is a "superior quality of the poetical fungus, which springs from the decay of better thoughts." No doubt our young friend Riley will belittle this poem and say it is not the work of Poe. But it is Poe, and Poe's best manner."

At the last minute, Riley decided to publish his review of the poem and stopped the press, already printing that week's issue, to make room for his review. This did not endear Riley to the press foreman. The review reads as follows:

An alleged important literary discovery was announced by The Kokomo DISPATCH in its issue of last week, in which the following extract from a lush and juicy article occurs: (Riley repeated the full Kokomo DISPATCH article and poem, "Leonainie.")

We frankly admit that upon first reading the article, we inwardly resolved not to be startled; in fact we resolved to ignore it entirely; but a sense of justice due - if not to Poe, to the poem - has induced us to let slip a few remarks.

We have given the matter not a little thought; and in what we shall have to say regarding it, we will say with purpose far superior to prejudicial motives, and with the earnest effort of beating through the gloom a path-way to the light of truth.

Passing the many assailable points of the story regarding the birth and late discovery of the poem, we will briefly consider first - IS POE THE AUTHOR OF IT?

That a poem contains some literary excellence is not assurance that its author is a genius known to fame, for how many waifs of richest worth are now afloat upon the literary sea whose authors are unknown and whose nameless names have never marked the graves that hid their value from the world; and in the present instance we have no right to say, -"This is Poe's work - for who but Poe could mould a name like LEONAINIE?" and all that sort of flighty flummery. Let us look deeper down, and pierce below the glare and gurgle of the surface, and analyze it at its real worth.

Now we are ready to consider, - IS THE THEME of the poem one that Poe would have been likely to select? We think not; for we have good authority showing that Poe had a positive aversion to children, and especially to babies. And then again, the thought embodied in the very opening line is not new - or at least the poet has before expressed it when he speaks of that "rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore," and a careful analysis of the remainder of the stanza fails to discover a single quality

The second verse will be a more difficult matter to contest; for we find in it throughout not only Poe's peculiar bent of thought, but new features of that weird facility of attractively combing with the delicate and beautiful, the dread and repulsive - a power most rarely manifest, and quite beyond the bounds of IMITATION. In fact, the only flaw we find at which to pick, is the strange omission of capitals beginning the personified words "joy" and "doom." This,however, may be an error of the compositor's, but not proba‑

The third stanza drops again. True, it gives us some new thoughts, but of very secondary worth compared with the foregoing, and is such commonplace diction the Poe-characteristic is almost entirely lost.

The first line in the concluding stanza, although embodying a highly poetical idea, is not at all like Poe; but rather so UNLIKE, and for such weighty reasons we are almost assured that the thought could not have emanated with him.

It is a fact less known than remarkable that Poe avoided the name of the Deity. Although he never tires of angels and the heavenly cherubim, the word God seems strangely ostracized. That this is true, one has but to search his poems; and we feel we are safe in the assertion that in all he has ever written the word God is not mentioned twenty times. In further evidence of this peculiar aversion of the poet's, we quote his utterance, -

The remainder of the concluding verse is mediocre till the few lines that compete it - and there again the Poe-element is strongly marked.

To sum up the poem as a whole we are at some loss. It most certainly contains rare attributes of grace and beauty; and although we have not the temerity to accuse the gifted Poe of its authority, for equal strength of reason we cannot deny that it is his production; but as for the enthusiastic editor of the DISPATCH, we are not included, as yet, to the belief that he is wholly impervious to the wiles of a deception. J.W. Riley

Paul Henderson, the author and compositor of this series of letters, newspaper articles and background of notes, calls this review by Riley "a masterpiece of subtle chicanery. Setting the scene with his sly reference to the poem's merit: "...a sense of justice due - if not to Poe - to the poem," Riley had the impudence to refer to his own pet theory: -...that a poem contains

some literary excellence is not assurance that its author is a genius known to fame!^— Riley then analyzes the poem revealing his own great knowledge of Poe's style as well as acclaiming his own poem as one -of grace and beauty.

"I wrote you yesterday that I would not publish my review this week, but receiving a letter from a literary friend in Indianapolis, enclosing "Leonainie," I stopped the press in time to insert my article for benefit of more notable exchanges at least. I think it was best, for my criticism will do everything to throw them from the agent. And now do you think it will be a good idea for me to write you a "put up" letter, praising the poem and expressing a belief in its genuineness? Write me at once - or come over. Id' come to you - but can't possibly leave work out before me.

Henderson then wrote Riley a letter on the next Monday afternoon:
THE DISPATCH Kokomo, Ind.,

Your two letters Saturday received. I would like to visit you ever so well but can't get away for two weeks at least. My brother and partner has gone to Baltimore, Md., and per consequence I am tied at home. Have you seen notice in N.Y. WORLD, TRIBUNE, POST; Chicago TRIBUNE, INTER-OCEAN, Cincinnati papers, COURIER JOURNAL? I am saving all notices and will publish them this or next week. Your notice in DEMOCRAT is capital; so is HERALD'S, but it sounds like you all over.

Our plot is developing rapidly. The ball is now fairly in motion and will not stop until it reaches every State in the Union. No article was ever published in a "country" paper in the State that has had such a run as this has and will have. The end is not yet. I am anxious to see The ATLANTIC, SCRIBNER'S MONTH, etc. They are the critics. Send me all extracts you find. Get WORLD'S if possible. We do not get the paper here. Would be happy to receive a visit from you if only for one night.

It should be noted that the two had not yet figured out how they would release the secret of the hoax.

It should also be noted that we know Riley was at the point of physical collapse at this point in his life. He was both writing and editorializing at his regular work for The DEMOCRAT and trying to cope with the strain of his hoax.

On Wednesday morning, the Editor of The DEMOCRAT, Croan, sensing Riley's near breakdown, suggested that Riley go to Kokomo to work out a definite plan. He could take the Panhandle railroad connection at 1:20 P.M. and get to Kokomo a couple of hours before Henderson's newspaper went to press. A problem was the manuscript on the fly-leaf of an old book. Croan suggested he take a book with him to Kokomo and selected out of a small book-case beside his desk an Ainsworth's Latin Dictionary with a blank fly-leaf. Croan also knew of a facsimile of Poe's handwriting from a back issue of Scribner's Magazine. Croan went to see a friend he knew who kept back issues of Scribner's and found the facsimile poem in the September 1875 issue by tracing through the annual index of the previous December. The poem was "Alone" and was said to have been written when Poe left West Point in 1829 - at about the time Riley would have been about twenty.

Riley needed a forger and knew where to find one in an artistic friend of his. Riley went to see his friend Sam Richards at his boarding house but Sam had gone to Indianapolis and wasn't due back until late that night. Riley left a note with the boarding house owner to be given to Richards the minute he returned to Anderson and then went to see his Graphics friend, Will Ethel. Riley didn't want to buy the "pale ink of a bluish tinge" himself and needed a friend to buy it for Sam to use on his forgery which Ethel did.

The next morning, Sam Richards came to The DEMOCRAT office. Riley gave him the book with the fly-leaf, his own copy of "Leonainie" and the bottle of ink from Will Ethel. He also gave him the facsimile poem of Poe's as a model. Riley said he had to have the poem on the flyleaf by 1:20 to take to Kokomo. Initially, Richards tried to do the job at The DEMOCRAT office but Riley hovered over him so he couldn't do it and said he was going to take it back to his own room to work on. Riley agreed but said he was coming up to see how he was doing in an hour. When Riley went, Richards said he was still practicing on Poe's handwriting and wasn't going to do it without "perfection." Meanwhile Riley was pacing around because he had to make a train to Kokomo with the forgery at 1:20.

After Riley left, Richards went back to work. He showed up at Riley's office at The DEMOCRAT to say he had not been able to get more than the

first verse done on the fly-leaf. Although Riley was taken aback and very disappointed, a coincidence happened. A compositor of Henderson's own newspaper, the DISPATCH, happened to be visiting Riley's newspaper to talk to a friend who was a pressman there. The man, Will Siddell, had come to Anderson to see his sick mother and decided to stop in for a visit. When Riley learned of this he decided not to go to Kokomo until the next day but instead to have this Will Siddell tell Henderson about the forgery. Will Siddell took notes that would permit Henderson to write up the forgery document for his next issue. Riley told him about the Ainsworth's Latin Dictionary, the pale, blueish ink on both sides of a single sheet, or fly-leaf, taken from the back of the book, writing remarkably clear, can be read as easily as print, though dimmed by time and exposure. Riley told Siddell to make sure Henderson knew he himself would be over with the forged document on the next day's train.

On the next morning, Thursday, August 16th, Henderson got a letter from a Boston publisher and sent Riley a letter about it. Henderson's letter was hasty because he wanted Riley to have it that day. This meant he had to post it on the 9:35 "Panhandle" train to Anderson for Riley to get it at about 1:00 P.M. when the train would arrive at Anderson. Henderson knew something must be done. Disastrous exposure of the hoax would surely follow if no manuscript was in his hands.

I have just received a letter from WM. F. GILL & CO., Publishers, at Boston, requesting me to forward original MSS, of our Poe's poem. Mr. Gill has just written and published a "Life of Poe" and writes that he has the MSS. of his "Bells." He says he can identify his MSS beyond cavil and such identification would be of value to me. I send you his letter and notice of his book which please return to me at once. What shall I write him! Where is original MSS? Notices still come in - latterly from the South, Baltimore, etc. Send me all your clippings. I will need them by Friday or Saturday to publish in next week's DISPATCH - outside. I would like to see you hut can't leave office until my brother returns. "Nothing succeeds like success," and this is a success. Watch "Monthlies" closely. Write.

Henderson then had his office boy take the letter to the train for dispatch to Anderson. Later that day, Will Siddell arrived from Anderson with

Riley's message that he would be over the next day with the forged poem and its description. Based on Siddell's notes, Henderson edited in the description to a previously written article for his newspaper as follows:

"The furor over our discovery of Poe's remarkable and hitherto unpublished poem - the sweet and beautiful "Leonainie," is just not in its insipiency. The poem is traveling like wild-fire all over the country, and the ablest critics in the land have leveled their lenses upon it. If we have been the victim of a deception, we are as willing as anybody to know it. We believe in the paternity of the poem and can await with complacency the verdict of the reading public. The original MS., together with the book from which the leaves were torn, are now in our possession. The book is one of an old edition of "Ainsworth's Dictionary," considerably time-worn. The poem is written in pale ink of blueish tinge on the fly-leaf taken from the back of the book. The chirography is remarkably clear and can be read as easily as print. Of course it is somewhat dimmed by time and exposure. It is written on both sides of a single leaf. The MS will be sent East to critics for examination and judgment. The poem is indeed remarkable, and its accidental discovery is a valuable contribution to American literature."

Henderson slipped up here by saying he had the MS "now" since in the original announcement he stated he took the MS into his possession which would have been two weeks previous.

Another article in the same DISPATCH newspaper edition was an "out and out" lie. Referring to the Friday previous, Henderson wrote the enclosed article for publication:

J. W. Riley, the Hoosier poet, was in the city last Friday, and of course called at the DISPATCH office. He is a bright, sparkling conversationalist, and a more excellent elocutionist. Riley writes rhymes as easily as he writes prose. He is probably the ablest poet in Indiana. He is considerably "shook up" over our Poe's poem discovery. While he shakes his head in seeming doubt, it is evident that he believes "Leonainie" to be worthy of Poe. While here he examined the original MS., and a perplexed expression o the countenance told he was considerably worried over it, if not entirely "at sea".

Later that same Thursday, Richards brought Riley the completed forgery of the poem on the fly-leaf. It was a beautiful piece of work identical with the facsimile of Poe's writing from Scribner's. Riley showed the forgery to Croan and both agreed that Riley could spend Friday night in Kokomo, perhaps with Charley Philips, the Editor of the rival newspaper to the DISPATCH. Then Riley said he would go down to Greenfield to spend the

The next afternoon, Friday, Riley got on the 1:20 "Panhandle" train to Kokomo carrying the old Dictionary wrapped in brown paper with "Leonainie" on its fly-leaf. Once in Kokomo, Riley took a round-about path to the DISPATCH office which was on the second floor of the Kokomo "opera house" block on Railroad Street at the North-West corner of Court House Square, facing the Square. He did this to avoid being seen by his good friend, Charles Philips, whose Kokomo TRIBUNE office was also on Railroad Street. When Riley arrived at the office, he met Henderson for the first time. The session was a "great time" with both laughing gleefully and with great chuckles at how everyone was deceived.

Later the two however began to argue about how to bring closure to the hoax. Riley proposed that Charles Philips of the Kokomo TRIBUNE, Henderson's great rival, be contacted and that the hoax be revealed through that newspaper. Henderson exploded. He did not like the plan and told Riley that he was the one who would have to live in the town after the hoax was over. The two agreed to think of another plan. Henderson asked Riley to spend the night since there was no train back to Anderson that night, but Riley declined. He was going to see his friend Charles Philips and anticipated spending the night there as he had on many occasions.

When Riley looked up Charles Philips at the TRIBUNE office, Charley asked him what he was doing in Kokomo. Riley said he came to see the "Leonainie" MS. Riley told Charley that he saw it and Henderson kept it in his office safe. Riley further said the poem certainly sounded good enough for Poe. Then Riley spent the night at Charles Philips home. While staying in Kokomo, Riley wrote his Anderson girlfriend, Kit Myers, saying:

I write to tell you how happy I am, and yet how miserable; happy that I find my pet schemes here in such lovely working order, and miserable that 1 can't tell you about them verbally - never mind - I'll have whole cantos to tell you when we meet again, and soon.

I have only time now to write you these few words, for I'm to take a jaunt this morning thro' Ko-ko-mo, the new way of saying it - behind the laziest horse the market affords. The eds. of both papers are making a lion of me, which you, knowing my weakness, will accept as the best of reasons for my present blissful condition and brevity of letter talks.

Write to me at once, won't you, at Greenfield, for I will be there Monday at the fartherest. Love to all my friends, and for yourself, the warmest love

From that day's Kokomo TRIBUNE, Charles Philips had written the following personal:

J.W. Riley, of the Anderson DEMOCRAT, the author of the strange and fantastical poem, "Craquedoom," published in these columns several weeks ago, is in the city, and gave us a pleasant call last evening. Riley is becoming well-known throughout the country for his original compositions and he has a bright future before him.

Riley left for Greenfield on late Saturday afternoon. He was so close to complete physical exhaustion that his short holiday extend to nearly two weeks in Greenfield.

The next Monday, August 20th, was a critical day in the life of the -hoax." Metcalf, Kinnard's partner at the Anderson HERALD had learned that Riley wrote "Leonainie" from a person he called a "young man" and came into the HERALD office to see Kinnard. He was determined that they should expose the hoax. Kinnard was forced to tell Metcalf that he knew of the hoax and could not reveal it in their newspaper. Despite every argument, Kinnard refused to budge. The news spread around Anderson, however, that Riley was the author of "Leonainie." When Riley's Editor, Croan, heard the rumors he wrote Riley that he needed to get back to Anderson, but this day Riley had decided to go to Indianapolis to visit his friend, George Harding, Editor of the Indianapolis Saturday HERALD. During the visit, Riley told Harding of seeing the "poe" manuscript. Riley was trying to build up discussion of the "manuscript." This visit did result in a the following notice in The Indianapolis Saturday HERALD:

The HERALD was favored on Monday last with a call from one of Indiana's favorite poets - Mr. J.W. Riley, of the Anderson DEMOCRAT. Mr. Riley had just returned from a trip to Kokomo, where he had gone for the purpose of investigating the authenticity of the alleged Poe poem, discovered by the editor of the Kokomo DISPATCH. Mr. Riley reports favorably to the honesty of the claim put forward by the editor of the DISPATCH. Whatever may be the facts, he firmly believes in the authenticity of the poem and guards it with jealous care. The book, on the fly leaves of which the poem is written, is kept under double lock and key, and it was only by tearful pleading that Mr. Riley was permitted a sight of it. The discoverer stood uneasily by while Riley studied the faded manuscript, and heaved a great sigh of relief when the precious volume was once more locked up in the safe." On Tuesday, Metcalf still could not convince his partner that the

Anderson HERALD should expose the hoax and so he wrote the full details of the hoax to Charles Philips of the Kokomo TRIBUNE. Apparently he decided that if his newspaper couldn't benefit by exposure of the hoax, he would give the benefit of it to another newspaper, the Kokomo TRIBUNE. Also Metcalf did not tell his partner Croan that he had written the letter.

At this point it should he mentioned that the poem "Leonainie" had traveled from coast to coast and particularly in the press of the East. Once the publicity about the poem had reached the East, it was re-published from the great Eastern newspapers of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and Baltimore to those newspapers that fed on their exchanges. Between August 2d and August 25th, 1877, the Kokomo DISPATCH story with the "Leonainie" poem in it was reprinted in at least thirty-five cities in seventeen of the nation's then thirty-eight states exclusively of Indiana. Literally, from Boston to Portland, Oregon, from New York to San Francisco, from Philadelphia to Richmond and Savannah, from Chicago to Nashville, the poem "Leonainie" was printed. Not one of the newspapers in any of these places accompanied the article with editorial comment. Most tellingly however was the fact that not one of the newspapers also believed that Edgar Allan Poe had actually written "Leonainie." Not one was fooled.

From the New York EVENING POST of August 7th, `...a poetic sin has been laid at (Poe's) door..."

From the Philadelphia COMMONWEALTH of August 8th, "...The gin mills of Maryland and the Old Dominion never turned out liquor bad enough to debase the genius of Poe to the level of these wretched verses..."

From the New York WORLD of August 8th came the suggestion that a renegade of young men in a boisterous literary club called "The Perforators" were probably behind the hoax.

From the Baltimore AMERICAN of August 9th, "...The unfortunate poet (Poe) was no doubt guilty of many indiscretions, but it is hard to suppose that in his most eccentric mood he could ever have penned such wretched doggerel as that which is now attempted to be fastened on him under the name of "Leonainie..."

From the Brooklyn DAILY EAGLE of August 9th, "The composition is wild enough to have been written under the influence of Egyptian or Terre Haute whiskey, and possesses, therefore, what an eminent journalist of this city defines as a local flavor...

From the Philadelphia PRESS of August 9th, "...If Poe wrote it, he probably intended to call it 'La Inane.—

From the Nashville DAILY AMERICAN of August 10th, "(Poe) will surely pay his respects to the scalp of the Indiana man who brought it out.-

From the Richmond ENQUIRER of August 10th, "It is fair to presume that the discoverer of 'Poe's Unpublished Poem' wishes that he had kept his secret..."

From the New York DAILY GRAPHIC of August 15th, "Set your nonsense to music and announce that it is copied from Edgar A. Poe's lost memorandum book, and it will travel from the South Pole to Symme's Hole and excite the wildest enthusiasm."

From the Denver ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS of August 16th,"... Now we can easily imagine the ebon darkness of the maiden's hair, but the 'bloomy moonshine' of her eyes is what troubles us. Were they white eyes, shining in the night?"

From the Detroit FREE PRESS of August 16th, "...' Bloomy moonshine.' One sees that kind best while hanging on to the lamp post."

From the Oakland DAILY TRANSCRIPT of August 19th comes the thought that "Leonainie" should have been signed "Pooh!' instead of with the initials E.A.P.

Nevertheless, in almost every account there is the statement of the hoax that the poem "fooled even William Cullen Bryant." This singular misstatement comes from the fact that Bryant, even though in his eighty-third year at the time, still wrote regular reviews and probably wrote the one for the New York EVENING POST.

The "grand expose" appeared on Saturday morning. It was written in the Kokomo TRIBUNE, the rival newspaper of Henderson's DISPATCH. The article was written by the doughty owner and fire-eating senior editor of the TRIBUNE, Theophilus C. Philips, who had been anxious for some time to "take down" Henderson, who he called the fresh "collegiate boy editor." On page four of the August 25th TRIBUNE appeared the following headline:

The columns of this paper are witnesses that we have attributed to young J.W. Riley, of Anderson, or rather of Hancock County, talent beyond one of his age and experience. We regret sincerely to expose him in a piece of fraud that will let him down many notches in the estimation of his former friends.

A few weeks ago, after writing and re-writing the poem, 'Leonainie,' imitating the style of Poe, he conceived the idea that if he could get it out upon the world as Poe's production and afterwards establish himself as the author, he would make a world-wide fame at one jump. But the effort to reach fame by such a deception shows that his talent is more than ever balanced by his lack of moral perception and mother wit. Having concocted his plans, he looked about for an obscure paper in which to bring out the poem, for the more obscure the paper the less likely that the fraud would be suspected. Mr. Riley found in The DISPATCH, of this city, a willing tool, a paper anxious for fame and unable to reach it by climbing in the regular way. It was a bold attempt. If it succeeded all would be well, and they, the young man, author and editors, in the exuberancy of their youth, never dreamed but that the deception would take like wild-fire. As the verdant young man who picks up a pair of boots in a store and takes them away without paying for them, only to be caught and sent to jail, these youths attempted a bold trick, but one as gauzy as bobinet.

But to come to the story: Mr. Riley put "Leonainie" into the hands of The DISPATCH. On August 2d, inst., they published it under head-lines and the positive statements, that they believed it written by Poe. They pledged their honor to the truth of all they said in regard to it.

After it was out, under the direction of Mr. Riley, copies of The DISPATCH were sent to all the leading newspapers, magazines, and authors of the country. The answer that was returned just about crushed Mr. Riley. The DISPATCH did not seem aware of its misery, but actually paraded the criticisms in its columns, changing some of them that pronounced positively against the fraud, so as to make them read like quasi endorsements. Those who saw the criticisms must have noticed that everybody who had intelligence and discernment recognized the fraud, while a few inexperienced per‑

sons, who probably never read Poe, waxed enthusiastic over the poem. Mr. Riley himself wrote a criticism in which he admitted some of the lines were, indeed, Poeish.

But the worst of the story is yet to come. One of the eastern publishers to whom the paper, containing the poem was addressed, wrote the editors of The DISPATCH to send them the original manuscript, saying they were familiar with the lamented poet's chirography, etc., and they offered to pay all expenses, and to faithfully return the same to Kokomo. Here was a dilemma. The DISPATCH folks decided at once what they would do. They sent a letter to Anderson with a request. There, a very old copy of Ainsworth's dictionary was procured and an expert penman placed the poem on the flyleaf in writing as near like Poe's as possible, a recent number of Scribner's Monthly containing a facsimile of the poet's chirography. Mr. Riley carried that book to this city, himself, on Friday of last week for the purpose of having it forwarded east.

Much might have been written about this attempt at a swindle but we have only sorrow and pity for all concerned and are willing to let the matter rest. Every honorable person will be astonished that such a trick should have been attempted. Had Mr. Riley published the poem as his own it would have given him additional credit, for it is really good for a young man just beginning a literary course. Hereafter, whatever he writes, no matter how good, will go out at a discount, and no poem bearing his name will be incontrovertible with pure literary currency. Had the DISPATCH published 'Leonainie' without the flourish of so many trumpets, it might have crawled out of its present position by announcing the poem as quiet joke. But it has placed it in one scale and its honor, reputation, classical knowledge and truthfulness in the other. 'Great literary treasure,' for the present, farewell. We know exactly what The DISPATCH and Mr. Riley will say; we know the testimony they will adduce. When they are through, we shall puncture their bubble again.

P.S. Since J. Oscar first got the old book from a gentleman in this city, whom he says is 'unlearned and illiterate' and had Riley's 'Leonainie" place on a fly-leaf, how does it happen that a second old Ainsworth had to be procured at Anderson in order to have a copy sent East?

Boys, how do you feel? Have you sent Gill a copy yet? Never mind, this week's TRIBUNE will suit him as well.

J.W. Riley hit the nail on the head when he selected The DISPATCH as a paper willing to pledge its brains and honor to a falsehood and swindle, but

we are surprised that he didn't know there was another paper here smart enough to gather in every point of the attempted fraud. Poor boys, we really feel sorry for them.

"'Leonainie,' poor girl, has already fallen into the arms of doom...' Leonainie' has evaporated into 'bloomy moonshine.'" "...It was with tears in his eyes that J.W. Riley told us he 'had come all the way from Anderson to see that manuscript of Poe's(?) poem, but he was afraid J. Oscar wouldn't let him look at it." ...'The angels framed 'Leonainie' in a smile white, hut the boys lay her out on the fly-leaves of two old dictionaries" "...For silly, lying, verdant deception, and gauzy smartness, the 'Leonainie' fraud beats anything we ever saw..." "The comments on 'Leonainie,' which The DISPATCH editors published this week are a total 'give-away' for that paper, one of the extracts have been garbled and remodled until the editors have manufactured indorsements out of burlesque paragraphs."

This is the article which the Editor of the DISPATCH, Henderson, saw as he read the Saturday morning rival newspaper. He wasted little time and went down to the Court House Square and then over to the rival newspaper to Talk to Charley Philips. Philips greeted him derisively and Henderson acknowledged that the joke on him. He confirmed the truth of the statements in The TRIBUNE and then said it was fun while it lasted. Philips did tell Henderson that a letter from Anderson two or three days before gave him the details of the hoax. Henderson tried to find out who wrote the letter but Philips would only say the writer was "young man" who was a most intimate friend of Riley.

The Tribune of this city, this morning, published the enclosed Expose of Leonainie.' They tell me that they never 'tumbled' until they received a letter from a gentleman at Anderson the other day 'exposing' the poem. They say the 'exposer' is a young man - a most intimate friend of yours. It is Mr. K., I presume. You see they seem to think they have earned a place in glory for their 'expose.' What shall we do? Of course, we must explain the matter next Thursday - but how? In order to scoop The TRIBUNE again, would it not be well to acknowledge the poem, plea manly and turn the joke on them?

In this wise: Say that J.W. Riley is the father of the poem; that he selected The DISPATCH as the proper medium which he would send his poem to the world; he selected The DISPATCH on account of its high merit as a weekly paper. its well known literary tastes, and above all, its wide-extended circulation; that we entered into the plot and helped to play the ruse merely as a clever journalistic coup de main, that the poem is worthy of Longfellow, Poe, etc.., praise it and you very highly; say that you had a half dozen men as witnesses, with three more at Anderson, of the genuineness of the poem., that you and I arranged with a friend in Anderson to write to The TRIBUNE under cover of secrecy and 'expose' the ruse, knowing that they would do it heartily and with all their soul, hoping thereby to 'get even' with The DISPATCH; that thus we made a cat's-paw out of The TRIBUNE and accomplished our end, etc. - and then take a hearty laugh over the ruse, The TRIBUNE'S dilemma, etc. What say you, Riley? Don't you think it a capital idea? You know we must'fess up' next Thursday anyway. Let us turn the laugh. Write me immediately. If you please you may also write or block out reply to TRIBUNE and I will compare with mine. Do this at once and write me. I would like very much to have a poem from you, over your own signature written for The DISPATCH. It would help us to pacify the public mind and extricate ourself from the charge of duplicity, etc. Please write something for The DISPATCH as soon as possible. I feel that much is due the paper, don't you? Our readers would laugh heartily over the little ruse, forgive us for our part, and love you the more when they should read a poem openly by you in The DISPATCH. I would suggest that you write a parody or something after the style of 'Leonainie,' poking fun at The TRIBUNE and 'exposing' the 'Expose' of 'Leonainie.' Such a poem would come in capitally. Write me at once.

Riley received the letter in Greenfield on Monday, August 27, 1877. He remained in Greenfield instead of going back to work in Anderson because he was unable to control his drinking or depression. He did however walk to the Greenfield post office where he found Henderson's letter with The TRIBUNE's expose. He read it after he got back to the Riley home at the Seminary. He also read The Indianapolis JOURNAL editorial of that day stating:

The Kokomo TRIBUNE , of Saturday, exposes a fraud on the part of The DISPATCH of that city, and J.W. Riley, the poet of the Anderson DEMOCRAT. Some time ago The DISPATCH claimed to have found in that city,

on the fly-leaves of an old book, a poem by Edgar A. Poe, hitherto unknown, which it published under the title 'Leonainie.' The TRIBUNE claims that his was written by J.W. Riley for the purpose of enabling him to achieve a little reputation, by claiming the authorship after the prose had pronounced a favorable verdict. But the favorable verdict was not awarded and now the whole plot, in all of its littleness, is exposed. The facts given by The TRIBUNE are corroborated by private information of the JOURNAL from Anderson.

Unfortunately your letter of Saturday did not reach me till too late for me to strike to-day's mail - in consequence this may not reach you till too late to be of any service. I will say briefly that I do not like the idea of being compelled to confess the fraud before real critical testshave been applied.

It has not gone too far - The TRIBUNE'S expose can be successfully refuted even tho' you have verbally acknowledged its truth. You can claim that their story was manufactured for them by me, and for the purpose of claiming a poem whose excellence I envied - don't you see. Treat the matter with the same complacency that has marked your past course, and express regret that one so full of promise could stoop to such a depth, and all that sorto'stuff. Claim that my visit to Kokomo was to hatch the scheme with the Philips, and that you suspected some trickery of me and treachery from my first appearance in your office. Another thing you can mystify the Philips with but it must be done indirectly. let someone, apparently his friend, tell him that Riley has put up the job on him, for if the Anderson man was my friend why did he give me away - say that it rather looks like he -Philips - had bit at the very thing I wanted. 0 we can mystify anything they can pit against us! I have a friend here who has written a letter to the SENTINEL, Indianapolis,which will perhaps appear in tomorrow's issue - look for it, and I think you'll find a cue for a better course than yet to confess. When we get ready we'll confess, and I really think we can select our own good time. Yours in the bonds,

I have just written to have a letter 'cooked' at Anderson, which if it reaches its proper destination will bother the public wonderfully, and be particularly unwholesome for Metcalf of the HERALD, and the TRIBUNE. It will be claimed that Metcalf is my tool, and that the story he gives The TRIBUNE is of my own manufacture - for I am satisfied that Metcalf and not Kinnard gave them the story. That I am right I think you will agree when I tell you I had word direct from Anderson last week that Metcalf had threatened to give full expose in HERALD - Well, he didn't - why? - because Kinnard wouldn't have it, and so he sneakingly sends it to The TRIBUNE, and posts them to tell you that they got it of a young man, and my intimate friend in order to make you acknowledge - see?

Well, if this ruse works and I'm almost certain it will - it will cripple them too badly to ever smile again. Then we can go on till our own good time. Yours ever,

In the meantime to more confuse the listening public, you hatch up a letter from Kokomo to The Indianapolis JOURNAL in which you shall claim that the whole plot was concocted by The DISPATCH and TRIBUNE jointly for the purpose of notoriety to each, and that it was originally written by Judge Biddle, and never published till several years and years ago in Logansport PHAROS - and that the copy - doctored somewhat-is now in your possession - you being a civilian, and sign bogus name. Do this and we have another barricade from danger.

Here is Jucklet at work big time! Here is a mischievous minstrel piping up great court intrigue. Here is a jester who simply does not wish his jest to cease. There is also in this a great push to drain every ounce of publicity out of the great controversy that Riley can. He wants his 'Leonainie' to bring him "fame." He does not seem to care a great deal about the consequences to any of the newspapers with which he is dealing. His manipulations do not reveal a great regard for reality to say the least and one senses Crestillomeem is confusing his perceptions of what reality is. To a half-drunken man, staggering can seem walking a straight line.

This day, Riley also wrote a "pseudonymous" letter - which he signed "W," his middle initial - to the Indianapolis SENTINEL which in fact was published the next day:

claim for their poet, J.W. Riley, of this place, the authorship of the lately discovered poem of Edgar A. Poe, the beautiful and mysterious 'Leonainie' which has for some weeks been bewildering the literary world. The article referred to apparently sides with an article taken from The Kokomo TRIBUNE, savagely jealous of the good future of the rival paper that discovered the poem. Whether it is indeed Poe's I do not undertake to state, but this much I am assured of, that the well laid plan of Riley, The Kokomo TRIBUNE and The JOURNAL is altogether too thin a proposition to go down in the community. Riley may possess some genius for verse making, but he can't mislead with equal grace, and a recent visit of his to Kokomo points directly to his complicity with The TRIBUNE'S story of the poem's paternity. I have not seen the article as originally published, but that it was written by his own hand I am confident, and guarantee that an inspection of it will testify the fact.

Nor was Riley so incapacitated that he did not take Henderson's suggestion that he write a poem parody poking fun at "Leonainie." Riley did not however write only one parody. Instead, he wrote two. Writing verse was absolutely no trick at all to him. He wrote doggerel verse all the time for

advertising as well as personal instance to visit someone and the person wasn note to state his reason for the visit of this survive.

The first of the doggerel "parodi tor Henderson, but rather to his frien pated in the "expose." If Philips publi more publicity for Riley. Then he wr Saturday HERALD. Riley had not told Hen dy to his rival newspaper so Riley wrote Hend information.

ellow conspira‑
o had just partici‑
would mean even
e Indianapolis
ng the paro‑
with this

oloony":

Midnight, and her eyes of grated Moonshine, and with her inflated Me with solemn gloom.

When they brought her Every phase of dissil I indulged at this don (For I knew of no foun

And he chuckled with the notion Of her voyage of commotion O'er the literary ocean

I'm too thin for public diet And I long for calm and quiet Where unnoticed I may lie at

Every heart but his seemed gifted With a joy the breezes lifted Where his Leonainie drifted

The events of Monday after the expose of the hoax were not over. Up in Anderson, Metcalf ran into Riley's roommate, Jim McClanahan on the street. In the course of the conversation, the hoax was brought up and Metcalf suggested to McClanahan that Kinnard had told The TRIBUNE. McClanahan immediately went to Riley's boss at the Anderson DEMOC‑

RAT, Croan. Croan then wrote Riley at Greenfield with the entire conversation's contents.

The Kokomo TRIBUNE publishes a long expose of the fraud attempted to be played upon the public by The DISPATCH, in publishing 'Leonainie' as a new found poem of Edgar A. Poe. It was very thin imitation by a local poet named Riley who can do much better untrammeled by a model. The joke was harmless and foolish enough, but it was complicated by an eastern publisher, who sent for the original. The TRIBUNE vows that Riley then got an old copy of Ainsworth's dictionary and had the lines copies into it, and sent the book east. If he did it, it was an exceedingly foolish act, if nothing worse.

The next morning, Riley found Coran's note of the night before at the Greenfield Post Office. When he had returned home he wrote his girlfriend in Anderson:

I fear one thing has saddened you, and made you anxious on my account. I refer of course to the premature exposure of my Poe imitation. But there is not the slightest fear on that account. I was, I admit, greatly worried when I first heard of the treachery of some pretended friend, but now I am so fortified that I can laugh at the poor weak dupes who sought to injure me. I have been assured that Mr. Kinnard exposed the whole affair, but I do not believe it, and I want you, my dear Kit, to go to him and tell him that I do not doubt him in the least. I like him and my faith in him is perfect as the day I held his hand and said good-bye.

I have not been well for many days or would have written a letter for The DEMOCRAT. So you see I have not forgotten my old love. Whew! but I have bitter enemies in Anderson! I once suspected it, but now I know! and won't I make 'em scringe! My ire is like the storm-scourged surf in that light-house poem for I "hold it up and shake it like a fleece!"

In my defense I've been forced to take the most peculiar position imaginable, but I shall not fail! And if you should read some very bitter 'Leonainie' squibs, just fancy I'm the author of them all, and know what I'm about. I have written a most atrocious parody or two in which I attack myself with a savageness the world will wonder at; but remember, Kit,

All this you must keep strictly secret, and that all will yet go well, rest assured.

I will not write you more now, for I do not wish to worry you with never ending "Leonainie" venture. I have too many irons in the fire to think of better things. I shall expect a letter from you tonight, but if disappointed will hope at least that all is well with you. My regards to your good folks; my love to Jess, Mr. Croan and to your brother Will. Devotedly yours, J.W. Riley.

That afternoon, Riley wrote his "Card" to the General Public, confessing his part in the hoax and explaining his reasons for concocting it. To the Public:

Having been publicly accused of the authorship of the poem, "Leonainie," and again of the far more grievous error of an attempt to falsely claim it, I deem it proper to acknowledge the justice of the first accusation. Yes, as much as I regret to say it, I am the author,\; but, in justice to the paper that originally produced it, and to myself as well, I desire to say a few words more.

The plan of the deception was originally suggested to me by a controversy with friends, in which I was foolish enough to assert that 'no matter the little worth of a poem, if a great author's name was attached, it would be certain of success and popularity,' and to establish the truth of this proposition, I was unfortunate enough to select a ruse, that, although establishing my theory, has been the means of placing me in a false light, as well as those of my friends who were good enough to assist us in the scheme, for when we found our literary bombshell bounding throughout the length and breadth of the Union, we were so bewildered and involved we knew not how to act. Our only intercourse had been by poet, and we could not advise together fairly in that way; in consequence, a fibrous growth of circumstances had chained us in a manner, and a fear of unjust censure combined to hold us silent for so long.

To find, at last, a jocular explosion of the fraud, we thoughtlessly employed a means both ill-advised for ourselves and others. And now, trusting the public will only condemn for the folly, and hold me blameless of all dishonorable motives wherein I have feigned ignorance of the real

This card was printed in The Indianapolis JOURNAL on August 30th. On the same day the Kokomo DISPATCH published its own reply to the expose.

"On the 23rd of July, we received a letter from Mr. J.W. Riley - then connected with the Anderson DEMOCRAT, but now residing in Greenfield - in which a proposition was made to furnish The DISPATCH with an original poem a parody on Poe, subject to these conditions: We were to envelope the poem with additional interest by clothing it with a fictitious net-work of own fabrication, in which we should loosely and in the most flimsy manner charge its paternity to Poe. It was also distinctly agreed that in the course of a few weeks, after the poem had had audience with the ablest literary critics in the land, that we would explain the ruse and declare Mr. Riley the real author of the poem. But this was not to be done until some other journal, innocent of the plot, should be duped into making a 'thrilling expose' from facts furnished indirectly by Mr. Riley's friends. This, of course, would attract greater attention to Mr. Riley than if we should make the exposure ourselves. Owing to its morbid and inordinate jealously of The DISPATCH, The Kokomo TRIBUNE was selected as the paper to be used as the tool to further Mr. Riley's and our purpose. A friend in Anderson was posted and the job was handsomely set up. The friend, a pretended enemy of Mr. R., disclosed the 'terrible secret' to The TRIBUNE under the strictest bond of

secrecy. That paper was not to 'give its informant away,' etc., d'ye see? But to return to our part of the play: Everything was in readiness and The DISPATCH of August 2nd, published the poem. We then lay quiet and laughed in our sleeves at the comments of the press - and The TRIBUNE'S silence. That paper was thunderstruck, and for two weeks never opened its mouth. It believed the story and was just dying with jealousy, envy and pique. In the meanwhile, the poem was traveling over the country from the Pacific to the Atlantic. Eminent critics had written us concerning it. Last week we published nearly three columns of comments. The opportune moment had arrived, and the 'Expose' trap was sprung. The TRIBUNE greedily jumped at it like a bull-frog at a red flannel bait. The plot has worked admirably. All The DISPATCH wished for has been done. We have only to say, that in behalf of Mr. R., we heartily thank The TRIBUNE for its valuable, yet unwittingly rendered aid in the ruse. We have been on the inside all the time while The TRIBUNE has been in the dark on the outside. Its jealousy has for once served a useful purpose, and we can readily forgive it for past displays of this hateful passion. Really we feel like embracing The TRIBUNE for its stupidity in this matter, for we were apprehensive that it would certainly 'tumble' to it, but it didn't. Mr. Riley is so grateful that he has written and forwarded to The TRIBUNE a parody of 'Leonainie,' which that paper will probably publish this week - if it doesn't get too mad when it sees what a booby it has been. The TRIBUNE really deserves a sugar tit, and we are glad Mr. Riley has been so grateful as to forward one in the shape of a parody. It has richly earned two parodies for its assistance in this matter. The TRIBUNE will never forget 'Leonainie.'

We are sure our readers will forgive us for the part we played in this ruse. Our object was two-fold, both of which have been accomplished: First, to perpetrate a quiet, pleasant joke - which we would afterward explain; secondly, to give Mr. Riley's genius as a poet a fair, full and impartial test before the ablest critics in the land, uninfluenced by local prejudice or sectional bias. The only fiction about the transaction was the Poe story. The poem possesses a vast deal of merit and would do no violence to the reputation of our more pretentious bards of today. Although it has been pretty roughly criticized in certain quarters, it has been praised as a work of genius in others. No poem ever passed through a more relentless gauntlet of criticism than this. No one has ever had a more general reception by the press of the United States. Mr. Riley is a young poet of great promise, and will, we predict, yet make his mark as one of the sweetest singers of his age.

Riley wrote back on August 31st to Henderson in part, "I have just rec'd your letter of today, and am glad at heart.' ..."

"Upon our first page we present The TRIBUNE'S exposure of the poetical fraud 'Leonainie.' We are sorry that Mr. Riley should have proven himself so mendacious, and sorrier still that he is the author of the poem. We might have forgiven him his want of veracity, but it is hard to condone 'Leonainie.' The Kokomo DISPATCH, however, has sacrificed every claim to truth, and hereafter every statement it may make, no matter how trivial or commonplace, must be taken with a wide margin left for falsehood.

The Indianapolis Saturday HERALD'S loyal editor, Rev. George Harding, reprinted Riley's card of confession of the hoax in its September 1st issue and added: "J.W. Riley, in a note to the JOURNAL, admits the authorship of the 'Leonainie' poem, but disclaims any dishonorable intention. He only wanted to see if a poem of no merit could be floated into popularity by attaching a distinguished name to it. The rage of the fools who swallowed the bait is comical."

When Riley felt well enough, on September 1st, to return to Anderson, he was told by Todiman, the co-proprietor of The Anderson DEMOCRAT that "his services were no longer required." Riley later described this by saying "The paper on which I gained my meagre living excused me."

Two weeks later The Kokomo DISPATCH had the announcement of a rosy little girl born weighing ten pounds who was named Leonainie Titus. She died about a year later, and Riley memorialized her death with another "Leonainie" poem "To Leonainie," which was published in The Kokomo TRIBUNE of February 1, 1879.

In memory of Leonainie, infant daughter of W.B. and Lotta Titus, these line are tenderly inscribed.

And their little, wandering faces Drooped o'er Heaven's hiding-places Whiter than the lily-vases

After the "Leonainie" hoax received continuing great comment throughout the United States, many other "Poe" poems were found. One, allegedly found etched on a barn door, read:

For her eyes are dark and gloomy, And her nose is sort o' bloomy, And her mouth is rather roomy, —And have angels whispered to me,

The New York comic magazine "Puck" in its September 12, 1877 issue reported the arrest of "The young lady without an abdomen" who was arrested on the Bowery under the poetic name of "Melusine," for fraud carrying a Poe forgery of a poem of her name signed E.A.P. The poem reads in part, "Melusine, so they named her\ Stomachless, but beauteous bright!\ In a looking-glass they framed her\ To deceive the people's sight.\ But the angels wouldn't stand it,\ 'Move on, Mellie!" they commanded,\ Melusine' s biz was stranded,\ And she vanished ere the night. etc.

"Leonainie" was set to music in March 14, 1879 by Will H. Ponthius of Cincinnati.

The Ainsworth's Latin Dictionary containing the Poe forgery was sold for twenty-five dollars to a New York book dealer, Charles B. Foote. Following Foote's death, a Cleveland, Ohio collector of Riley, Paul Lemperly, bought the forgery. Following his death in 1939, Scribner's Sons purchased it.

Riley eventually included "Leonainie" in his volume of poems entitled -Armazindy," published October 7, 1894. The Indianapolis SENTINEL in reviewing the book repeated the details of the hoax, commenting that "It was extensively copied, and so clever was the imitation that American and English reviewers, and even an eminent authority like Edmund Clarence Stedman pronounced it genuine; and when the name of the real author was disclosed, Mr. Stedman still maintained that the poem was unquestionably written by Poe.-

For many years, "Leonainie" reappeared in various places in the world as a "previously unpublished" poem of Poe's such as in the The New York CRITIC of April 8, 1886. On June 5, 1886, an article printed in the Paris, France newspaper THE AMERICAN REGISTER recounted "Leonainie" was widely known in Italy as a poem of Poe's. The London FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW of February, 1904 brought it forth as a new poem of Poe's,

November 20, 1752, Chatterton's Bowl of Poison to Chatterton," from British museum, father, a teacher, died shortly after London. Chatterton died an arsenic suicide at the age of

sewing and ran a "home school" to support herself and child. Chatterton refused to play with other children nor communicate. His first school expelled him for being a dullard. Chatterton then chose to lock himself often in the attic of the family home where he found ancient paper which his father had brought home as waste paper. The paper had been old music folios the father had come across while a sub-chanter at the Church of St. Mary Redcliff in Bristol. The father brought the old papers home with him for his wife to use as sewing-patterns, or for himself as bookbindings. Chatterton made use of these old papers in quite a different way.

Chatterton became a forger. With reading materials limited to a huge family Bible, a bad printing of Chaucer, and borrowed "faulty" dictionaries and glossaries, Chatterton produced literary pieces he proposed as the works of a 15th Century monk named Thomas Rowley (Rowleie). They were Chatterton's own poems, of course, written on dad's purloined sheets of music folios.

We remember that Chatterton was only in his early teenaged years and not considered very bright so when he started selling these works of the Middle English monk, Thomas Rowley, they were considered a great "find."

There is an element of the "Leonainie" hoax that might easily be overlooked if we did not examine it here. Riley was perpetrating the hoax within a tradition Riley enjoyed immensely. Riley enjoyed the poetry of the "master hoaxer" Thomas Chatterton. There was once this angry, suicidal young man, fatherless early in life, originally thought an idiot from birth, named Thomas Chatterton. Actually, Thomas Chatterton was a creative and literary genius in Riley's view. Born in Bristol on

Chatterton was desperate for funds. He was unhappily apprenticed to an attorney when all else failed him. This position drove him even more suicidal and he began drawing and writing poetry in the lawyer's office until the attorney found a suicide note dated for the next day unless the attorney released him from his apprenticeship. He did. Chatterton left for London where he hoped to make his mark as a poet. Hunger and poverty awaited him in London and he died by poisoning himself with arsenic at the age of seventeen.

Two of those most influenced by this strangely possessed boy were William Wordsworth, an English poet who extolled him in poetry as "The marvellous boy,\ The sleepless soul that perished in his pride" and James Whitcomb Riley, the American poet. Chatterton's poetry and particularly his faked "Rowley poems" in fact had great literary merit as Riley recognized.

Even though the poems were certainly not medieval manuscripts, they are very richly decorative pieces filled with mystery and "gut" emotion. Modern critics call Chatterton the first "Romantic" poet. Not just Riley and Wordsworth, but also Keats and Byron acknowledged indebtedness to his poetry. Riley took from Chatterton's works a love of their richness of imagery and great technical dexterity.

We must not forget Chatterton as an influence on Riley's "The Flying Islands of the Night," written the year after "Leonainie." Chatterton's "AElla" is similarly written in play form. It concerns a pre-Norman conquest warrior named AElla whose wooing of his beloved Birtha is interrupted by a Danish invasion of England. Believing Birtha is taken into the arms of another man, AElla commits suicide ("stabbeth hys breste") with his sword. Just before his death, a noble Danish warrior, Hurra, who respects AElla's honor brings Birtha to him. She chooses to die with AElla saying, "Oh! ys (is) mie (my) AElla dedde?\ 0! 1 will make hys (his) grave mie (my) vyrgyn (virgin) spousal bedde." Riley's subject matter in "The Flying Islands of the Night" goes in quite another direction. Both "plays" are impossible to produce and set in the strange Chaucerian style.

And so ends our journey through the "Leonainie" hoax through correspondence, references, clippings and recollections.

We think of Riley as being a journalist, or perhaps a newspaper poet, as well as lyceum circuit "lecturer" during the 1880's. Jucklet was with Riley in both his newspaper office and on the platform tours.

Indianapolis JOURNAL. One of them he used often he called the "lung tester" which he rigged up. There was an electric call box in the newspaper's editorial offices. To engage it, the message sender pushed over a lever, released it and it returned with considerable clatter. Riley rigged the call box so he could push the lever over and release it at will. Then he attached a tube to it and put the nipple from a baby's bottle on the end of the tube. When a friend came in, he would slap him on the back, compliment him on his vigorous health, ask him how his lungs were, and finally suggest that he try them out on the office lung tester. The friend would put the baby nipple in his mouth, blow lustily, Riley would release the lever and it would clatter to the end of the slot. The friend would swell up with pride until the device was loosed again without the aid of any lung power and reveal that the clatter had nothing to do with the man's lungs.

That Riley was able to have his chance to excel on the Lyceum Circuit was due to Jucklet. Jucklet was the minstrel in Riley who loved to tell stories and entertain people with witty anecdotes.

One of Riley's favorites was "The Object Lesson." This was a tale Riley repeated so often he fully mastered its presentation.

One of the tellings of this story occurred at the Indianapolis JOURNAL office where Riley was employed at a time when many people were present. One of those present was a friend who Riley had recently met named Robert Burdette, a man already on the Lyceum Circuit and billed as "Hawkeye Man."

Burdette was so impressed by the recitation that he became convinced Riley could succeed on the platform. In a sense, then, this recitation would later become responsible for Riley's getting his chance at a platform career. Marcus Dickey, Riley's secretary and early biographer, relates the incident. "Burdette was one of a group in a back corner of the Journal office, when Riley recited "The Object Lesson.'"'That audience," said Burdette, "beat any public one

that ever drew a a watch on me or coaxed me into silence by their slumbers. There were brilliant men in it, among them a future president of the United

States (Benjamin Harrison)" Burdette was so certain after hearing it that Riley could magnetize a public audience that he went home and wrote the following, which he sent abroad to lecture bureaus and committees, and had printed in many newspapers:

It has been my pleasure to listen to Mr. J.W. Riley and I never heard him say a tiresome word or utter a stupid sentence. I would walk through the mud or ride through the rain to hear him again. I would get out of bed to listen to him. If I have a friend on a lecture committee in the Untied States, I want to whisper in his ear that one of the best hits he can make will be to surprise his audience with .1.W. Riley and his "Object Lesson." Riley is good clean through. His humor is gentle; it is not caustic. It is pure and manly, and the people that will once listen to him will want him back again the same season.

What follows is a written representation of one of Riley's always varying recitations of his famous platform piece.

Barely a year ago I attended the Friday afternoon exercises of a country school. My mission there, as I remember, was to refresh my mind with such material as might be gathered for a "valedictory," which, I regret to say, was to be handed down to posterity under another signature than my own.

There was present, among a host of visitors, a pale young man of perhaps thirty years, with a tall head and bulging brow and a highly-intellectual pair of eyes and spectacles. He wore his hair without roach or "part" and the smile he beamed about him was "a joy forever." He was an educator - from the East, I think I heard it rumored - anyway he was introduced to the school at last, and he bowed, and smiled, and beamed upon us all, and entertained us after the most delightfully edif^ying manner imaginable. And although I may fail to reproduce the exact substance of his remarks upon that highly important occasion, I think_, I can at least present his theme in all its coherency of detail. Addressing more particularly the primary department of the school, he said: -

"As the little exercise I am about to introduce is of recent origin, and the bright, intelligent faces of the pupils before me seem rife with eager and expectant interest, it will be well for me, perhaps, to offer by way of preparatory preface, a few terse words of explanation.

"The Object-Lesson is designed to fill a long felt want, and is destined, as I think, to revolutionize in a great degree, the educational systems of our land. - In my belief the Object-Lesson will supply a want which I may safely say has heretofore left the most egregious and palpable traces of mental confusion and intellectual inadequacies stamped, as it were, upon the gleaming reasons of the most learned - the highest cultured, and the most eminently gifted and promising of our professors and scientists both at home and abroad.

"Now this deficiency - if it may be so termed -plainly has a beginning: and probing deeply with the bright, clean scalpel of experience we discover that - "As the twig is bent, the tree's inclined." To remedy, then, a deeply-seated error which for so long has rankled at the very root of educational progress throughout the land, many plausible, and we must admit, many helpful theories have been introduced to allay the painful errors resulting from the discrepancy of which we speak: but until now, nothing that seemed wholly to eradicate the defect has been discovered, and that, too, strange

as it may seem, is, at last, found emanating, like the lure him. Drawing by Frank

ening and gathering in force and power as it flows along, until, at last, its grand and mighty current sweeps on in majesty to the vast illimitable ocean of-of-of- Success! Ahem!

"And, now, little boys and girls, that we have had by implication, a clear and comprehensive explanation of the Object-Lesson and its mission, I trust you will give me your undivided attention while I endeavor - in my humble way - to direct your newly acquired knowledge through the proper channel. For instance: ‑

er name? Come, now, let us see who will be the first to answer. 'A peanut,' says the little boy here at my right. Very good - very good! I hold then, in my hand, a peanut. And now who will tell me, what is the peanut? A very simply question - who will answer? 'Something good to eat,' says the little girl. Yes, 'something good to eat,' but would it not be better to say simply that the peanut is an edible? I think so, yes. The peanut, then, is - an edible - now, all together, an edible!

"To what kingdom does the peanut belong? The animal, vegetable or mineral kingdom? A very easy question. Come, let us have prompt answers. 'The animal kingdom,' does the little boy say? Oh no! The peanut does not belong to the animal kingdom! Surely the little boy must be thinking of a larger object than the peanut - the elephant, perhaps. To what kingdom, then, does the peanut belong? The v-v-veg-The vegetable kingdom,' says the bright-faced little girl on the back seat. Ah! that is better. We find then that the peanut belongs to the - what kingdom? The 'vegetable kingdom.' Very good, very good!

"And now who will tell us of what the peanut is composed. Let us have quick responses now. Time is fleeting! Of what is the peanut composed? 'The hull and the goody,' in vulgar parlance, but how much better it would be to say simply, the shell and the kernel. Would not that sound better? Yes, I thought you would agree with me there!

"And now who will tell me the color of the peanut! And be careful now! for I shouldn't like to hear you make the very stupid blunder I once heard a little boy make in reply to the same question. Would you like to hear what color the stupid little boy said the peanut was? You would, eh? Well, now, how many of you would like to hear what color the stupid little boy said the peanut was? Come now, let's have an expression. All who would like to hear what color the stupid little boy said the peanut was, may hold up their right hands. Very good, very good - there, that will do.

"Well, it was during a professional visit I was once called upon to make to a neighboring city, where I was invited to address the children of a .free school - Hands down, now, little boy, - founded for the exclusive benefit of the little newsboys and bootblacks, who, it seems, had not the means to defray the expenses of the commonest educational accessories, and during an object lesson identical with the one before us now - for it is a favorite one of mine - I propounded the question, what is the color of the peanut? Many answers were given in response, but none as sufficiently succinct and apropos as I deemed the facts demanded; and so at last I personally addressed

a ragged, boy, as I then thought, a bright-eyed little fellow, when judge of my surprise, in reply to my question, what is the color of a peanut, the little fellow, without the slightest gleam of intelligence lighting up his face, answered, that 'if not scorched by roasting, the peanut was a blond.' Why, I was almost tempted to join in the general merriment his inapposite reply elicited. But I occupy your attention with trivial things; and as 1 notice the time allotted me has slipped away, we will drop the peanut for the present. Trusting the few facts gleaned from a topic so homely and unpromising will sink deep in your minds, in time to bloom and blossom in the fields of future usefulness - I-I—I thank you."

1. An Object Lesson from going to a county teacher's institute in Anderson in late 1872.

Riley and Bill Nye had a standard lark when they went on lecture tours. On entering a town, Riley or Nye would enter the best bookstore in town, take the proprietor to one side and in a whisper inquire as to whether he could sell them an unexpunged edition of Felicia Hemans. Of course the bookstore owner could not, and then the two would meet outside and have a good laugh at the unsophisticated bookseller. But one day, Riley thought he would have a little fun at Nye's expense so before they arrived at Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Riley wrote ahead to one of the prominent bookstores acquainting the proprietor with all the facts and asking him to prepare a special title page and insert it in a volume of Mrs. Heman's poems. On arriving at Milwaukee, it was Nye's turn to try to secure the unexpunged edition of Mrs. Hemans's poems.

Riley remained outside while Nye went through the usual program and offered the bookseller $5 if he could secure for him such an edition. In a whisper, much to Nye's surprise, he told him he had such a book, produced it, and Nye was forced to lose his $5 and when they met later at the hotel, for Riley did not remain outside this time, Riley certainly had a good laugh at Nye's discomfort.

Jucklet was always a great entertainer even when he reached fame. He was fun to be with socially. Stories about him always portray him as warm nd companionable.

Riley liked to begin stories with friends and then have them carry through with its story line. He would reach a point in a story and then ask a friend to carry it on. The only point at which Riley would object would be if someone wanted to kill off one of the heroes of Riley's invention. He called any‑

one wanting to do not only a person of no imagination but also a blatant murderer. Such a person did not understand that there could be no death to literary characters so they must be allowed to live forever.

Even so, around

An Indianapolis street scene in 1891.

his friends, Riley was not always humorous and generous to persons he did not like. Haute Jameson recalled that Riley did not like some of the young men who joined the social group with Riley who often gathered at the Tarkington home. He did not like a man's beard to be parted and to one young man who called while there he said "a beard like that may be becoming to his style of character, but to me it places him in the garden, not as flowering product, but as a nice pleasant, comforting woolly worm. Maybe a caterpillar would be a better word, but woolly worm is the way I think of him." Haute recalled Riley said he felt "fuzzy" when in the man's presence. Another man Riley did not like he called "aboriginal" and said the man's head was "meat clear through."

This Riley was the witty socialite who took Indianapolis society by storm upon his move there. The Indianapolis scene was a welter of busy, busy activity compared to the life he knew in his hometown of Greenfield, Indiana.

Riley was able to play the great "literatus" and find a place in the most reputable and socially expanded circles. Jucklet continued to write amusing anecdotal stories through this period.

Wunst' we went a-fishin' - Me An' my Pa an' Ma, all three When they wuz a picnic, 'way Out to Hanch's Woods, one day. An' they wuz a crick out there,

Where the fishes is, an' where Little boys 'taint big an' strong Better have their folks along!

My Pa he ist_.fished an' fished! An' my Ma she said she wished Me an' her was home; an' Pa Said he wished so worse'n Ma.

Pa said of you talk, er say Anything, er sneeze, er play Hain't no fish, alive er dead, Ever go' to bite! he said.

Pure' nigh dark in town when we Got back home; an' Ma, says she, Now she'll have a fish for shore! An' she buyed one at the store.

Nen at supper Pa he won't Eat no fish, an' says, he don't Like 'em - An' he pounded me When I choked!...Ma, didn't he?

From the author's Ora Myers glass negatives collection of Hancock County. Indiana subjects.

Was Jucklet's mischievous minstrelsy involved in Riley's elderly years? Yes, Jucklet seems to have lived with Riley as a favorite self until the end.

In these last years, we recall the great honors bestowed upon Riley. These years were the years as in 1902 when Yale College, New Haven, Connecticut conferred upon Riley at age 52 the honorary degree of Master of Arts. Or the next year, 1903 when Wabash College at Crawfordsville, Indiana presented Riley at age 53 with another Honorary Master's Degree. Or the next year, in 1904, when the University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania honored Riley at age 54 with a degree of Doctor of Letters, or in 1907, when Indiana University, Bloomington, Indiana granted Riley at age 57 the degree of Doctor of Laws.

It was Jucklet that had earned these degrees more than any of the other roles Riley played in his life. Riley had survived to achieve great honor as a mischievous jongleur, dialect singer, and story teller.

Appropriately, it was a poem of Jucklet's that Riley recited at Yale on the occasion of his receiving his honorary degree from that institution.

There are many things that boys may know Why this and that are thus and so, -Who made the world in the dark and lit The great sun up to lighten it: Boys know new things every day -When they study, or when they play, -When they idle, or sow and reap -But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

May know that the round old earth rolls East; -And know that the ice and the snow and the rain -Ever repeating their parts again ‑

Sip from the earth in their endless thirst, And pour again till the low streams leap. -But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

It has been to him since the dawn's first smile, When forth he fared in the realm divine

Of brook-laced woodland and spun-sunshine; -He may know each call of his truant mates,

And the paths they went, - and the pasture-gates Of the 'cross-lots home through the dusk so deep. ‑

From the flagrant drowse on the parlor-floor, To the pleading voice of the mother when

The library at Riley's Lockerbie Street home where he resided upon writing this poem.

To the sense of a kiss, and a moonlit room, And dewy odors of locust-bloom ‑

A sweet white cot - and a cricket's cheep. -But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.

Toward the end of his life, and after suffering a crippling stroke, Riley kept himself very busy with a huge correspondence. Jucklet was at work in this voluminous daily correspondence.

One of his letter found after he died was to a child who wrote him to say she enjoyed the poem "Orphant Annie" and "The Runaway Boy."

Dear Little Friend. - One time an old middle-aged man, a very middle-aged man, who from his childhood had been playing that he was a poet - got some sure-enough books of poetry- pieces printed, at last, and sprinkled them over his friends like salt on cantaloupes; and then leaned back and waited for applause and laughed to himself so that he would not miss any voice of praise out of the vast chorus of the world at large. And - he is listening still - though, like the bass kings in the O-r-tao-r-o,

And yet not quite in vain has he been listening all these years, for now and then faint murmurous accents like yours reach his almost starving senses; and as he hears them, the old man's fancies find his Youth again and all the childish joys that once were his. So veritably young he is that he goes dancing back to his old make-believes and plays that he's a poet, just as then.

At Christmas times, Riley's correspondence was said to rival Santa Claus's. On his last birthday, October 7th 1915, ten thousand cards came

many of them containing greetings of an entire class of school children. One child wrote, "I think Indiana should be proud of such a child as you. Not only Indiana, but the United States should be proud of you. I am proud of you myself." Another wrote "I tell you what, Mr. Riley, I was surprised to learn that you was living because I thought all poets was dead." Another wrote, "I have read so many of your poems that 1 have a strong taste of poetry myself."

Indiana's U.S. Senator Harry S. New told the ghost story that follows about Riley at the time of the poet's death. The Senator knew Riley intimately from being a young reporter of the Indianapolis JOURNAL when Riley was on its staff and later as the same newspaper's Managing Editor who valued Riley's contributions exceedingly.

"The Riley home was in East Lockerbie street in Indianapolis, and it was there that the poet died. His death came in the afternoon and it was still early when the undertaker, that individual most repellent to Riley in his lifetime, arrived to perform the preliminary services of those of his kind. The room in which the dead man lay was on the second floor and was a modest apartment with but a single door and a window opposite, which looked out on a narrow side yard. In that room what was left of the sensitive poet was alone with the creature he despised, and if the soul of the dead lingers near the mortal clay, it may be conceived that Riley's spirit had a bad half hour with the follower of the grim reaper. But that half hour passed and the servitor of the departed soft-footedly went his way, silently closing the door behind him.

This was but part of the work of the undertaker. He was to return some hours later to finish his task. He returned as the day was drawing to its close, and mournfully climbed the Riley stairs. He applied the cautious pressure of a silent hand to the Riley door knob which he had deftly turned but a few hours earlier. The knob refused to turn. The door declined to open.

Evidently, said the methodical worker, some member of the family has locked the death chamber. He summoned those in the house and asked for the key. He was told that the door had not been locked. No one had been in the second floor room since his former visit.

Nevertheless, he assured them, the door was locked. So the family bunches of keys were produced and the journey of the undertaker, this time not

alone, wound again to the second floor. But there it halted at the poet's door. One after one the keys were tried in the lock. None would enter the keyhole. The door

A delicacy was felt in doing violence to the door of the dead. As there was no other entrance to the room except the window, the party went into the yard, procured a ladder and the undertaker climbed it and entered the room of the departed through the window.

When he had gained an entrance he investigated carefully and found that the door was locked from the inside, and that the key had been left in the lock.

like for undertakers, his belief in the ministration of the spirits of the departed, are willing to admit that here was a prank quite characteristic and to be expected - the sort of thing that might be done by the ghost of him who was gone, if ghosts were a matter of fact."

Although Jucklet was not Riley's most enduring role, and certainly was not the character in Riley's life who produced his finest poetry, nevertheless Jucklet must receive credit for a job successfully done. Riley survived on his inner laughter.

Riley died in this bedroom at Lockerbie Street, Indianapolis. Did his ghost lock the door to this bedroom from the undertaker?

A Hoosier farm scene of Riley's era. From the author's Ora Myers glass negative collection of Hancock County. Indiana subjects.

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