at the time of his death occupying the chief justiceship of the Alabama Supreme Court. Samuel M. Peck was his youngest son. The groundwork of Mr. Peck's education was laid in a little old schoolhouse in his native town, supplemented by a public school course in Illinois, and completed at the University of Alabama, from which he was graduated in 1876. He then came north and matriculated at Bellevue Medical College, New York, taking his degree of M.D. three years later. Mr. Peck has never practiced. The science of medicine's loss, however, proved the art of poetry's gain; the scalpel was transformed into a quill, and plain Mr. Peck, the poet, displaced S. M. Peck, M.D. Mr. Peck's poetical genius is entirely original, as neither his father nor his mother possessed the slightest poetic temperament, although Mrs. Peck was a woman of marked literary taste and refinement and a most delightful letter-writer. Like Austin Dobson, Mr. Peck did not prattle in rhymes from infancy. It was not until he was twenty-four that his lyric muse awoke. His first inclination toward the artistic was in the direction of music. Mr. Peck's one brother-a journalist-had developed considerable poetical ability, and Mr. Peck used to take great pleasure in composing sprightly measures for his brother's rhymes. He even went so far as to study counterpoint under a music professor of Leipsic. The latter regarded his pupil's efforts toward musical composition with much open amusement and secret disgust. On one occasion, however, both master and scholar happened to forward compositions to the same music publisher; when, much to the professor's amazement and to Mr. Peck's merriment, the latter's little jingle, "Robin, I'm Waiting for Thee," set to catchy music, was accepted, and his teacher's more weighty and dignified production rejected. Most of Mr. Peck's initiatory poems appeared from time to time in such Southern papers as the Montgomery Advertiser, Atlanta Constitution, and New Orleans TimesDemocrat. His first poem of any account, however, was published in the New York Evening Post early in the eighties. It was entitled "The Orange Tree," and attracted considerable attention from the national press. Of course, contrasted with the author's later work, it now seems decidedly amateurish. Mr. Peck then began to contribute regularly to the New York Home Journal, under the generous encouragement and kindly criticism of the late George Perry, to whom he gratefully attributes much of his early success. A fellow-contributor to the same periodical was Clinton Scollard, the poet. From simply seeing each others contributions in their mutual literary alma mater, a kindred feeling was engendered and an acquaintance formed at first by correspondencewhich has since developed into deep friendship. Mr. Peck has written since for the Youth's Companion, the New York Independent, the Century, and almost every prominent periodical in America. Three volumes of verse stand as Mr. Peck's contribution to American literature. His first book," Cap and Bells "-now in its sixth edition, made its appearance in 1886. It comprises some eighty-five poems, delicate in thought, finished, and graceful. Six years later came a second volume of some seventy-five new poems of a like nature, entitled "Rings and Love-Knots." This has rivaled "Cap and Bells" in popularity, its fourth editon being nearly exhausted. In 1895, appeared "Rhymes and Roses," composed of nature lyrics, love-songs, and society verse. Although Mr. Peck wrote the rhymes to accompany "Fair Women of To-day," a collection of fac-similes from watercolor drawings of thirteen Southern women celebrated for their beauty, yet he hardly deems it one of his works. Few lyric writers have had more of their poems set to music than has Mr. Peck, the even, rhythmic flow of his metre particularly adapting them to such use. "A Knot of Blue" dedicated to the Yale boys and sung at their recent concert-is probably the best known. It has appealed to dozens of composers in this country and in Europe, but the most popular setting is the quartet arrangement of Sheppard of Yale included in the college song-books. "Mignon"-a serenade, of which Henry W. Grady said, "Nothing more exquisite has ever been written"--together with "Midsummer Dreams" have had most charming musical backgrounds written for them by Mme. Guy d'Hardelot. "The Grapevine Swing," "The Ingle Song," and "If You Love Me" have been treated similarly by Hubbard T. Smith; "The ElfSong," by J. K. Paine; "Look in My Eyes," by Arthur Schmidt; "She Told Me I Must be Dreaming," by Walter Phillips. The story of how Mr. Peck came to write the words of "A Knot of Blue" is very interesting. Regarding it, Mr. Peck said: "During the winter of 1885-6, I was chumming with a young doctor named Simp also a Yale man, so my Yale associations were decidedly pronounced. While convalescing, rhymes and tunes began to dance in my brain. The words, a little knot of blue, a little knot of blue,' kept singing and singing in my head, until one day, under the influence, I took up my pen and wrote in a few minutes: 'She hath no gems of lustre bright Of course, it was not to stop with the first stanza; a refrain added itself: 'A dainty knot of blue, It fills my dreams with sunny gleams,- More followed naturally, for the little knot of blue must have its romance; it must meet its fate. So, 'I met her down the shadowed lane, The balmy blossoms fell like rain And what I said or what I did That morn I never knew, But to my breast there came and hid 'A little knot of blue A love-knot strong and true, 'Twill hold my heart till life shall part,— That little knot of blue.' That was all. It was very short, yet I confess it pleased me. When Simpson returned from quiz, I asked him if blue was not the Yale color. He told me it was. Unconsciously and without thinking of the Yale color, I had written a Yale song. I sent it to the Century, inscribing it 'To the Boys of Yale,' and it was immediately accepted. It was copied by the press, generally, from the Atlantic to the Pacific and has brought stacks of congratulatory letters from Yale alumni everywhere." In every nature there are certain grains of selfishness or vanity. They may be more or less developed and may express themselves in various ways; but they exist none the less. We like to consider, for instance, that we have been instrumental to or the mainspring of such and such a person's success or the fame of a certain author or poem. Hence it will be somewhat disillusionizing to reciters to learn that their "Grapevine Swing," one of their most telling encores-has achieved wider renown in the South as a song than as a recitation. In fact, its author has never heard the piece recited, although as a song it has pursued him the country over. The poem was written in August, 1888, at one sitting. Mr. Peck did not consider it of particular importance; so he held it back from publication for some time. Finally, he sent it to the New Orleans TimesDemocrat, which accepted it, but delayed printing it so long that Mr. Peck had to write and inquire about it. When the piece finally did appear, the papers north and south copied it, very often with no credit to Mr. Peck. It appealed at once to composers, and many musical settings of it were made, but the most notable one is that of Hubbard T. Smith. Wilson's Minstrels were the first to make public use of it as a song. Later it was introduced in Lecocq's opera, "Giroflé-Girofla" and in Lydia Thompson's company. So popular is "The Grapevine Swing" in the South to-day that even the little pickaninies on the Alabama plantations croon its chorus as they pursue their daily occupations. It was first used as a recitation in 1890, Jennie O'Neill Potter doing more than any other reciter to popularize it. Since then it has been a favorite elocutionary en peep and Little Boy Blue;" "A Seaside Flirtation;" "Aunt Jemima's Quilt; " "Love among Clover;" "At the Ball; "Belinda's Fan;" and "Anita." Anita, by the way, is a real personage. Her name is Anita Castellyanos and she lives in New Orleans. Mr. Peck's picture of her, however, is entirely ideal, as he himself has never seen her; but he was so impressed by a friend's description that he dashed off these few stanzas about her. Mr. Peck's poems may be divided loosely into three heads,-his lovesongs, his nature studies, and his society verse. Besides those mentioned earlier in this article, the first division is best represented by "The Boat Song,' "Marguerite," "An Autumn Glee," and "Kathleen." In his nature poems and vers de société, Mr. Peck has struck a happy vein. The titles of such poems, among the former, as "When Autumn Passeth," "To a Cricket," "When Darkness Comes Down on the Day," "A Song from the City," "When the Cricket Sings," etc., but faintly express their content. In his Southern gems particularly the author has infused into his smoothly flowing metre the sunshine and dolce-far-nienteness of that land. Again, in such quaint conceits as "Lillian's Fan," which calls to mind Dobson's "Marquise;" "Cupid at Court;" "The Little Blue-eyed Blue-eyed Thief;" "An Afterthought," suggested by a chapter in Hardy's novel, "A Pair of Blue Eyes; Eyes;" "A Gentle Little Lady; "A Little Lass in Pink; "When Mabel Smiles; " "The Wooing of Rose," etc.; Mr. Peck has given his muse full rein, with so pleasing a result that the most callous critic would have to confess himself a captive to her witchery. "The Old Guitar "one of Mr. Peck's latest and best pieces-exhibits admirably the peculiar quality in his verses of singing themselves into one's memory. We read the poem through, and then are not satisfied until we have gone over it a second and a third time, until the refrain, "When Katie tuned the old guitar And sang my heart away," keeps pulsating through our brain. This piece can be beautifully worked up as an encore with guitar accompaniment, and with "Annie Laurie" or some equally heartfelt lay used as chorus. Through the courtesy of his publisher, Mr. Frederick A. Stokes, I am enabled to reproduce three of Mr. Peck's lyrics that best illustrate his style. I have, therefore, selected, first, a typical society skit-"A Fair Peck's first Attorney "—from Mr. book, "Cap and Bells." "Alas! the world has gone awry Oft tremble at her wondrous knowledge. Whene'er I dare to woo her now She frowns that I should so annoy her, And then proclaims with lofty brow, Her mission is to be a lawyer. "Life glides no more on golden wings, I felt some hidden grief impended; I knew my rosy dream had ended. "She paints no more on china plaques, With tints that would have crazed Strange birds that never plumed their backs 'Tis sad to keep one's passion pent, Though Pallas' arms the fair environ, But worse to have her quoting Kent When one is fondly breathing Byron. "When Lillian's licensed at the law, Her fame, be sure, will live forever; No barrister will pick a flaw In logic so extremely clever. The sheriff will forget his nap To feast upon the lovely vision, And e'en the judge will set his cap At her, and dream of love Elysian." 64 A silence on the garden fell, A hush of anger and surprise; And caught the flash of angry eyes. "O Zephyrus, prithee give heed Nor slight my tender loveliness. My race is very high indeed; Though somewhat careless in our dress'This plea she thought she could not fail inOf old our charms were known to Galen.' "Too late she paused! The peals of mirth Rang merrily across the lawn, Like silver sounds that have their birth "The Tulip next her claims advanced, Her rivals trembled at the sight. And as they watched the pretty speaker They felt their hopes fast growing weaker. "O Zephyrus,' they heard her say, 'My gold and purple hues are seen; While cradled in the moss I lay I knew that Nature meant a queen. Amid that fair contending throng, "A Lily at the fountain's brim, Racked by alternate hope and fear, Raised her beseeching eyes to him, Eloquent with a trembling tear. She did not speak; no words were needed, Her peerless beauty only pleaded; O my sweet, at your feet Heed my lonely cry; Grant relief to my grief, Love me or I die." Until recently Mr. Peck devoted himself entirely to poetry, but of late he has turned his pen in the direction of fiction. In his latest story, published in current Book-News, he has demonstrated clearly that he can wield his new instrument as gracefully and as cleverly as the old one. If he continues the good work, several of the "smart" set of storytellers, whose habit it is-sour-grapes fashion-to decry society poets as empty verse-makers, will have to look to their laurels sharply. Mr. Peck is a magnificent specimen of American manhood. Standing over six feet, with well-developed physique, frank blue eyes, and ruddy complexion, he unites with these physical graces, brilliancy of conversation, a gentlemanly, dignified bearing, and that indescribable something which comes only from generations of blue blood and refinement. It is anomalous, however, that one possessing so many of the gifts of the gods-with the power of phrasing such exquisite sentiment-has never matched "the picture in his heart." |