Told About Alfred Lambourne

Told About Alfred Lambourne

BY EDWARD H. ANDERSON

Among his intimate friends the poet-artist, Alfred Lam- bourne, is known as the Cheerful Pessimist. Here are a few good stories concerning him. He himself has told them to his friends, and friends have told them to others, hence, the writer does not hesitate to run chances in repeating them for the benefit of those who for years have read Mr. Lambourne's verse and prose in the pages of the Improvement Era :

"The other day," said the poet, "I heard an insistent knocking at my study door. On turning the knob, the wind blew into the room a lot of dust in which was mixed a big collector. Of course, he was welcome collectors always are. He was told to enter, to ;

take a seat, to make himself at home and admire the scenery. However, he received an object lesson, and learned a solemn truth :

'

'Dust can always settle down, but poets cannot always settle up.'

Apropos of the financial troubles of poets and artists, here is a tale worth telling: The poet met one day with the artist, the late John Hafen. Under the arm of the former was a roll of manuscript, and under that of the latter a just-completed sketch. "I am the most miserable man on the earth," said the artist. "That is impossible," said the poet.. "And why?" queried the artist.

"Because / am the most miserable man on the earth," replied the poet. And then the friends understood, and parted, laughing. They met on another day, upon almost the same spot, and in a burst of confidence, the artist asked of the poet, "Can you manage to pay your debts?" The poet thought that silence was golden. "I have made it a matter of prayer," continued the artist. "I ex- plained to the Lord that I could not pay my debts. I told him that for sure I had tried, but could not find the way." "And," — concluded the artist, becoming more confidential still "I told the Lord that that was not the worst, I asked that he send me a change of heart as well as the money, for I was becoming so that I did not care very much whether I paid my debts or no." The poet realized that this was a serious case, and again the friends parted, this time to meet no more.

Mr. Lambourne is vain of his native land— Shakespeare, and

TOLD ABOUT LAMBOURNE 527

that sort of thing, you know. But recently his vanity received a jolt. He was accosted on the Deseret News corner by an indi- vidual who asked for the price of a meal. As the applicant's breath gave strong evidence that he had been recently drinking liquor, he was refused. But the beggar had a sort of revenge: "Veil," he said, "I was sorry dat you give me noting; I had tought sure you give me someting ven I see you coming, I tink you vas ;

a Svede."

Here is an excellent one One day the poet stood on a bank :

corner in a pensive mood. It was the day before Christmas. Per- haps something of his pensive mood was shown in his attitude, perhaps he was cold, or perhaps his coat needed dusting. His — hand was slightly extended. A dear old soul near-sighted, he says — was passing by. Suddenly she appeared to be seized with a charitable thought befitting the holiday season. She approached him and, with a sweet smile of Christian pity, placed a dime in the extended hand. "I could not help it," says Mr. Lambourne, "I would not for the world have deprived that good, kind old creature of her new-found joy. I hope that my voice was suf-

ficiently thankful, and that it quavered rightly as I received the gift with a low-spoken, 'God bless you.' That dime is now fastened uncn a card, and the card is framed, and it bears the inscription, 'It is more blessed to give than it is to receive.' :

The following anecdote is in somewhat the same vein : Re- cently the poet visited the County Infirmary. It was on a Sunday, and a service, by kindly and thoughtful volunteers, was being held in the chapel room. The interested poet walked several times along the corridor and passed the open chapel door. A most charming and zealous young lady, who was assisting in the service, came out and accosted him thus: "Why don't you step in? We have come here to help make you happy, if we can. I am sure you will feel at home. Won't you come in and help us sing, 'Jesus Loves Me?' Remember that if you seem to have no other friends, you are not forgotten by the Savior." "I was a little surprised, a little startled," said Mr. Lambourne, "but it was all right. Why undeceive her, why tell her that I was not an inmate ? It did apply to me. It was good to know that there was a place where one could feel at home, and that a poet could be sure there was One by whom he was not forgotten. 'A touch of Nature makes the " world akin.'