FREDERICK LOCKER. FREDERICK LOCKER was born at Greenwich | Hospital (of which his father, Edward Hawe Locker, was a civil commissioner) in 1824. His early writings received little encouragement, and his manuscripts were flung about by magazine editors with that blindness to the merits of a new writer which is so common that it may almost be taken as the best proof of real merit. In a letter to a friend, after mentioning these repeated rejections of his verses, he says: "Thackeray believed in me, and used to say, 'Never mind, Locker; our verse may be small beer, but at any rate it is the right tap.' This encouraged me, and I wrote on; and when 'Macmillan' refused 'My Neighbor Rose,' I sent it to the 'Cornhill;' and when 'Fraser' declined 'A Nice Correspondent,' I sent it to St. Paul's.' I could get no one to accept My Grandmother.'" In 1857 Locker published a collection of his poems, under the title "London Lyrics," which has been increased in subsequent issues, and has passed through seven editions in England and been republished in Boston, Mass. In 1867 he edited "Lyra Elegantiarum," a collection of vers de société, in which species of composition he is himself second to none save possibly Praed. A NICE CORRESPONDENT! THE glow and the glory are plighted Is summoned to dinner to Kew: I wish you were here. Were I duller The necklace you fastened askew! I want you to come and pass sentence Of course you know "Janet's Repentance?" The story of Edgar and Lucy, How thrilling, romantic, and true! The Master (his bride was a goosey!) Reminds me of you. To-day, in my ride, I've been crowning For up there you discoursed about Browning, His vogue and his verse are alarming, A poet as you. Alas for the world, and its dearly Bought triumph and fugitive bliss! Sometimes I half wish I were merely A plain or a penniless miss; But, perhaps one is blest with a measure Of pelf, and I'm not sorry, too, That I'm pretty, because it's a pleasure, My dearest, to you. Your whim is frolic and fashion, Your taste is for letters and art, Lay it by in a dainty deposit For relics, we all have a few! Love, some day they 'll print it, because it Was written to you. |