Memoirs of an editor : fifty years of American journalism / Edward P. Mitchell.

94

MEMOIRS OF AN EDITOR

If I am dwelling on the memories of companionship
"with O'Reilly it is because no man had ever impressed me
more strongly with the vividness of an amiable personality. He talked much of himself, of what he had done and
was doing and intended to do, but we adored his communications. His heart pumped friendliness and quick sympathies. He was the best of fireside comrades-it was a
radiator in this instance-but he could make even steamheat seem like the hearthstone glow. One night when he
had just finished a little Malay ballad called "Golu" he
brought it up to the radiator for approval With what
unction he read it I
"Such a little copper sweetheart
Was my Golu plump and round,
With her hair all blue-black streaming
O'er her to the very ground,
And her eyes! her eyes were heaven!
Changing swift from joy to grief,
And her dress-ah! 'twas no larger
Than a lady's handkerchief."
When he came to the lines,
"How I poised my little sweetheart
Like a copper statuette,"
he read the last words twice and glanced at us, seeking
an opinion. I think that was the favorite verse of his
favorite poem. At any rate, once when Boyle O'Reilly
came to see me in New York and we went out to lunch
at Mouquin's and I inquired after Golu, he looked up
from his frogs' legs with a quick smile and said, "Like a
copper statuette!"

The novel conception of a Christmas number of the
Boston Journal, to contain naught but masterpieces of
imaginative literature gratuitously contributed by those
honored with an invitation, belonged to Edward King,