To put a good thought, a tender sentiment, a passionate emotion into
faulty words is to defile it. Does a precious stone acquire an added
value from a setting of brass? Is a rare and excellent wine better when
drunk out of a gourd?
In Herman Scheffauer’s first book, _Of Both Worlds_, are two little
poems of such naturalness, simplicity and beauty that I hardly know
of anything better in their kind. My purpose in quoting them here is,
partly, to bring them to the attention of those who may be unfamiliar
with Mr. Scheffauer’s work, but chiefly to suggest to the “dialect
poets” that they undertake to give them an added charm by rewriting
them in their own manner.