The Canton advocate. [volume] (Canton, D.T. [S.D.]) 1877-1897, 1878-07-23

"sent off" the previous week "wit
stamps enclosed for returning them i
case of non-acceptance." Then with
lssrcsstics smile Of bitter scorn, rage
hatred ard stern resolve, he would pu
these packages in his pocket and retnr
home. A word here about Jones, an
another about his home:
He was q young man of about twenty
and when he left college at nineteen, hi
father wished him to become lawyer
but Lawrence--that was the name whic
followed the words "my own dearest b
loved" beginning the letters written +
him by the dear girls scorned the ide
and gave the old gent to understand tina
he intended to enter the field of litera
ture-he had been called a poet at the col
| lege and was told he would, make famou
writer if rs kept at it, and this had mad
a fool of him. What cared he TO
I Mfpnay iaE.o a.: - ::.s
Any one can get money, but few &c
fame. The old gent got mad after ;
while and told him that he wasn't goinl
to keep him laying around thar dom
nothin' but wrisin' trash fur papers
He couldn't get nothin' printed, and i
he did he couldn't make nOthin' at il
anyway, and he wanted him to know
that if he didn't want to take up law
he could take up the pillow handles anc
20 to work on the farm or else quit the
shebang altogether. But Lawrence hung
around some months longer, until he was
almost of age, and was beginning to con
clude that he would have to take up the
plough handles, when an obliging aunt
died and left him few hundred dollars
some plate and valuables, and the old
rambling house where she, an old maid,
had lived and died.
Then this classical student of literary
tastes departed for this village and took
possession Of this house, with the inter-
ton of leading the life Of hermit, with
nothing to do but read, think and write,
and make love to the prettiest girls OF
the village, mingling but little with the
world, and pursuing his studies and rev.
cries in the gloomy front parlor Of the
little four roomed house. Bully old plan
Of his, wasn't it," He had been lead
ing this sort of life few months when
the eHea. IS, OK a He cit, Of this story
took place. One Sunday he was return
ing home from the postoffice with the
usual number of rejected articles in his
pocket. He reached the house and en-
tering the front room began to look over
the articles, which he had tossed on the
table, beside which he sat down.
The first was respectfully declined,"
the next declined respectfully" The
third was "declined with thanks" the
fourth was "not up to our standard, )"
and the fifth was overstocked with good
stories at present" AS much as to say
mine were not good" said Jones, savage
ly. Then he sighed and placed them all
carefully in drawer, which was already
we'll filled. He then opened another
drawer and took from it pile of fools
cap, and, looking over it until he found
the place where he left off, he began to
write. From the style of the writing we
should judge it to be a poem, and one of
some length too. for quite a pile was
written.
At length it began TO grow dark, and
Jones arose to light lamp, and imme-
diately sat down again and continued to
write, for he was SO interested in the
poem that he entirely forgot to 60 out
into the back room and get himself some
supper. An hour passed on and then
there came a rap at the door. "Tis
only joe" muttsred Jones, as he flung
aside his pen and went to the door. Joe
was young man of about eighteen, who
lived in the village, and was the most in
innate friend and companion Of ,!nnes;
in fact, Jones' bosom friend. Joe was of
literary tastes Tor proclivities), and
thought Jones great author, and SO
it great honor that he al
lowed him to read his books and make
his house his home, as it were. And
Joe it was.
Evening, JONES'" said Joe, as he
walked into the room and Jones closed
The door. "Well. keep right on; don't
stop for me. I'll just get book and
look over it." "Well, l am rather
busy" said Jones, Lem finishing
long poem, and If you will just take
book and amuse> yourself for 3 while,
will soon be through and then I'll read
It to YOU" IA Il right" said Joe, pick
ing up Barnaby Rudge off a table, and,
seating himself in q large rocking
chair. the fayOrie chair Of Jones' aunt,
when she occupied the house,-he
plunged into the book, while Jones ran
his fingers through his hair and went on
writing. ~.
Presently, rattle-tee-rat-tat-tat! An
other kaeck,. =5s755