The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1885-07-30
A DEAD NOVELIST,

efist. recently, at Monaco. is a sharp
| reminder of the mutability of all earth
ly plans and prospects. 1t recalls the
legend of the wish angel, who hovera
| continually about mOrtals, hearing
them express their most cherished de-
sires. He grants their wish sooner or
later, but under conditions which strip
it of all JOY. He humbles human be-
ings by giving them what they long
for, and thereby proving the illusive-
ness of all dreams of happiness.
Very little is known of Hugh Con-
way, whose name in private life was
! Frederick John Fargus. He lived.
| aspired, strove, and in some measures
achieved, then died just as life seemed
to open before him. That much is
known. The ellipsis in the short chap
ter can be readily filed by the imagina-
ton of any one who knows how steep
and rugged is the pathway that leads
even to the boundaries of success.
| He was only thirty-seven years old,
had had his share of struggle, self-de-
nial, privation, and baffied hope, of
course, since none who strive are
strangers to these dragons that crouch,
by the road to eminence. Two years
ago MIR. Fargus, who was an auction
CCI III DIISlOis "EOlc Sdll6u DaCk, -
story now known to two or three hum
dred thousand readers here and abroad
1t was published in Arros0smith's An-
nudl, and lay unnoticed on the Lon-
don book stalls for weeks, and perhaps
months. One day Henry Labouchere,
going on a journey, picked it up to be-
guile the tediousness of travel. He
read it. was pleased with it, and after
ward spoke of it in Truth as a very
clever story. Then all London wanted
to read it, and did read it. The Afa-
nuat was soon exhausted, and Called
Back" was brought out in a new form.
A hundred thousand copies were soon
sold. 1t was republished in this coun-
try, and had an enormous sale. 1t
was dramatized and had long run in
London and also in New York.
As work of art, Called Back had
its defects. but it also had what offset
the defects-an indefinable charm. It
had force and feeling, the germ and.
life of all art One felt that its author
had a strong personality. 1t depicted
no new phase of life, revealed no hid
den things 1t simply grouped some
old, old figures of fiction in a moro
striking way. There was a flavor of
psychologist mystery about it. and u
surprise at the end of it The charac-
ters which figured in it, and whose fate
had such a potent charm for so many
thousands of readers were: A blind
man who RECEIVERS his sight by the usu-
al surgical operation, a beautiful mad
woman, two very daring and success
full villains, with faithful nurse and
one or two other ciphers in the shape
of obscure scrvitors. Yet the adven-
lures and entanglements of these per-
sOnageS commanded the public's warm
est attention.
A few months later Ozark DAYS"
appeared. This had still greater sue
cess than its predecessor. Its heroine
was also a beautiful mad woman, and
it had a captivating surprise in the last
chapter 1t was steady, unmitigated
tragedy from the first to the last
word. 1t was serious TO the point of
depression, never deviating into the
slightest approach to the comic or flip
pant. 1t was an intense story, dramat-
ically told in the first person. 1t had
not Il line of philosophy. Indeed, there
was not word in it unnecessary to
the simple telling of a powerful tale
Its author had acted upon the old idea
that story should simply be a story.
nothing more, nothing less. He DEM
onstrated that it needed nothing but
power and feeling to make it take hold
on its readers.
These two books brought gold and
honor to their author, and opened the
way for future achievements in the
fields he had long hungered to enter.
Then, just as he had fairly begun to
breathe the air of his dreams, he died.
Close attention to his work left him ex-
hausted Seeking recreation and rest,
he went to Rome, and there probably
contracted the malaria which culminat-
ed in typhoid fever at Monaco, and
ended his life.
We, who see only that part of life
which begins and ends here, look upon
Il sudden looping off like this with sad
ness. 1t strikes us with mournful per-
plexity. Yet, it has been said, that
some time we shall know that every
life is complete. The symmetry and
perfection of human endeayor are hid
den from our finite eyes. but they may
be there. 1t cannot be that all human
endeavor is empty and unrewarded
Even what looks so to us may else
where have its full fruition, its long
day of joy. The soul, that mysterious
star of our life, which ''cometh from
affair."" turns its back upon the prizes
of the world that it may win greater
ones in better countries.
Death, the ancient mystery, hides
many perfected dream beneath
coffin lid. Indeed, we may one day
learn that he is kindest to those whose
eyes he closes while life is still bright
to them. They who pass out of the
contest before they are wounded are
doubtless the most blessed. Yet We
are so untaught in wisdom that we be-
stow upon them pity and lamentations
instead of fluctuations. We speak of
the sadness of a life ended when its de-
sires were beginning to be realized.
We forget that all honors are short
lived, that fame is breath which an
adverse wind may dissipate; that fair
prospects may end in fierce storms;
that Joy may come with the morning
and sorrow intrude at night; that hope,
health, happiness, all the sweet-voieed
| angels who walk with US here from
time to time, have wings and fly away
titfully, whispering never word OF
| their return.
Remembering how difficult it is to
live, we should lay flower upon the
grave of Hugh Conway with a SMILE
The pen dropped from his hand when
it had but begun to show its power;
yet, who shall dare to say he lost by
the change? Man is, indeed, of few
days upon the earth, and those days
are filled with what seem vain imagin-
ings, futile strivings:
| Here sits he. shaping wings to fly, :
His heart forebodes q mystery;
He names the name eternity"
-Gertrude Garrison, in FrGnkfor6
Herald.