The Ottawa free trader. [volume] (Ottawa, Ill.) 1843-1916, 1885-05-30
a DEAD NOVELIST.
Some reflections on the Death OF tho
Author of Ozark Days"

some kcHectiohs on the Death OF the
Author of Ozark Days"
Original.
! The death Of Hugh Conway, the novelist,
recently, at Monaco, is sharp reminder of the
mutability of all earthly plans AMI prospects
/ 1t recalls the legend of the wish angel, who
hoycrs continually about mortals, hearing
them express their most cherished desires
/ He grants their wish sooner or later, but
under conditions which strip it of all JOY
He humbles human beings by giving then
what they long for, and thereby proving the
illusiveness of all dreams OF happiness.
| Very little is known Of Hugh Conway
whose name IN private life was Frederick
John Fargus. He lived, aspired, strove, and
i'll some measure achieved, then died just rs
life seemed to open before him. That much
is known. The elpss in the short chapter
can be readily filed by tho Imagination OF
any one who knows how steep and rugged i,
the pathway that leads even to the boundaries
of success.
lie was only thirty years old, had
had his share OF struggle, self-denial, priva
tion and batiial hope, of course, since none
who strive arc strangers TO these dragons
| that crouch By the road to emnenCe Two
years ago Mr.. FarguS, who was an auctioneer
i'll Bristol wrote Called Back, story now
known to two or three hundred thousand
readers here and abroad. Ii was published
in Arrowsmith's Annual, and lay unnoticed
on the London book stalls for weeks, and per
haps months. One day Henry Labouchere
going on II journey, picked it up tc
bcgui!o the teliou,ness Of travel. He read
it, was pleased with it, and afterward spoke
of il Irutl 81 n rlnvar or The,
all London wanted to read it, and did read
it. The Annual was soon exhausted, and
"Callcd Back was brought out in new form
A hundred thousand copies were soon sold.
1t was republished in this country. and had
an enormous sale. 1t Yves Grammatical and
had lon. run III London aud also n New
York.
As n work Of art Called Back had its
defects, but it also had what Offset the de-
fects-an inletluablc charm. 1t had force
and feeling, the germ and life of all art.
One felt that its author had strong per
sonality. 1t depicted no new phase of hfe
revealed no hidden things. Itsimply grouped
some old, old figures of fiction in a more
striking way. There was a flavor of psycho-
lgic mystery about il. and a surprise at tn
end of it. The characters which figured in
il, and whose fate had such potent charm
for SO many thousands If readers WERE A
blind man who RECEIVERS his sight by the
usual surgical opera ton, u beautiful mad
woman, two very daring and successful
villains, with a faithful nurse and one or
two other ciphers in the shape Of obscure
servitorS. Yet the adventures and entannle-
ments Of these personages commanded the
public's warmest attention.
A few months later Dark Days" appeared.
This had still greater success than its predc-
ceSsor. Its beroine was also 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 II
was serious to the point of depression, never
deviatlng into the slightest approach to the
comic or h.ppant. II was an intense story,
dramatically told in the first person. 1t had
not "A 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 story-nothing more, nothing
less lie demonstrated that 1t needed moth
lug but power and feeling to make it take
hold on its readers.
These two books brought gold AM honor
to their author, and opened the way for fu-
ture achievements In the field he had long
hungered to enter. Then, just as he had
fairy begun to breathe the cir Of his dreams,
he died. Close attention to his work left
him exhausted. Seeking recreation q i rest,
he went to Romo, and there probably con.
tracted tas isSsaria which eliminated in
typhoid fever at Monaco, and endei ais life.
We who SEQ only that part Of l'te which
begins and ends here, look upon q sudden
Looping off like this with sadness 1t strikes
US with mournful perplexity. Yet, it has
been said, that some time we shall know that
every lite is complete. The symmetry and
perfection of human endeavor are hidden
1t cannot be that all human endeavor is
empty and unrewarded. Even what looks so
to lis may elsewhere have its full fruition, its
long day of Joy. The soul, that mysterious
star of our life, which ''cometh from affair." u
turns it's back upon the prizss of the world
that it may win greater ones In better coun.
tries
Death, the ancient mystery. hides many a
perfected dream beneath a coffin lid In
deed we may one day learn that he is kind
est 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 n,ost blessed. Yet we are so
untaught in wisdom that we bestow upon
them pity anl lamentations instead of felici-
tatlOnS. w e speak vi INC SlulleSS OF u llI6
ended when its desires were beginning to be
realzei. We forget that all honors are
short lived, that fame is a breath which an
adverse wind may dis,ipate; that fair pros
poets may end in fierce storms that joy may
come with the morning and sorrow intrude
at night; that hope, health, happiness, all
the sweet voiced angels who walk with us
here from time TO time, have wings and fly
away tifully, whispering never a word Of
their return.
Remembering how difficult it is to live. we
should laY a flower upon the grave Of Hugh
CONWAY with smile The pen dropped
from his hand when 1t had bur begun to
show ITS power yet, who shall dare to say
he has lost by the changed Man =, indeed,
Of few DAYS npon the earth, and those DAYS
are filed wi h what seem vain imlgin nCs
futile stviv ng:
'Herc sits he, shaping wings 20 ~,
His heart forcbole a mysC'r
He names the name etprn "