St. Landry democrat. (Opelousas, La.) 1878-1894, 1886-06-19
CHAPTER TX.

CHAPTER TX.
1t became known that tn ere was
some sort of secret understanding afoot
between the poet and the man OF the
corner They were found together IN
a small cham Der in the Strand holding
earnest converse, which was suspended
on the arrival of any chance new
conner. Callers upon the man Of the
corner found the poet in his chambers,
and callers upon the poet, in his more
artistically furnished apartments in the
West, met there the man of the corner.
They sat together on a summers
day, with the mellow sunshine strug-
Cling through cobwebbed windows,
and showing the dust upon the thread
bare carpet and the battered furniture.
There were foils, singlesticks and box
ing gloves upon the walls, and gun
and a fishing rod or two in the corners
of the room. The man of the corner
lounged collarless in slippers and
dressing gown, and the poet sat at the
table, pen in hand, with pile OF man.
uscript before him.
~ think it will do, Smith, said the
poet, doubtfully.
MY bard,'' said the slippered
lounger, sit will do. 1t is not Shakes
pearian, but it will do. We are
humber than we were a year ago,
Marsh, and the reviewers did us good.
They humbled us, and chastened our
style bit, and we know now how
many poetic beans make five. We
used to think it took fifty, didn't we?o
II fear | did," said the poet, with
a blush. you've been very kind to
me. Smith, and I'm immensely obliged
to YOU" ;,
1.-THE wounded is the feeling heart"
returned the other. II will tell you a
secret. |, William John Smith, writer
of melodrama and Wholesale merchant
in murder. was Horace Montmorenci.
..You?" cried the poet.
II. None other. 1t was this hand
that wrote The Demogorgon.' 1t was
upon this head the scalpingknife of
the reviewer fell. suffered before you.
| roasted at the fire of public scorn and
laughter for year. When | saw you
scaIped and bleeding at the stake [
felt for you, and as each red revitrEer
hurled his tomahawk one heart was
moved to pity. 1t was mine
The poet arose and shook hands.
1--WE are brethren in misfortune he
said, with somewhat CHASTITY smile:
Respect my awful secret said his
companion. ':Let us change the theme.
Can we brighten the last act with a
murder? | have never made so long a
literary Journey without blood Let us
sacrifice a victim to propitiate the
| gods"
"Well," said the poet, y, afraid
we must leave the gods appropriated.
A murder wou1d be little cut OF place
in a poetical comedy - wouldn't it?
Eh?'
"a suicide? divorce? bigamy? a
forgery? I pine for my accustomed
diet. I have fuller-havored villain
than common, in my next. -
Upon my word, Smith, cried the
poet, earnestly, 81 wouldn't do that
sort of work if [ were you. There is
not a lovely fancy OF "a graceful line
here laying his hand upon the manu-
script, ''that isn't yours. There is not
subtle touch of observation or of hui
man nature that isn't yours. brought
you a feeble, rickety child, and you
have tended it and nurtured it. and
you give me back beautiful woman
Why should man like you waste him.
self on melodgama?"
Il get an honest living" said the
lounger. II reward virtue and | lasf
vice. / never leave an unrepentan
villain happy or a good man in ADVERSE
ty. And am at home in my work
and | can do it. AS for what you are
pleased to say about my share in this
work, let me tell you the truth. [ an
an old literary craftsman, and pretty
good one. You are young literary
craftsman, and your hand is not We
firm. But if you will be humble abou
it, and will not take pride to yourself
and will not think that genius is every
thing and patient labor nothing, you
will do work / can not do and never
could have done, and you will give
harmless delight to many people, anc
be remembered for generation o.
two. Only labor, patience, humility
humility, patience, labor. These, my
poet, make talent pass for genius very
often, but they make genius resplend
ent.'
The poet sat silent for awhile.
ITO BE CONTINUED.