The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1888-10-21

haps unconsciously, the belief that be is SO, by
nature above the mass. 10 whom this pulse has
never throbbed. iOf course. I expressly ex-
clude all the writer's present from such an init
nation. Such natures will be drawn together
for mutual aid and comfort against a common
foe-the neelectful, unresponsive mass OF man
kind.
The poverty and obscurity of the average son
of genius is proverbisl The annals OF Grub
street will soon dispel any p%osihumous halo of
material s3lendor that may surround their
names. Fame comes late with her golden
wreath, and none has described her tardy arri-
val more truly or more impressively than James
Whitcomb Riley.
He iourneyed on thro' life. unknown,
Without one friend to call has own.
lie tired. No kindly hand to press
The cooling touch of tenderness
Upon his burning brow, nor lift
To his parchsd lips Gods freest gift:
No sympathetic sob or sigh
OF trembling lTps-no Borrowing eve
Looked out thro' tears TO see him die.
And Fame her greenest laurels brought
To crown a head that needed not.
II is pleassuter even TO stsrve in good COM
pany Add 10 these bonds of union the univer-
sal tie tnas binds together men Of one race, Of
one country, OF ons city, OF one family, OF one
calling, as against the world, aud you have
sufficient explanation Of the existence Of the
fratsrnAl sniri, among men Of letters.
Are authors then always sympathetic. always
kind one TO anotherl Is literature, like theology
and medicine, q realm wherein d~eils nought
but harmony Has there been no Hshnsmann
in literature. no Calvin. no Arminiusl Alas. We
Cannot affirm IT. The literary quarrel IL no less
venomons than others. Keats. who fell. and
Hugo, VINO rose triumphant, felt the keen edge
of literary steel The authors stab il as strong
as bis love or his hatred: ae penetrating a. his wit;
rs poisonous as his sarcasm. The very powers
that make literary friendship so helpful are
doubly strong for harm.
Ii was an author whose diary records the sight
OF a troop OF asses by the roadside with
the remark. NOW they viewed and re-
viewed u.s." Il was an author who,
when his friend, on an occasion similar to this,
asked If he did not think he, the questioner, had
made a finished speech, replied, Yes, bot l
thought it never would BEL Ii was an author
who bade bis rival dismiss his anxiety about his
literary eggs, since they were surely added.
We are told that the army Of Pyrrhus was de-
feated in great part by their own elephants, who.
routed by the Romans, charged back dsetruc-
tivelv through the Grecisn ranks. The finer the
weapon, the more deadly it's effect, az we'll upon
friend rs foe. The Calling gun will Stay more
men than the Greek elephant; and it 10 even
more regardless of the direction Of it's charge.
The shaft of genius. when IL stoops to such an
aim, will sink deeper between the srmor plates
than the duller weapon OF the fool; and the fine
strung nature, wounded, will receive more
deadly hurt.
1 think it was La Rochefoucauld who
said that ut Is easier TO synipa-
than to rejoice in their successes" 1t seems that
authors, who are but men, after all, and must
occasionally strike the earth with their feet,
though Pegasus is bearing them alott. are no
exceptions to this rule. Shall We say that every
Or shall we say more hopefully that every Mr..
Hyde may become a DR.. Jekyllf
Writers. then, have the ~fraternal epirit. 1t
would seem that their works have it also. We
seldom see book alone. By what instinct of
sympathy do they range themselves in goodly
rows. and, happy IN each others company, beam
upon US so confdsntially from their seatsl Mr..
Lowell says the very stones OF Oxford seem
happier for being there. Is it pushing the fan.
cy too far to extend il to our friendly volumesi
stincs with o ~fraternal spirit than the books in a
wellehosen libraryi Does not the pas
sionate sympathy OF the poet in
the book! An author once told me an amusing
incidant that Illustrates, IN a startling way, the
sociability Of books among themselves A friend
of his did not probe the disguise too deeply
had published the frat edition of his maiden
work. Desiring to benefit the public by a wide
and rapid circulation, he carried ten Of the vol
umes to-a bookseller, who promised bis beat et-
forts TO dispose of them. At the end of q month
ths owner called to receive the proceeds Of the
sales. Together they examined the shelf; and
the bookseller, who counted the volumes,
found. 10 the surprise of both, that the number
rose from one 90 eight, nine. ten; yes, eleven,
twelve, and even TO fifteen; there stood fifteen
smiling volumes, glad TO greet the author of
their beine, after this all too long q separation
in their young livesl Being pressed for an ex-
PLANTATION. my friend at first stout
IL main tanned that it was q clear
case Of literary progeny" but he
Afterwards admitted that in all probability the
extra books we're either presentation copies or
copies bought to compliment the author, which
lad been disposed of as secondhand books in
the nearest shop al the first opportunity. What
passion IN roe human heart 10 stronger than the
desire for immortal fame on earth, as we'll as
immortality in heavenl And 10 not the frater-
nal spirit largely involved IN this deslref What
msu of letters would crave q lonely Immortality
Did not Shakespeare look forward to q meeting
with his contem poraries, nay, with his great
predecessors, Homer, Escbylns, Dante and the
restl Even George Eliot prayed she might JON
the choir invisible. II you allow me thus to
connect the ideas of fraternity and immortality
let me remind you how ali literature exhsles the
thouEht of q future life. and how all the mem
oriss of earth cluster around the names in lit
erature, or owe their preservation to il.
What class OF men has SO sure q place in hu-
man recoliections as the anthorsi The vast
bulk of human effort is expended upon objects
of trsnstory interest; but the writer, in so far as
he deserves the name, touches the thought OF all
generations. Thought alone in eternal. and lit
erature is ls vehicle of transmission. The Nile,
rising in the unknown heart OF Africa, gathers
its waters from countless springs, and porrs
them in a life-giving food through the thirsty
land OF Egypt The stream Of literature. rising
out OF the dense mist that sniouds the bases Of
tho Hindoo Koosh from the eye Of history, has