The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-03-03
AN HONEST CRITICISM.
BY oPIE P. READ.

One nlghC party or friends called upon me and earnestly solicited me to become candidate for the state sen- ate. I had never given a serious thought to politics and was so sharply alive to my ignorance of party ways and so ill fitted to assume the "honest John" department of a faction leader that I laughed with much uproar, if not with much mirth. Milton K. Buck, the lawyer, then came forward, took me by the hand and, giving to his voice that half smothered quiver which is thought to be the proper means by which to convey serious information, said:
 "This is not laughing matter Our community needs new sort of repre- sentation. We have had enough of political hack. We want a man with out political spots, without the canker of blind party prejudices. We believe you to be that man and we want you to become our standard bearer. The convention will meet next week, and between now and that time we can develop enough strength to insure your nomination. You cannot refuse us, sir; you cannot turn away from a duty which looks you so squarely in the face."
 In his voice there was such stirring entreaty and in his manner there was such depth of earnestness that I could not, as had intended to do, turn away from him with laugh, but in that suddenly awakened self appreciation which tells man he is fitted to hold office promised to con- sider the matter. My friends left me, and, putting aside an unfinished edi- torial entitled "Shall the Town Cow Roam at Larger" gave myself up to patriotic meditation. The next day I wrote to my friends telling them that with their cooperation 1 felt that would be able to discharge the grave duties of state senator Milton K. Buck flew to my presence. He threw his arms around me, so great was his joy, and swore that I would win honorable standing room among the ablest men of the state. How noble he looked, What heroic roll there was in his voice
 The convention met. Milton K. Buck placed my name in nomination, and then, with speech that built it. self up in a great tower of eloquence, won the majority over to his side. 1 was declared the nominee. l seized my friends hand and, in wavering tones of gratitude, thanked him.
 The campaign was now begun in earnest; and, thrilled with an ambi- tion which had never felt before, sold my house and lot and threw the money into the rat hole of politics. Every one seemed to think that would be elected. thought so.
 One day, several weeks before the election, Milton K. Buck came to see me.
 "How goes the campaign, my dear friend2" 1 asked.
 "Oh, you are elected. That fellow Jones hasn't got the ghost of show. But," he added, I did not come to talk politics. For some time the plot of story has been running through my head-not one of your tame and everyday stories, but something so unusual and strong that I know that it cannot help making an impression. AS you know am quite a successful lawyer, and am we'll known locally, but 1 would like to be known away from home, 30 that when I visit a distant city I may find a prestige awaiting me. In the field of litera- ture recognition is ever on the look out for merit. Now, have written my story and have brought it with me. 1 want you to read it and tell me exactly what you think of it.. Understand, now, do not want the false estimate of friendship, but a clear cut and disinterested opinion. The greatest good you can confer upon a man is to tell him the truth; and, as l have been and am still your friend, I now ask you to befriend me with your honest opinion of this story"
 He handed me the manuscript, and I read the story. It was worse than crude, for in crudity we often find the hair lines of ability, but in this story there was not trace of merit, not & single promise of that peculiar faculty which in time can learn to construct a pleasing narrative.
 "What do you think of it?" he asked.
 "Milton, said l, "to be an orator is one thing; to be writer is something else. You are an able, an eloquent speaker, but your writing"
 'I asked what you thought of the story"
 "Milton, my dear friend, I do not think that it is worthy of you-you can speak with such clearness. Your characters are poorly drawn and your plot is old"
 "Give it here," he said. handed him the manuscript. "You seem to think" said he, "that all literary suc- cess in this state 'revolyes' around