St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1890-11-30
LITERARY SYMPTOMS.
Adinterim CudWorth Attempts
to Fly From the Journal
iStic Grind. S.
He Vainly Seeks Seelusion.
on the Far Western
PpairieS. -
~
But Rib-Digging Fate Awak-
ems Him From His Fond II
Dream, q.
And Dark Despair Again En-
velOpes Him as With
q Cloud. 81

and as an all-arOund dresser would eX-
cite remark in the corridors of the
Union League club. Ostensibly he
dropped in to reduce his idea surplus
and incidentally negotiate loan. Mr..
Cudworth said:
''In this fag-end of the nineteenth
century one cannot escape from warm
literary atmosphere. Not even If he
travels on pass. 1t seems to me that
nineteen men out of twenty are feeding
publishers and printing machines with
hot and cold manuscript, and the TWEEN
tieth man comes failing along on the
outskirts of various suburbs painting
signs OH fences. He thinks he's a
sort of
Literary Apprentice.
Literature is in the air everywhere,
and even the man who edits the paper
bags and store wrappers wants to join
press club"
''You believe that throughout the civ
iliZed world there prevails an epidemic
of cacoethes scribendi," pleasantly in
terjected.
"Excuse me-" replied Mr.. Cudworth.
with some hauteur." Il don't talk Ill
italics. True, am somewhat educated,
but not severely classical and lapsus
lingu8. But talk about the civilized
world running to literature; why, she's
spreading over both hemiSpheres. And
Stanleys, Emin Pashas, Wissmanns and
DIR. Peterses are busy opening. up dark
continents for the express purpose of
civiliZing the natives into other SwarmS
of journalistic competitors. I've suf-
fered from competition III the literary
line myself"
You have edited a number of our
leading Journals, take it?'
Partially; yes. partially. For about
three weeks worked assiduously upon
one of them"
"Didn't they treat you well?'
'Oh, yes; in degree. The boys
were kind to me. They would play
poker with me
Every Pay Day.
Some of them would go so far as to
shake dice and act real social like. But,
sir, that's not the point. What do we
see to-day? The pulse of agriculture
beats low and faint; the pulse of author
ship runs high and furious. Farmers
offspring are hOcking into our cities,
bringing flavor of new-mown hay and
smokehouse aroma, and waking pub
fishers up in the night to see what they
wanted wrote about next day. Go East,
West, North OF South, and you cannot
escape these literary symptoms You
cannot find a spot where you can
walk out and, taking a long, low
sniff of the primeval ozone, say, with a
glad burst of hilarity, Here, at last, the
gh0ul of literature cannot athwart our
path. Here the people are dense and
low down, and ignorant, and groveling
in their tastes, totally bucollc and
SQuaShy. Here no aspiring genius
climbs in from the barn yard and writes
dramatic criticisms and editorial roasts.
Here one can bask and frolic amid the
grass roots without stepping on a ham
Journalist. No, sir, it can't be done.
I'ye tried it,
You say you have tried to fly this lit
erary masma? In which direction?'
81 went West. L went as far West as
South Dakota"
''And failed?"
"Teetotaliy. Would you mind hearing
the details?''
elf not too narrowing"
al went out in September when every
thing is supposed to be glorious. l
found literature and journalism BOOM
ing all along the road and doing their
full share of the clarifying. On the
train between Chicago and st. Paul
candy butcher dumped about 300 pounds
OF yellow ochre literature into my car
seat and like to broke my leg.
These said l, warming my be-
nnmbed fingers over copy of the
Kreutzer Sonata, ARE the fruits of the
teeming Eastern brains and foreign in
teilectuals. Everybody is at it; bys-
and girls, old women and de mented
Russian aristOcracy. Ali writing. l
pine to gain some Utopia where bottle
of ink would last township whole
year; where
Tho HAnast
pass one pen around among thirteen
ia miles to sign chattel mortgages. Tell
me, my friend,' l said, tapping an elder
ly gentleman in the seat before me on
the shoulder. do you know of place
out West where literature and Journal
ism are Scarce'
"'YeS, reckon l do he said.
=" Where there are no literary symp-
toms?'
Yes
"'Whei
I" How fur West you goin'?'
81 am kolng till L get to the place
you speak of. Is it in Alaskan
mo: you go on out to South Dakota
and stop Off at Rialto.'
"'NOthing of the kind there?'
"'Never heard of any,
''Then he buried himself in hateful
newspaper and L went to sleep. Two
days after this awoke on the South
Dakota prairieS. l don't wish to be un-
derStood that l slept all through car
changes and SO forth, but L invariably
sleep all l can on trains, and thus
avoid
Candy Butchers.
The train was running at its usual
rate of speed, though ] do not know
why it should have done otherwise. The
scenery comprised telegraph poles.
broken now and then by strips of barb
wire fence. Aside from the bits of pic
tnresqueness there was nothing partic-
ularly romantic along the route. The
ride was unbrOken by incident, save
that cataleptic youth had fit in the
rear end of the smoking car and three
card monte man was thrown off the
train at JimtOwn. The cars slowed up
at a short platform and a brakeman.
came inside to say that this was Ry-al-
to. There was not an edifice in sight.
not even woodpile.
"'What place did you say this was?u
inquired of the brakeman.
1t amt any place; it's Ri-aI-to."
VI carried my grip out into the wide
expanse of raw atmosphere and looked
around. The expressman was throwing
out some boxes, bundles and egg cases.
and before realized my precariOus DO
sitiOn the train was mile and half to
windward on a western tack.
"'By heavens, l have reached Ultima
ThuleH / exclaimed excitedly. The
elderly gentleman on the Chicago train
has wreaked upon me most ghastly
piece of pleasantly Then l deserted
against the horizon mule team cutting
across lots about two miles so by so'-
west. 1t was headed for the platform
upon which was pacing in an agitatrd
manner. Finally the team, driven by