The intelligencer. [volume] (Lexington, Mo.) 1887-1891, 1890-02-15
BLOOD AND
They We're the Chief Ingredients
Maurice Thnmnann,A First Novel.

Maurice ~ThonpsOn's First Novel.
Tha the foIlies OF the Young man haunt
men IN their mature years was perhaps
never mora clearly proven, says the Indian
apoliS journal, than it has been by the re-
cent unlookcd-ior and somewhat udicrous
experience OF Maurice Thompson, the dis
tinguished author, IN whose later writings
Indiana takes especial pride, and which the
literary circles of the English speaking
world read with 50 much pleasure. The story
OF Mr.. Thompson's discontinue is best told
by That gentleman himself, and the follow
ing recital made TO II journal representative
Will be read with interest by ali who have
read ms later writings. Said he:
I'm the latter part of the year 1859, when
L was a mere youth but little past my ma
Jorlty (having cone TO Indiana from the
South the year b~efore), | found myself al
most pennlless and without any visible
means OF support. The war had left me q
rather 0ewildered and certainly u very
calloW bit OF Jetsam stranded On the shore
OF poverty in a strange country, SO far as
acquaintance or friends able to aid me
were concerned. The thought came into
my head that | might write q novel and
get money for 1t. Looking back now to that
Tune makes the thought appear both pa
thetlc aud ludlcrOus. Certainly no youth
was ever more wanting in all the equip
ment Tor hctIon writing. Quite undauut-
ed, however, | sailed into the task with
furious ardor, and began to grind out MS.
at u rate impossible TO un experienced
writer. When the story OF 1.-THE League of the
Gaudsloupe' was finished / felt sure that l
had made u mighty fine story bul somehow
the editors and publishers did not see into
its wonderful qualities. 1 sent it from one
to another with industrious haste, and with
hungry antlcipatlons. A year or more
dragged past, and | was almost disheart-
ened. when some good angel Tor was It a
demonD directed me to offer my frsthng to
Messrs. Street & Smith, of the New York
weekly. Then came my triumph. In u few
days q letter reached Inc, bearing to nv
emaciated fingers a check for one hundred
dollars. l well remember the solid lump
that leaped INTO my throat at sight OF that
bit OF commercial paper. For u minute l
thought L should choke. The earth appeared
TO have been made q present TO me, and the
sky took on the hue OF simmering bank bills.
l was famous and rich. I felt that Sylvauus
Cobb, Jr., must bow to me, and retire at
once from the profession OF sensational fc-
tlon writing.
"Wel, days, weeks, months, years, lust
runs went by and l never again heard OF
my precious Ms. until recently, when some
one told me that it was appearing as q serial
In the New York Weekly. / procured O
copy Of that Journal, and there, sure enough,
all dripping with gore and spangled with
bowie knives and pistols, and laring with
red lights, famed my long delayed master-
piece. Twenty years Of delay had not even
~coagulated its blood or tanned its murderous
spirit in the least. l had forgotten its title,
and / could not recall the name of O single
character In it, but q glance was sufficient.
The long-lost vision arose before my eyes,
like some Of those memories of battle, with
all the sulphur and powder-blaze, and cir
cling smoke, and thunder and blood.
eyes, it's a dime dreadful Of the dime
dreadfulest sort, perhaps; I haven't read It
yet; but forgive me if l confess that q sort
Of tender feeling for 1t Is, right now, assert
ing Itself in my heart. Why, that story
made 1t possible for me to live until I could
begin life in Indiana. I took that money
and did begin, and although 1 can not feel
that / have done much, still, what I have
lone roots Its possibility back III the soil of
the ensanguined fiction which bore for Its
first fruits the welcoInest remittance of
cash thatI have handled"