The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1890-06-11
JOHN LONGS SACRIFICE
BY WILLIAM BAYARD HALE.

Long. At least, it ought to have been.
1t was a miserable career, indeed, that nc
regarded, if he cast his eye backward
over his life. After he had thrown away
several wears and considerable money at
college, and bad wasted some months in
business office, he had employed HIM
self as campaign speakc: IN far OH
Statc-tirst on one side, but finally on
the other.
After the election, when he had used
all the money he had made and all nc
could borrow at home, he had trampcd
to Cincinnati, for miles and borrowed a
hundred dollars of his uncle. Then,
with harum. scarum chum, he projected
magazine. The prospectus was bril-
liant; after the first number the editors
left the city, John going home and the
chum into sanctuary to develop some new
scheme.
The new scheme was developed. 1t
took the shape of a school for boys-the
Kentucky Classical College, it was to be
called. The cham aforesaid furnished
the capital this time. Joha procured the
degrees of 3. A. and Ph. d., they got
out glowing catalogue, and the Ken
lucky Classical College opened with fine
prospects Oh September 18th. BY Octo-
Der / two boys had come. They were
graduated with honors on the I'd, and
the faculty got home as best it could.
So John had been home all summer.
To be sure, he had not been idle. He
had laid oat a trip through Europe,
which he proposed to tramp after the
fashion of Bayard Taylor, writing letters
to defray expenses.
He had cowesponded with all the lead
ing journals, but somehow had not sue
ceeded in impressing any sufficiently to
get an advance upon which to start.
Then, too, he had opened the Great
Western Literary Bureau, which lnstltu-
tion read, criticized and touched up man
uscripts for would-be authors, and did
other such literary work. THIS was what
the prospectus announced; however, 1t
was never called upon to do any work.
It was becoming Il very apparent thing
that John Long was ''no account. Ana
he knew it we'll enough; none realized
more than he that he was visionary, im-
practicable and lazy; he laughed at his
own schemes, and had no faith in their
success, vet he vowed he would starvc
before he would work like other men.
If ever he had serious moment he must
have dispised himself; yet do not know
that he cid.
He seemed to piquc himself on his
lack of what we call common sense; he
avowcd himself brother to fools he used
to say that, like Lamb, his sympathieS
were with the foolish virgins and the
man who built his house upon the sand.
haze known him 70 spend his last dol
lar for theatre scat, or for a dinner at
an uptown hotel, when he knew he would
have no supper and no bed at night.
If John Long had had the genius Of
Poe or Goldsmith YOU might admire him.
We expect improvidencc as to common
things in men of genius. But John was
only commonplace fellow: never did a
brilliant thing that l know of. Hc
might have made a successful man, as
men 60; he was, perhaps, as bright as
the average; but at a certain point In his
life he failed to be impressed with the
practicalress of living, and went of into
idling and dreaming.
Now, there was Arthur Brooks. The
two boys had a fair start in life; l be-
lieve John was the more clever; but
Art, al, hast Tnhn 81
disappointment, cvcn when he was i boy,
and it was so through all his life. He
lacked the element OF success.
John and Arthur were great friends
they grew out of boyhood together, and
were loyal q each other as young men
yes, even after they became rivals for the
affections of Lucy Harris. What on earth
had become of what little wit John Long
had when he thought of entangling a
woman in his own miserable existence
do not know. But Lucy undoubtedly
liked him. You do not care to know
how great friends they became; how, of
all living beings, John poured out his
heart to her, and how tender and good
she was to him. You might like
to know that she was beautiful, with a
bewitching face and true eyes, and all
that could be asked for in lovely girl.
All, they were good friends, John and
Lucy, and they talked of those things
that burdencd most heavily their foolish
young hearts: the mystery of that life
into which they had been flung and that
frightened them when first they were
awakened to it, the awfulness of life and
of the sceptrc of life. And so John
grew to love the sweet girl with all his
heart. 1t is little enough good that can
be said of John Long, but his life ives
the better that he carried through it al
ways pure love for Lucy.
He never told her of it. 1t is not to
be doubted that he would have been fool
ish enough to have done so: but ono
evening, when he was home the last time,
she told him as she would have told her
brother of her bctrothal to Arthur
Brooks. 1t was not till she was through
that the realization Of what it was to John
flashed upon her And John told her he
would go away.
John left that very night 1t may be
that after that he would have liked to
have made man of himself, but his old
habits were upon him. He wandered
about the South for few months, per,
suading himself that he was studying the
race question, and that presently he would
write a series Of magazine articles that
would startle the country. Finally he
brouoht m at Atlanta with his money