Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1891-06-28

With the Old World 10 the grave
Twas King In Babylon
Aud you were a Christian slave
His name was Charlie Mcars: he was the
only son Of his mother, who was widow.
and he lived in the north of London,
coming into the city every day to work IN
a bank. lie was twenty years old, and
suffered from aspirations. met him IN q
public billiard-saloon, where the marker
called him by his given name, and he call
ed the marker "Bullseyes." Charlie ex-
plained. a little ncrvously, that he had
only gone to the place 10 look on, and,
since looking on at games of skill Is not
likely 20 be cheap amusement, ! suggest
ed that Charlie should 60 back 10 his
mother.
That was our first step toward better &C
quaintancc. He would call on me some
times in the evening instead OF running
about London with fcllow-clorks. and be-
fore long. speaking always OF himself as
young man must. he told me.of his asplra-
tions, which were literary. He desired TO
mako an undying name, chiefly through
verse. though he was not sending stores
Of love and death 20 the cheap drop-a-
nickle-in-the-slo t-and-get-a- prize Journals.
II was my fate 20 SIT still while Charlie
read to me poems OF many hundred lines
each and bulky fragments OF plays that
were going to shake the world. My
reward was his unreSeTved confidence, and
the self-revelatiops and troubles OF n
young man are almost as holy as
those of maiden. Charlie had never
fallen in love. but was anxious to do 50 on
the first opportunity. He believed III all
things good and all things honorable, but
az the same time was curiOusly careful to
let me see that he knew his way about the
world as befitted bank clerk on twenty.
Eve shillings "A week. He rhymed dove
with love" and moon" with June,
aud devoutly believed that they had never
been so rhymed before. The long. lame
gaps in his plays he filled IN with few
words Of apology and description and
swept on. seeing all that hc intended 10 90
so clearly that he esteemed 1t already
done and turned TO me 70: applause.
fancy that his mother did not approve
Of his aspirations, and | know that his
writing-tahle AT home was the edge OF his
washstand. This was told me almost at
the beginning of our acquaintance. when
h. was ravaging my book-shelves, ana
leile before | was implored TO speak the
truth about his chances of writing some
thing really great, Won know" Maybe !
encouraged him too much, for one night
lie called on me. his eyes flaming with eX-
citement. and said brcathlessly:
=" Do YOU mind-cau you let me stay here
and write all this evening? won't inter
rupt you-I won't. really. There's no place
for me 10 write in at my mothers
What's the troubicf" | said.
"Pyc a notion IN NV head that would
make the most splendid story that ever
was written. Do let me write II out here.
It's such notion
There va, no resisting the appeal | set
him table and loaded 1t with all the
devils tools that drive man TO despair.
lie hardly thanked me, hut plunged into
the work ~ once. For half an hour the
pen scratched without stopping. Then
Charlie sighed and tagged his hair. The
scratching grew slower, there were more
erasures. and at last he ceased altogether.
The finest story IN the world would not
come ont.
1T LOOKS such awful rot now he said |
mourntully. And yet il seemed so good |
when I was thinking about it. What's
WTong."