Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1893-1920, 1894-11-17
ANTICIPATING FAME.
eEsANT's PATHETIC STORY OF "PAUL
THE WANOERER."

The Quiet Dignity Of Man who Yves Lsv-
ing For I,osterity-A Pretty llttle Skit
Written In the English Novelist's Inimi-
tah,c style.
Ilnev aim for several years before
his death. When first made his &C.
quaintance, he was already an old man.
He was also, as was evident from the
first, n very poor man. He went about
shabbily dressed. He carried biscuits
in his pocket to the reading room on
which he lunched or took snacks at in
tervals during the day. Perhaps he had
dinner afterward, but always suspect
ed his dinner to be an uncertain and
movable feast. 1t was understood that
he was something in the literary way
got to know him by sitting next to
him day after day. We exchanged the
amenities of the reading room, apollo
gized for crowding each other with
books, abused the takers. remarked ON
the impudence of those who go to the
room in order to flirt and SO forth.
When ] got to know him better, !
made little discoveries about him, as,
for instance, that he liked q glass of
beer in the middle of the day and that
he could not afford the twopence. may
say, not boastfully, that was able to
offer him this little luxury. We used
to go out together for the purpose. He
was good enough to take an interest in
my work. He proved to have a consider
able knowledge of books and gave me
considerable help in this way.
One Sunday / met him in the street
We stopped to speak. He lamented the
closing of the museum on Sunday. For
his own part, he said, he would have
the reading room open every day in the
week. Why close the avenues Of knowl-
edge: Why damn the fountains and
springs of wisdom: So we walked and
talked He was perfectly dignified in
his manner, though his great coat was
SO thin and shabby that one might be
ashamed to be seen with him. He stop
ped presently at the door Of a house in
High street, Holborn.
Il lodge here" he said. will you
come up stairs and see my hermitage"
/ remember that he called il grandly
his hermitage. He led the way; the
stairs were dark and dirty; he took me
to the fifth. or fifty fifth, floor. He liv-
cd in the back attic.
This" he said. lis the cell of the
recluse. live here quite retired. There
are other dodgers, believe. but l do
not know them. l live here with my
library in simplicity. The air is whole
some at this height. "
He threw open the window and sniff
ed the fragrance of the neighboring
chimneys. The room was clean; the
furniture was scanty; there was no fire
in the crate; on a shelf We're about %
books-his library. The man looked per-
fectly contented with his hermitage
There We're no papers on the table,
nothing to show that he was 4 writer.
do not know how he lived-certain-
~ he did no work at the museum-but
he never borrowed In one corner stood
wooden chest. He lifted the lid and
nodded and laughed.
AHA" he said, now / am going to
reveal a secret You didn't know, no.
body at the museum knows, the people
in the house don't know, that ] am
what do you think:-a poet. 1t is 80
years since l paid for the publication
of my collected poetical works. Yes,
sir. and am going not only TO commu-
nicate this secret to your honor-in safe
keeping-but to present you with a
copy. There. my young friend" He pro-
duced thin volume. Il am Paul the
Wanderer. F" In fact, the title page bore
the legend, COLLECTED Poetical Work
of Paul the Wanderer
Thirty years. he repeated There
We're 500 copies The press received so.
the public bought four; there remained
4i6. l have now given you one There
now remain 445. l have bequeathed
these to the public libraries Of the ma.
ton. Sir, you are young. You will
yourself perhaps publish your poems
Remember for your comfort that j,
takes so years, or two generations,
for the noblest poets to take their
proper place Greatness-true. stable.
solid greatness not the empty applause
given to an ephemeral favorite-re.
guires so years at least. Go, sir, Take
the book have given you, and i'm after
years, when l am gone, tell the world
that you knew-Paul the Wanderer!''
wrung his hand in silence and lef,
him. More than 80 years have passed
since he published that work. No one
has yet spoken TO me of Paul the Wan.
derer. But now understood his digni
ty. his self respect and his content. He
was anticipating and enjoying his fu
ture fame. He was living for posterity.
Present poverty and neglect were moth
ing. Walter Besant in London Queen