The morning call., 1894-02-25

| L don't ike 10 read them 10 others. Still
do in, but until / find that my audience
shows some interest in them l am bashful
and backward. l feel very foolish when
begin reading on the platform, and this
feeling does not disappear until there is
some decided interest manifested by the
audience"
"Your stories are full of fun, Mr.. John
stoD." said |. II have laughed great
| deal over hen.'
Indeed" was the reply. "Well. dc you
know that l seldom laugh when l am
| writing them, and some of my best work
and that which is said by che people to be
/ the most full of fun has been done under
| the saddest of circumstances. / am
naturally of melancholy temperament.
l must have society and l want to get
away from myself. One of nv funniest
stories was composed shortly after l came
here from Georgia. | was distracted at
| the time with grief over the death of nv
daughter. I feared as to the result of my
change of residence, and 1T is a wonder IT,
me now that L was able to write at all at
the time"
''Do you think it mistake that you did
not begin writing at younger age?"
said /.
II don't know" was the reply. II doubt
whether would have written any better
| if had begun sooner. feel intellectually
as strong to-day as l ever did and l write
as easily. All of my writing has, you
know, been done within the past twenty
years, and during that time | have written
seventv-fiye short stories and several
books"
How about the profits of literatureP'
There is not great deal of money in
my writing for me-" replied Mr.. john
ston. II mean don't make from SIS, 900
! to $4,000 a year by my reading and writ
ing, as Bill Nye or James Whitromb Riley
are said TO do. If get from $500 to $1,000
| per year | think il is more than | am
worth. receive for my work from SIS to
| $50 per thousand words, and a short story
pays me $50 and upward, according to
Is length ana character. 1t seems to me
a great deal for them.
Il find it more difficult to write o short
story than long one. In writing a short
| story you have to make every word tell.
| I on must be- very concise, and think hat
conciseness is tie great secret of success
| IN good writing. L like short stories bet
ter Than l'ng ones. though [ would rather
| turn out one long story than two short
ones. l don't find, however, that [ am
success as a bookmaker. My stories have
been put into book shape in a number of
cases, and they usually sell somewhere
from 1000 TO 5000 copies. They don't run
much above this"
What DO you think of the dialect
stOry?"
1T seems to me that the people do not
| care so much for il as they did in the past.
| hy SUITES are III uldloCI, IOT LllS Is DeeQe0
In order to describe the people of whom
write. We people of the South are fond of
our dialect, and party of well-eduested
Georgia men, when talking socially to-
gether, will often drop into the dialect of
their boyhood. During the days when
alexander Stephens was 10 Congress
number of Heli-known Georgiaus often
dined with him at the National Hotel. l
was sometimes present with them, and any
one TO have heard our conversation would
have put us down as ignorant anu I'M
cultured. There is a charm about the old
dialect that appeals TO those who use it,
and it seems it brings my people closer to
me. l sometimes use it 10 my family,
though my wife and daughter generally
object"
The conversation here turned to Alexan-
der Stephens. Richard Malcolm Johnston
was one of Alexander Stephens closest
friends. The two men were closely asso-
clated together during great part of their
lives, and one the best of our American
biographies is Mr.. Johnston's lie of Alex
ander ID. Stephens. During the talk he
told me how he secured some of the ma
terial for this life. Said he: ALEXANDER
Stephens and myself cOrresponded to-
gether Tor years, and we got into the habit
OF writing letters 10 one another under
assumed names. This began in 1862.
had written bit If doggerel poetry and
sent 1t to Mr.. Stephens with letter signed
'Jeems Giles In this [ pretended that l
wanted TO be a poet, and l asked Mr.
stephens advice as TO how l should i'm
prove my style and dispose of my poem.
Mr. Stephens recognized the handwriting
and few days later l received a letter
which was signed Peter Finkle.' Under
this signature Mr.. Siephens wrote an
answer to my letter. Finkle pretended
that ne was sort of a private secretary of
Mr.. Stephens, and he wrote his masters
IDEAS on the subject of my poetry. 1t was,
OF course, Mr.. Stephens himself.
For some time we carried on this snrt OF
a correspondence, my letters always being
signed Jeems Giles, and Alexander a. !
Stephens being signed Peter Finkle
Shortly after the correspondence be-
gan L asked Peter Finkle to give me
some stories about his master, whom
he called the Boss and in reply to
this Alexander Stephens told me ia these
letters large part of the story of his life
He described his school days, and wrote
much more freely than he could have writ
ten had he been writing concerning him
SELF in the first person. He was one of the
most charming writers, and he kept during
part of his early life sort of diary or
journal. l was visiting him at one time at
his home in Georgia. l had asked him
many questions about his early life, and
just before we went to bed one night he
asked me TO come TO his room. l did so,
and he then showed me dusty old manu-
script which was marked 'Noii me tan
gere.' This was his diary. He said he
had not looked at it for years. and that ne
often intended to destroy it. He read
several pages of it to me and finally con-
sented that / might read the whole of
1t. This was before the war. / knew
him intimately up to the time of his
DEATH
please tell me how he looked ?" said ].
HE was a little bundle of skin and
bones. He never weighed more than 100
pounds, and during his youth he weighed
less than seventy. In his diary l remem-
Der he rejoices at having increased his |
weight 10 ninety-four pounds. He was at
this time 81, and he states that when he |
left college at 10 his net weight was only
seventy pounds. During his whole life L |
venture he did not have a moment which |
was free from pain. He was always cold, |
Notwithstanding the fact that he wore two |
suits of silk underclothes. winter and sum-
mer. He generally wore gloves in the |
house and out, and he had the most deli |
cate stomach of any man / have ever |
known. He was melancholy in his tenn
permanent, and was full of fears and ankle |
ties about himself and his friends. He |
was the most tendar-hearted man I haye |