The Madison daily leader. [volume] (Madison, S.D.) 1890-current, 1894-10-22
ANTICIPATING FAME.
REsANT's PATHETIC STORY or "PAuL
THE WANDERER.n

The Quiet Dignity OF o Man Who Was Liv-
Ing For Posterity-A Pretty Little skit
Written In the English Novelist's Inimi-
abb Style.
I knew him for several years before
bis death. When | first made his ac-
Euaintance, he was already an old man.
He was also, as was evident from the
first, q 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 a
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 impotence of those who go to the
room in order to firt and so forth.
When I 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. Imay
say, not b~oastfully, that I vas 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 q 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 venue of knowl-
edge? Why damn the fountains and
springs of wisdom? So we walked and
talked. He was perfectly dignifed 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 q house in
| High street, Holborn.
IT lodge here he said. Twill 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-
| ed in the back attic.
This" he said, lis the cell of the
recluse. I live here quite retired. There
are other dodgers, ! believe, but / do
not know them I 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
| chinneys The room was clean; the
| furniture was scanty; there was no fire
in the CRATE; ON a shelf were about %
books-his library. The man looked per-
fect1y contented with his hermitage.
There were no papers on the table,
nothing to show that he wa d writer.
I do not know how he lived--certain-
" he did no work at the museum-but
he never borrowed. In one corner stood
a wooden chest. He lifted the lid and
nodded and laughed.
"Ahai'' he said, ''now I am going to
reveal a secret. You didn't know, no.
body at the museum knows, the people
In the house don't lnow, that I ami
what do you think?-a poet. IL ID SO
years since I paid for the publication
of my collected poetical works Yes,
sir, and / am going not only to co1nznu-
nicate this secret to your honor-in safe
keeping-but to present you with q
copy. There, my young friendr' Hepro-
duced a thin volume. II am Paul the
Wanderer. In fact, the title page bore
the legend, Collected Poetical Work
of Paul the Wandered.
Thirty years, !" he repeated. There
were 500 copies. The press received 90,
the public bought four; there remained
446. have now given you n There
now remain 445. / have b~equeathed
these to the public Libraries of the ma
tion. Sir, you are young. You will
yourself perhaps publish your poems.
Remember for your comfort that IL
takes 80 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-rel
quires 90 years at least. Go, siri Take
the book / have given you, and in aftel
years, when ] am gone, tell the world
that you knew-Paul the Wandered
/ wrung his hand In silence and LEFT
him. More than 90 years have passed
since he published that work. No one
has yet spoken to me of Paul the Wan!
derer. Bnt / now understood his digui.
ty, his self respect and his content. He
was anticipating and enjoying his IN!
ture fame He was living for posterity.
Present poverty and neglect were nosh-
| ing.-Walter Besant in London Queen.
Another Mammoth Statue.