Connecticut western news., 1895-01-10
ANTICIPATING FAME.
sEsANT's PATHETIC STORY oF"PkuL
 THE WANDERER."

The Quiet Dignity of . Man Who Wa Liv-
 ing For Posterity-A Pretty Little skit
 Written In the Enxiish Novslisrs Inimi-
 table Style.
 I knew him for several years before his death When I first made his ao- quaintanoe, he was already an old man He was also, as was evident from the first, a very poor man He went about shabbily dressed He carried biscuits in his pocket to the reading room on which he lunched or took maoks at in- tervals during the day. Perhaps he had dinner afterward, but always suspect ed his dinner to ba an uncertain and . movable feast It was understood that he was something in the literary way. I 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 flirt and so forth. When got to know him better, I made little discoveries about him, as, for instance, that he liked glass of beer in the middle of the day and that he could not afford the twopenoe. 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 edgeP 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 . house in High street. Holborn.
 ''I lodge here" he said twill you come up stairs and ses my hermitage"
 remember that he called it grandly his hermitage He led the way; the stairs were dark and dirty; he took mo to the fifth, or fifty fifth, floor. He liv- ed in the back attic.
 ''This," he said, lis the cell of the recluse. live here quite retired There are other lodgers, I believe, but I do not know them. 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 grate; on shelf were about 26 books-his library. The man looked per fectly oontented with his hermitage. There were no papers on the table, nothing to show that he was writer.
 do not know how he hved-oertain- ] ly 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 l am what do you think?-a poet It is 80 years since I 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 copy. There. my young friend" He pro- duoed thin volume. "I am Paul the Wanderer In fact, the title page bore the legend, Collected Poetical Work of Paul the Wanderer.
 Thirty years, he repeated "There were 800 copies. The press received 50, the public bought four; there remained 446. have now given you one. There now remain 445. have bequeathed these to the public libraries of the na- tion. Sir, you are young. You will yourself perhaps publish your poems Remember for your comfort that it takes 50 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- quires 50 years at least Go. sirl Take the book have given you. and in after years, when am gone, tell the world that you knew-Paul the Wandererr' I wrung his hand in silence and left him. More than 50 years have passed since he published that work No one has yot 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 noth- ing.-Walter Besant in London Queen-
 SHE SPOKE TOO SOON.