The Evening dispatch. [volume] (Provo, City, Utah) 1891-1895, 1895-03-18
ANTICIPATING FAME.
sEsANT's PATHETIC STORY OF "PAUL
THE WANDERER."


ing For Posterity--A Pretty little Sl1it
Written In the English Novelist's mimi.
table Style.
knew him for several years before
his death. When 1 first made his 40
quaintanee, he was already an old 1nan.
He was also, as was evident from the
drst, very poor man. He went about
shabbily dressed He carried biscuits
Ia his pocket to the reading room on
which he lpnched or took snacks at in
tervals during the day. Perhaps ne 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 rsading 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 l got to know him better, /
made little discoveries about him, as,
for instance, that be liked d 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 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
30 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.
81 lodge here, he said. will you
come up stairs and see my hermitage?"
remember that he called it grandly
his hermitage. He led the way; the
stairs were dark and dirty; he took mg
to the fifth, or fifty fifth, floor. He livs
cd in the back attic.
"This," he said, sis the cell of the
reG5use. live here quite retired. There
are other dodgers, I believe, but dc
not know them. 1 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 shelf were about %
bool;s-his library. The man looked per-
fectly contented with his hermitage
Tk9re were no papers on the table.
nothing to show that he was a writer.
do not know how he ived-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.
"Ahap' he said, "now l am going to
reveal . secret. You didn't know, no
body al lie museum knows the people
in the house don't know that I am
what do you think?-a poet. 1t is 30
years since paid for the publication
of my collected poetical works Yes,
sir, and I am going not only to oommu
nicate this secret to your honor-in safe
keeping-but to present you with a
copy. There, my young friendi' Hepro-
duced thin volume. 81 am Paul the
Wanderer. - In fact, the title page bore
the legend, COLLECTED Political Work
If Paul the Wanderer. Z"
''Thirty years, - he repeated. "Thers
we're 500 copies. The press received so,
the public bought four; there remained
446. 1 have now given you one. There
now remain 445. 1 have bequeathed
these to the public libraries of the ma
ton. Sir, you are young You will
yourself perhaps publish your poeDa
Remember for your comfort that 1t
takes 30 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 fayorite-re-
quires so years at least Go, sirl Take
the book 1 have given you, and in after
years, when I am gone, tell the world
that you knew-Paul the WandererP'
| wrung his hand in silence and left
him. More than so years have passed
since lie 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