Barton County democrat. [volume] (Great Bend, Kan.) 1885-1915, 1895-11-14
A TYPICAL EXPERIENCE.
By JAMES DOUGLASS.


desired goal, my life should go out
like the faint flicker of the lamp
there growing DINNER and DINNER,
when, with the last spasmodic gasp,
it finally succumbs to its natural
demands for fresh oil to prolong its
existence? The bitter had long been
my experience. Was l never to
taste the sweet? Does fame come
only to favored few and must the
great majority sink into oblivion?
/ was prone to believe that my
lot was cast with the former, and
yet did not my previous experience
teach me that the latter was the
most likely termination to my life
struggle? But persevere would
yea,.if thousand voices whispered
in my ear: Give it upp'
"'Give It'll p?' Mol Away, tempter.
am made of sterner stuff. I will
succeed"
These were the questions 1 asked
myself-these were my thoughts as
l put the finishing touches to my
little poem, and, carefully folding it,
closed it and addressed it to the
editor, at the same time murmuring
prayer that this, my latest and
best-each time it is the best
production, might not meet the fate
of its predecessors in the waste
basket.
was not a writer by profession; I
did not live by my pen, but the
professional writer was not born
who was more enthusiastic in his
work than I was. The earlier aspir-
ations of Tennyson or Longfellow
paled into insigni6cance compared
with my wild hopes of future glory.
l stayed up longer that night than
usual-not because my poem caused
me the slightest trouble, for words
seemed to slip from my pen like
clear spring ripping over its pebbly
bed in the brook down in the woods,
and the scratch, scratch of the pen
sounded like music in my ears.
No; I was thinking of the fate of
that letter as it lay before me on the
table, and wished could peep into
the hearts of those great authors
whose work had made them famous
and see if l could not find away down
in their innermost depths memory
of their earlier struggles for literary
fame that would compare in any way
with mine, and to convince myself
that had not suffered in vain, that
my bread had not been cast upon
the waters and 1, too, would live to
reap the fruits OF my labors.
Unconscious of the fight of time,
moved my position to a more restful
one and as slight tremor shook my
frame ! glanced toward the fire. Not
a spark remained; it had evidently
been out for some time. l walked
toward the window. and only then
did l realize how cold it was. I
drew up the blind, and as the gray,
feecy clouds of the early dawn went
scurrying by, I watched the leaves
as they fell from the trees blown
hither and thither and finally drop
ping one by one to the ground, that
was soon thiclxly strewn with the
scattered foliage which but short
time before clothed the mighty oak,
the maple and the hedgerow.
ALL the very words of my poem
came into my mind as wildly as if
they were written on the frosted
window-pane against which pressed
my hot brow, still needless of the
feeting hours.
A hand was tenderly slipped into
mine, and with the words of my
poem still on my lips, l was gently
led away by my wife to seek that
sleep of which l had never thought,
but which 1 deeply needed.
1t wanted two days to Sunday, the
day when all the great dailies are
teeming with the products of the
human brain in one shape or another,
and the day that was to see my hopes
and aspirations once more ruthlessly
dashed to the ground or raised upon
that pinnacle which to me would be
the stepping stone to fame-the first
appearance of my work in print.
Although l had tempted fate and
the still more relentless editor many
times before and had waited pa
tiently but in vain, / never had
experienced the same feeling as
did on this occasion. Ifelt sort of
blissfuI security behind the fortress
of my latest work, and no amount of
reasoning from past experience could
change the tenor of my thought.
This alone served to increase my
restlessness, and when finally Sun
day morning dawned cold and cheer
less-Sunday, that was supposed to
bring with it rest and quietness,
brought nothing to me but turmoil
~ &b1,,ri,f