The Coeur d'Alene press. (Coeur d'Alene, Idaho) 1892-1907, 1895-01-26
ANTICIPATING FAME.
eesANT'S PATHETIC STORY OF "PAuL
THE WANoeRER."

The Quiet Dignity Of . Man Who Wa Liv-
ing For Posterity-A Pretty Little skit
Written In the English Novslist's Inirni-
table style.
knew him for several years before
his death When first made his &C
quaintance, he was already an old man
He was also, as was evident from tho
first, very poor man He went about
shabbily dressed He carried biscuits
in his pocket to the reading room OF
which he lunched or took snacks at in.
eervals during the day. Perhaps he had
dinner afterward, but always suspect
ed his dinner to be an uncertain and .
movable feast 1t was understood that
he was something in the literary way.
l 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 l got to know him better, !
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 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 dignifed in
his manner. though his great coat waA
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.
II lodge here" he said Twill you
come up stairs and ses my hermitage?'
remeu Der that he called it grandly
his hermitage. He led the way; the
stairs wers 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. live here quite retired There
are other dodgers, l believe, but | 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
chimneya 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
fectly contented with his hermitage.
There were no papers on the table,
nothing to show that he was writer.
do not know how he lived-certain-
ly 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.
Aha he said, now l am going u
reveal a secret You didn't know, no
body at the museum knows, the people
IN the house don't know, that | am
what do you think:-a poet. 1t is 30
years since ! 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 a
copy. There, my young friend." He pro
duced thin volume. Il am Paul the
Wanderer. -" In fact, the title page bore
,, the legend, Collected Political Work
Of Paul the Wanderer
Thirty years" he repeated There
were 800 copies. The press received so,
the public bought four; there remained
44G. / have now given you one. There
now remain 445. have bequeathed
these to the public libraries Of the ma.
ton. Sir, you are young You will
yourself perhaps publish your poems.
Remember for your comfort that 1,
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-re.
quires so years at least. Go, sirl Take
the book l have given you, and in after
years, when l am gone, tell the world
that you knew-Paul the Wandererr'
| wrung his hand in silence and lef,
him. More than 80 years have passed
since he published that work. No one
has yet spoken to me Of Paul the Wan.
derer. But l 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.