The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1898-03-27

a faithful portrayer of men and events as
seen by very observant man. who possessed
the knack of storytelling and kindly ap-
probation of the humors Of life. If his death
mas not eclipsed the gayety of nations his
books haveS added perceptibly to the intelli-
gent amusement and instruction of these who
understand the niceties and vigor of the
English language.
More than a quarter of century ago
while waiting for the French steamer in a
town on the south coast of England, 1 sat
at hotel dinner table with a gentleman
who seemed to be in charge of three ladies'
The man was evidently invalid but he
bore his illness with a gracious good humor
which enabled him to keep the ladies smiI-
ing and interested while they waited upon
him with afTectionate care. l afterwards
learned that my table companions were
ters Having suffered from feeble health all
his life it was then believed that his DAYS
were numbered. But the only sign he gave
tie of his troubles in the presence of his
family: Remembering DR.. Johnson's saying
that every sick man is a rascal I came
to the conclusion that James Payn formed a
brilliant exception to the rule of the irritable
race of literary men.
Many years afterwards Payn was attack
by paralysis, which threatened death. During
lucid intervals he wrote a paper on THE
Backwater of Life in which he made full
acknowledgment of his obligations to his
that does high honor to the veteran novelist
while adding splendid tribute to the
thought and beauty of those domestic ties
which lend new glory to humanity. 1t
affords another proof, If such were needed
that the true marriage, made on solid earth
is not q failure.
Towards the end of this magazine article
Mr.. Payn writes:
TO Kindly Nature as she is called by
those who have experienced only her good
offices we have. to tell the honest truth.
but little to be thankful for; it is to men
and women that feebly beating hearts
go forth in unspeakable gratitude. There
IS one-one consolation In our miserable lot,
That 1t has brought us face to face with the
1mmeasurable goodness of Humanity Let
the divines say what they will of those who
have been made after the image of their
creator; let them heap upon them all the
faulth OF their fallen nature; let the cyn.cs
aver that what seems good in them is only
backwater of life, have good cause to know
that these traducers lie.
oh. Love! that cherishes its objects
when all that makes it lovely has separated;
that prefers to possess it. useless as a
| broken toy, rather than lose it; that slaves
for it and sacrifices its all to give it daily
| gracious opportunities for mitigation of dis
| comfort and pain; we know you now as We
have meyer known you before:
oh, friendship whose smile has always
whose fond and faithful heart we have never
guessed, forgive us for our former ignor-
ance. If even there be no heaven here
| after, there are angels here. Alas! though
our gratitude can be told, it can never be
shown. There are two words that sing in
our ears far more sorrowfully than the
roaring of the weir: Too late Too later
| We are as dead men. though thanks to
these angelic visitors) not out of mind.
We think II miracle were worked and we
could get about again that we would spend
the remainder of our lives in striving to
repay them; in doing the like kind ofices
| we have received from them to others i'll
| the same sad case as ourselves.
How different all this from the fiippant Gym
iclsm OF the free lovers. or the tabooed pos
! s1mism with reference to old age of such a
| thoughtful writer as Matthew Arnold:
What is it to grow old?
| Is 1t to loose the glory Of the FORM
| The luster Of the We?
| Is it for beauty to forego her wreathr
Yes, but not this alone.
| Is 1t to feel our strength
| Not our bloom only. but our strength-de-
Is it to feel each limit
Grow sitter. every function less exact
Each nerve more loosely strung?
| Yes, this. and more but not,
| All! it's not what in youth we dream'd
| 'twould be.
Tis not to have our life
| Mellowed and solftened as with sunset
A golden days decline:
| 1t is to spend long days
And not once feel that we were ever young:
|
| In the hot prison of the present. month
| To month with weary pain.
| It is-last stage of all
I-When we are frozen I'D within and ouite
| The phantom of ourselves,
| To hear the word applaud the hollow ghost
| Which blamed the living man.
James Payn was born in 1880, and was edu
| Gated at Elton, Woolwich militaryacademy.
and Trinity college, Cambridge He detested
| the tagging system of Elton, and didn't think
! much of the educative methods AS a bow Of
| twelve, on his arrival at school, he was
accosted by senior, youth with a white
looked like miniature parson The lordiy
senior asked in languid tones: What might
your name be?'
boy, but it isn't Whereupon the '' little title
CHAP got thrashing for his impudence, a
proceeding which led the novelist to think
1T was hard that repartee should be SO
Ill rewarded He learned little at Elton and
nothing at the examining SCHOOL, for Wool
wich. At the academy he began to write
poetry, and when his military career was
| ended by defective eyesight he went to Cam
| bridge to write more poetry. 1t was at the
| end of his university course that he sent a
story to Household Words" and made the
| acquaintance of Charles Dickens.
In 1858 he became editor of Chambers Jour
nal a position he held until 1882 when on
| the resignation Of Leslie Stephen he be-
came editor of the Cornhill Magazine For
| to the Illustrated London News the comments
on the second page, under the heading My
| Note Book"
James Payn was the intimate friend of
Dickens, Thackeray, Harriet Martieau, Miss
Milford, De Quincy and other leaders of
| Great Britain. He will probably not rank
with the masters, but every line he wrote was
the work of a gentleman. who believed that
the function of imaginative literature is 10
| guard the ideals of the race.
Henry Latchford.