Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1899-05-31

comparison with Alan Stacey Captain
Conway had been elderly, rough, plain
and only comparatively we'll off. He
had demanded impossible things, and
when he discovered that his desires
were impossible of qualification his love
for the girl whom he had sworn to pro-
tect and cherish had been curiously in
termingled with an absolute hatred.
His was the kind of nature which to
begin with says, II will teach you to
love me- and afterward, eff I cannot
teach you to love me, will kill you"
His was the kind of nature which says,
eff I cannot bend, will break" the
nature which looks at every situation
of life from its own standpoint and
Judges all the world entirely by its own
doings. 1t is always this kind Of ma
ture which is inherently dominant and
essentially domineering. And how diff
ferent was Alan Stacey He, gifted, in
tellectual and brilliant, was content to
lay everything at the feet of the woman
he loved-all the fame he had won, the
position he had made, the wealth he
had amassed. His desire was not to be
his wife's master, but her knight; not
to feel that he was comforting honor
and status upon her, but to assume al
ways that in giving herself to him she
was laying him under an everlasting
and delightful obligation.
It was but natural that Mary was
not only filled with love, but with
boundless and unbounded admiration.
This was the man at whose feet she
would have been content to sit for the
rest of her life, not daring to lift her
eyes higher than his knees. This was
her king among men, gifted and blessed
with the right royal inheritance Of
genius. This man who asked 80 little,
who gave 80 much, was not one who
had power only over handful Of men.
No, the name with which he was en-
dowed was one which was known and
known approvingly throughout the
world; known wherever the English
language was spoken; nay, more than
known. for it was loved.
I do not wish to portray the charac.
ter of Alan Stacey as that Of perfect
being. Indeed must own, what Mary
had found out very early in her knowl-
edge of him, that his besetting sin was
idleness, which is the besetting sin Of
most spinners of stories. He was beset,
too, with idleness Of two kinds, the
genuine and ordinary sort and the idle
ness which afiicts the brain worker. 1t
is only your nobodies who are thorough
ly industrious in art. Great genius Is
always subject to what it usually calls
"idleness'' in other words, to brain
fag To my mind the most pathetic rec
ord that we have of George Eliot is
where she conveys in letter to friend
that she has no natural desire for work
and has to fog her brain continually 30
that she may get her promised task
completed in time She, too, speaks of
it as idleness And with that same kind
of idleness Alan Stacey was continually
afflicted, as he was with a real love of
doing nothing.
In times gone by he had many day
sat down to work in the morning, say
ing: "Now. Mrs. Conway, I have got
to work today; I have got to work hard.
Now. you keep me up to it." And no
sooner had Mary inscribed half dozen
lines in her notebook than he would get
up and say, "By Jove, there's another
robin building it's nest in that holly
bushl'' or some such remark, which was
interesting enough in itself, but which
did not help upon its way the story then
in hand. And often and often Mary had
had all her work cut out to keep him
chained to his task, and after they had
come to an understanding with one an
other it seemed to her as if he never
meant to work again, as if he could not
keep his mind off their plans for the
future, and as if any and every subject
was more interesting to him than the
fascinating romance upon which they
were then at work. :
eyes, we will go to Monte Carlo,
she said at last one day, "but we will
not 90 to Monte Carlo, or to Paris, or
to church, or anywhere else until you
have finished this story. Come, now,
am waiting to hear what you are going
to do with Evangeline now"
81 think 1 shall chuck it up" was
his reply.
"No, no. To that 1 resolutely decline
to be a party. l am not coming into
your life to ruin you. You have to fin
ish that story before we can dream of
being married. Come, pull yourself t.
gether. Think Evangeline is standing
at the top of the staircase wondering
what is going to happen next.
Well, in due course the story was
finished, and when the last words had
been taken down he asked her eagerly
what she thought of it.
"Give me your candid opinion he
said.
81 think" said Mary, "that it is by
far the greatest book that you have ever
DONE.
And then they were married, going
quietly to church one morning, attend
ed only by a great friend of Alan
Stacey's and the girl through whom
indirectly the marriage had come about
the girl who had first given Mary the
idea of taking up typewriting as a seri-
ous profession. Then they went back to
the Sycamores and had dainty little
lunch, at which they made miniature
speeches, drank each others health
and were as merry as if the party had
been one and forty instead of but four
persons. Then at the last moment, just
before they rose from the table, the best