The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1899-12-06
NO "STORY."
BY X. CHER.

1e~~ ~e~e>~~e e&~e >StS
Publishers say story must be
''story" and what they mean by this
you can decide for yourself after com
pairing their demands with what they
publish. The best | can make of it
is that they expressly take pains TO
disguise what they really want, all
their demands being for the purpose
Of stimulating the writer to exert
himself; then they uso their own pri-
vate Judgment, which is another thing
from their printed demands, in select
ing from the contributions.
When a reader brings three things
together, which should harmonize, the
result is distressing discordance:
(l) The publishers high and mighty
demand for the best that the present
brain of the earth can produce; (2)
What they publish and tacitly declare
to be such; (3) What we all know to
be real literature, from the pens of
some who have gone before. The
publisher Q) demands race horse
(3) and accepts rat. (2l
Herewith 1 have no 'story" to suit
these requirements, but according to
my view | have discovery worth
making known. i make no attempt
to fill the aforesaid requirements, for
the principal reason that L will not
write to order for any man on earth,
and / don't believe any worthy litera-
ture in the "story" line was ever pro-
duced in that way. My literary work
is consistent with my creed that
mans best productions will be on lines
congenial to him. say l have dis
covery
Who am |?
This is the publishers demand. If
have no "name," no rep" my dis
covery is nothing to them. But it is
to me, and will be to you, friend
reader, if You are an ordinary mortal
striving to live this life that is put
upon us, and occasionally wondering
what is the meaning of it all.
1t happened, one day, when / was
worried almost to desperation by the
problems which beset everybody, in
one shape or another, in this sitting
struggle to get the better of ones
fellows, that circumstances accident
ally flung me upon twenty mile
walk, from one town to another. L
walked mile. and my grievances
arose to fearful distinctness in my
mind. / walked two miles. and pos
sible solutions began to appear. At
the end of 18th mile, L sat down at
the foot of pine in a pine forest,
drew long breath Of relief from the
physical exertion, and suddenly won
dered what il was all about-what on
earth had been badgering me so.
The low, mysterious, world-forget-
ting voice of the pines surrounded
me instead of the hubbub of human
contention, and the sun smiled down
over the great earth in eternal cheer
fulness.
/ spurred up my unwilling recollec-
tions, recalled the worst OF my griev-
ances, and lol They were too insight
ran over the ground under the pines.
1t all amounted to nothingl Nothing!
1 had no grievance. As for those
who were the cause of these sham
grievances, the reasons for acting as
they did now, for the first time, be.
came apparent. They, too, like my
self, were under the trial aud pressure
of elbow-j jostling struggle, and acted
not from any special antipathy to me,
but to save themselves. Our motives
were very similar.
never should have seen it without
this accidental isolation and balanc-
ing physical exertion. j would have
kept right on blindly butting my head
against the wall. And before going
any further, let me state plainly that
that is my discovery. If You are
worried, take 20 mile walk.
There was yellow haired girl at
the bottom of all my sometime griev.
ances. She was rich aud was poor,
but perceiving what seemed to be
rare harmony in our natures, had
gathered my resources, braced myself
for the accusations of sordid motive
and boldly entered the lists for hel
hand. What further acquaintance
had been able to make with he,
seemed to confirm my theory OF har
monious natures, and perhaps / be
came too confident. At any rate /
slight rebuff, as constructed il, from
herself. brought me up to the wind
nautically 81 eakiug. all shaking. ant
emphasized the enormity Of my pre-
sumption.
Al the end OF these fiteen miles N,
( ja1ividuality returned. anil while 70