Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1902-09-13

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genius OF the gs" tramp novelist II
would be inferred that his knowledge
Of men and things comes nom oo-
eervation rather than books, yet those
who knew him when he was L wan
dering laborer bear witness to the
great fund of information which even
then he had acquired through reading
and correspondence. Relating his life
when Gorky was simple railroad
employee, one of his former chiefs
writes: He performed his duties with
great exactitude. Finding that he was
well educated at the end of two
months, we proposed him for the
weighing department at twenty-five
rubles a month. But he spent his
money strangely, or, as we used to
say, stupidity, distributing it among
employees burdened with large fami-
lies and among the poor. He also
spent a great deal Of money in postage
stamps, for he kept up a vast CORE
spondence. Every day he received let
tiers, no one knew from where, and
everyone was curious about them. In
his leisure hours he was always sur
rounded by crowd Of workmen, whom
he talked to in an instructive manner
often reading pamphlets to them on
morality, geography, history or as
tronomy-thus initiating his listeners
into the things of the world and its
phenomena. He scorned to please
them, and they sought him frequently,
delighting in his quick, ready speech.
The station chief afterwards invited
Gorky to his house like a good friend,
and he spent his time with us smok-
ing his cigarette and astonishing us
with his book knowledge until we were
sure Gorky was an excluded student.
His service at our station only lasted
a few months. One fine day he pre-
scented himself at my office, and, asking
for his wages, said he would no longer
continue with us. l paid him and Of
fered him a third-class ticket to what
ever station he desired, but he refused
the ticket, saying he would walk. Pull
ing his hat over his head and strap
ping his baggage on his back, he
started forth after bidding all the en-
ployees and workmen an amiable
'good-by.' The latter fastened from
every side to say farewell to the man
who had entertained and instructed
them for many months. A little while
ago Maxine Gorkys books fell into my
hands. and something familiar about
them struck me. Then 1 read a por-
trait he had drawn of himself and I
recognized my old comrade."
1t is possible that a writer in the
New York Times intends to be cruel
only to be kind when he writes as fol-
lows about very popular modern
writer: MANY adults of reputed in
teligence and taste now read Mr..
Richard Harding Davis and are salts
fed with the refreshing, restful result
There has been rapid development
since the days when this gifted author
was likened unto a setter pup, which
ambled over the bird you had shot, and
brought you a last years birds nest
Mr.. Davis is no longer uncertain in his
retrieving and he brings in the bird
every time. Captain Macklin' is the
best retriever yet. There was GER
tain incognito about Van Bibber;
Morton Carlton, too, was strangely in
comprehensive at times in spite of Mr..
Gibson. faithful portraits. So it has
been with the rest. But there is no I'M
certainty about Captain Macklin. Here
We have the author himself in flesh and
blood. Not. perhaps, as he has ever
been forced to perform, but as he
would perform should he ever he
placed in the environment he has pro-
vided for his hero The thing is real.
1t is wholesome, egotism and all. 1t
also reveals n new vista in imagina-
tive writing-an autobiography that
might have been"
1t will doubtless be matter of sur
prise to many TO learn that Rev. A. b.
Nichols. whose claim to repute in the
world of letters rests solely in the fact
that he was Charlotte Bronte's hus-
band. Is still living. He was married
TO the famous novelist in 1854. She
died the following year. and since then
Mr.. Nichols has been content to bask
in the reflected sunshine of his wfe's
fame. He is now in his eighty-fifth
year. and he energies once more from
his obscurity in order to deny the
authenticity of a recently published,
unfinished novel purporting to come
from her pen. Its title is THE
Mores." and it has appeared as part of
a first volmue in a new complete edi-
ton of Charlotte Bronte's novels.
edited by DIR. Robertson Nicoll. In
speaking of the few months that inter-
vened between their marriage and his
wife's death. Mr.. Nichols says: Dur
ing that short period we We're never
parted-even for a single day. For
three months she was continuously
confined to bed, and / was in constant
attendance on her. 1t was. therefore.
absolutely impossible for her to write
a tale. however short, even if she were
SO inclined. without my knowledge"
Inasmuch as the claim was made that
this fragment was her last work. it re-
mains to be seen what explanation its
sponsors have to offer.
If q speaker at the recent American
librarians conference at Boston told
her story correctly, Pittsburg boy
fifteen years old gave the librarians
something to think about when he
said: Il like Conan Doyle, but he
comes high You can get a lot of this
Y foroa rncker'-.tthis" being. a second
D. hand copy. of Jesse James, But Conan
2 "DoyleAcan be had at the public Ii
braries for less than a nickel, so that
the boys expressed preference for the
subtle detective-story of the English
author over the tempestuous biography