Judge — June 20, 1885 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

phy, and then settle down to clam-digging, in Which occupation imagination is not re- quired. : ‘onfound it! where are the men of high pressure imagination that can see through its lenses? Never mind; they'll c and all be appreciated. ‘The great Rafe and uyfel, the Dutch master, didn’t bounce into popularity without a struggle with the stupid world} and so shall I. SI SLOKUM. Profitless Scratching. Notwithstanding the unprecedented de- feats that had marked my efforts to secure a footing in the literary world, my genius still craved for a chance to become known, The cankerous ulcer of inordinate ambition was knawing at my mind. I felt as if [ must achieve or perish in the abortive attempts to tack my nom-de-plume to the mast-head of victory. I would write a book! fill it chock-a-block with good things, and then browse in the clover of succe: Without waiting for any more sticklebacks or the bill I sauntered to a small fishing town on the coast and took up my residence in the midst of fishermen, shrimps and sailors. My food consisted exclusively of shrimps, fish and waterfowl. Onone side of my humble hut was the wind-tossed waves; on the other huge piles of fish and long lines of nets. My handkerchief was soon scented with the odone of J, my clothes im- pregnated with the clinging perfume of kerel, and my hat smelt strongly of I wrote with a quill from the wing of a wild goose and erased mistakes with 3 fish-bone. [utilized the mackerel cask by making a desk of it; and slept in sheets that were dotted with fish scales. I felt fishy. I was thoroughly soaked with fis uffed the salt air in. I chewed clams, and gobbled oysters. [ roamed upand down the sea-side by moonlight and built a grand specimen a hero, clothed him in expensive garmen and stuffed him (blue fish fashion) with noble qualities and inherited virtues. I made him handsome as Apollo and as smart as horse-radish. I christened him with an euphonius name; filled his pockets full of money, and gave him a magnificent start on a thousand dollar horse—which was intended to run through the book. The heroine and other char- acters were all numbered and placed in pos tion. I worked | _ day and night son t book. | I dragged my | best thoughts from the lowest | depths of my | breast and planted them on foolscap. I) sifted my brains every few minutes for fresh ideas. 1 worked harder with my goose quill | than a laborer does with his p For six months I toiled like a hounded slave. At last the job was done. The work com- pleted. Four hundred and ninety-nine pages closely covered with destilled genius. I sent it off with a benediction, and my mind en- joyed the nectar of repose. No weak-hearted | apprehensions in regard to its faith bothered me. I was serencly thoughtful, that was all. The electrical shock that my system re- ceived when that four hundred and ninety: succes RUNNING THROUGH THE BOOK. THE JUDGE. nine pages of effusive eloquence was sent back to me without any apology cannot be imagined by the flightiest reader. But I rallied and sent it elsewhere. It returned. I promptly mailed it to another, who promptly re-mailed it back. I groaned and forwarded it to another, Itcame back. I was paralized with astonishmeut and trembled with dread. That book was my only hope. The best part of my hereditary genius was trausferred in words of scorching pathos to the sheets of that M Thad spenta juvenile fortune keeping my brain factory in working order, and another for stamps and expressage. I was alarmed, I would soon be obliged to pawn watch to Be y that pook’s traveling expenses. Vell, that MS. made the tour of the U. S., and then came % back like a boomerang ¥Y curse to 2 2 roost upon ‘ . ws my we: IN SEARCH OF A PUBLISHER. head, The last publishers had been dustriously hunted out, and had promptly closed the door on it. My last supreme effort had been launched upon the turbulent waters of literature, and condemned by the mighty verdict of opaque critics as unsea- worthy. A tormenting samiel blew me nothing but bad luck, With what contentment would I sher’s funeral! 1 [have strewn his new made grave with ab brac collec tion of delapitated plugs, and worn-out boots, other recherche my OUR ONLY NO SHIPS; ine | NOTHING BUT SURPLUS. ing temptation assailed m I would go and drown myself, my cries, and my choking disappointments in the waters that swept the shell strewn shore! I made up my mind to become a pallid corpse, a floating repository of becalmed genius. I would make a salt water nonenity of myself, and lose my in- dividuality and annoyances in the jaws of death! Ballasted with this dreadful and body- shaking idea I strode resolutely into the chilly water, and when the water encircled my neck in its cold embrace, fearing that I would get beyond my depth, I turned sorrow- | fully but thoughtfully around, and sought my desolate abode. . That night I had the nightmare. 1 thought I was astride of a beautiful rainbow, when suddenly a volcano opened on me and covered me completely with shattered hopes, | blasted prospects, rejected books, and fish- bones. When I attempted to rise an edi- torial arm would thrust me back, when I endeavored to explain my perilous situation the fist of a critic was shoved into my | mouth, After a delightful night of it, 1 arose in the morning firmly persuaded that | dreams are not altogether illusionary, and that nightn sometimes stayed with a | fellow all day thing is so woefully depressing to a delicately-moulded genius as the penetrating conviction that will auger its way to the very centre of his mind that there is not a icient quantity of the genuine article on nd for him to make his tisX mark with, is the incisive thought that hurt me, and in spite of my efforts to pluck it out, it remained like a barbed and poisonous arrow rankling there. Hang fish! and fish hooks, and fishermen, and fish food of all varieties, Thad aced my sole dependence on fish, and found too late that I had been leaning fondly upon a fractured reed. Blast broken reeds! Springing up, I gave the fire an en. | couraging poke between its cast iron ribs, and SALVATION. BILLIONS FOR TRIBUTE, comicbooks.com