Judge — December 8, 1894 — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

PART OF OPENING GHAPTER OF ONAN DOYLE’S Latest and Greatest Story [Just Gommenced in LESLIE’S ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.] “ After one uf these flights of invention he would pace up and down in his jerky, quick-stepping Jushion.” THE STARK MUNRO LETTERS. As written by J. Stark Munro to his friend and former fellow-student, Herbert Swanborough, of Lowell, Massachu- setts, during the years 1881-84. Eprrep and Arranced By A. CONAN DOYLE. (Copyright, 1604, by D. Appleton & Company.) FOREWORD, HE letters of my late friend, Dr. Stark Munro, ap- pear to me to form so connected a whole, and to kive so plain an account of somo of the troubles which a Young man may be called upea to face at the outset of his career, that I have handed them over to the gentleman who is about to edit them. There are two of them, the fifth and the ninth, from which some excisions are nec- essary, but, in the main, hope that they may be reproduced as they stand, for I know that nothing could be more abhorrent to iny friend's nature than that there should be any suppression ‘of those opinions which he had deliberately formed, “As to the propriety of the publication, I can only say that, after careful Consideration, I have fully satisfied myself upon that head, for Tam sure that there is no privilege which he would have valued more highly than the thought that some other young man, harase by pecuniary troubles and by spiritual doubts, should gain strength by reading how a brother bad passed ‘own the valley of the shadow before him. LOWELL, MASS, H, Swaxnonovan. 1 you most dreadfully, my dear old Bertie, for you are n this whole earth to whom I have ever been lly open my whole mind. don’t know why itis, for, now that I come to think of it, I have never enjoyed yery much of your confidence in return, But that may be my fault, Perhaps-you don't find me sympathetic, even though 1 have every wish fo be, I can only say that I find you intensely ‘», and perhaps I presume too much upon the fact. But no, every instinct in my nature tells me that I don't Lore you by my confidences. Can you remember Cullingworth at the university? You never were much in the athletic set, and so it is possible that you don't. Any way, I'll take it for granted that you don't, and explain it all ab initio. I'm sure that you would know his photograph, however, for the reason that he was the ugliest and queerest-looking man of our year. Physically, he was a fine athlete—one of the fastest and most determined Rugby forwards that I have ever known, though he played so savage a game that he was never given his international cap. He was well-grown, five foot nine, haps, with square shoulders, an arching chest, and a quick, Jerky way of walking. He had a square, strong head, bristling with short, wiry, black hair. His face was wonderfully ugly, but it was the tigliness of character, which is as attractive as beauty. His jaw and eyebrows were craggy and rough-hewn, his nose aggresive and red-shot, his eyes small and near-set light blue in color, and capable of assuming a very genial an also an exceedingly vindictive expresion. A’ slight wiry mustache covered his upper lip, and his teeth were yellow, strong, and overlapping, {ike those of an animal, Add to this that ho seldom wore collar or necktie, that his throat was the color and texture of the bark of a Scotch fir, and that he had ‘a voice, and especially a laugh, like a bull's’ bellow: then you have some idea (if you can piece all these items together in your mind) of the outward James Cullingworth. But the inner man, after all, was what was most worth noting. Idon't quite khow what genius is. Carlyle’ definition rd always scemed to me to be a very crisp and clear statement of what it is not. Far from its being an infinite capacity for taking its leading chara‘ c, as far as I have ever been able to observe it, has been that it allows the possessor of it to attain results by a sort of instinct which other men could only reach by hard work. In this sense Cullingworth was the greatest genius that I have ever known. He never seemed to work, and yet he took the anatomy prizo over the heads of all the tén-hour-a~lay men. That might not count for much, for he was quite capable of idling ostentatiously all day and then reading desperately all night, but start a subject of your own for him, and then sco his originality and strength. Talk about torpedoes, and he would catch up a pencil, and on the back of an old envelope from his pocket he would sketch gut some novel contrivance for plercing a ship's netting and getting at her side, which might no doubt involve some technical impos sibility, but which would at least be quite plausible nd new. ‘Then, as he drew, his bristling eyebrows would contract, his small eyes would’ gleam with excitement, his lips would be pressed together, and he would end by banging on the paper with Lar hand and shouting in his exultation. You would that his one mission in life was to invent torpe- does. But next instant, if you were to express surprise as to how it was that the Egyptian workmen elevated the stones to the top of the pyramids, out would come the pencil and en- velope, and ho would propound a scheme for doing that with equal énergy and conviction. This ingenuity was Joined to an extremely sanguine nature. After one of these flignts of in- vention he would take out patents for it, receive you as his partner in the enterprise, have it adopted in every civilized country, so all conceivable applications of it, count up his probable royalties, sketch out the novel methods in which ho would invest his gains, and finally retire with the most gigantic fortune that has ever been amassed, as be paced up and down in his jerky quick stepping fashion.’ Aud you would be swept along by his words, and would be carried every foot of the way with him, so that it would come as quite a shock to you when you suddenly fell back to earth again, and found your- self trudging the city street, a poor student with Foster's “Physiology” under your arm, and hardly the price of your luncheon in your pocket. I read over what I have written, but I can see that I give you no real insight into the demoniac cleverness of Culling- Worth. His views upon medicine were most revolutionary, but Idare say I shall have a good deal to say about them the sequel. With his brilliant and unusual gifts, his fine athletic record, his strange way of dressing (his hat on the back of his head and his throat bare), his thundering voice, and his ugly, powerful face, he had quite the most marked individuality of fany man that T have ever known. ‘Now you will think me very prolix about this man, but as it looks as if his life might become entwined with mine, it is a subject of immediate interest to me, and Iam writing ‘all this for the purpose of reviving my own recollections as Well ax in the hope of amusing and interesting you. So 1 must just you one or two other impressions which may make fis ‘acter more clear to you. He had a dash of the heroic in him. On one occasion he was placed in such a position that he must choose between com- promising a lady or springing out of a third-story window. Without a moment's hesitation he hurled bimself ‘out of the window. As luck would have it, be fell through a large laurel- bush on to a garden-plot which was soft with rain, and soe caped with a shaking and a bruising. If I bave to say any- thing that gives a bed impresion of the man, put that upon the other side, He was fond of rough horse-play, but it was wiser to avoid it with him, for one could never tell ‘what it might lead to. His was nothing less than infernal. I have seen him in the rooms begin to skylark with a fellow, and then in an instant the fun would go out of his face, his little eyes would gleam with fury, and the two would be rolling, worrying each other like dogs below the table. He would be dragged of, panting and speechless with fury, with his wiry hair bristling straight up, like a fighting terrier's. : "This pugnacious side of his character would be worthily used sometimes. I remember that an address which was being given to us by an eminent London specialist was much interrupted by f@ fellow in the front row who kept on injecting remarks. suppose that he was drunk, though he seemed to know what he was about. Tho lecturer appealed to his audience at last. {!Theso interruptions are insufferable, gentlemen,” said be: “will no one free mo from this annoyance f” ‘Hold your tongue—you, sir, on the front bench !” cried C worth, in his bull's bellow.’ “Perhaps you'll make me,” said the fellow, turning a contemptuous face over his shoulder. Cullingworth closed his note-book and began to walk down on the tops of the desks, to the delight of the three hundred spectators. It was fine to see the deliberate way in which he picked his way among the ink-bottles. As he sprang down from the last bench on to the floor his opponent struck him a smashing blow full in the face. Cullingworth got his bulldog grip on him, however, and rushed him backward out of the classroom. What he did with him [don’t know, but there was a noise like the delivery of a ton of coals, and the champion of law and order returned with the sedate air of a man who had done his work. His eyes were like two damsons on each side of piece of beet-root, but we gavo him three cheers as he made his way back to his seat. hen we went on with the dangers of Placenta Prievia, The abore story is commenced in the CanisTuas NOMBER of LESLIE'S ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY, thich will be found for sale’ at all. Newsdealers' and Booksellers throvighout ‘the United States and Canada. Subscription Rates to LESLIE’S WEEKLY. 94.00 per Year. 00 for Six Months, $1.00 for Three Months. Arkell Weekly Co., io Fifth Ave., New York. comicbooks.com