A Famous Novelist Atones for Wasted School Days by Self-Culture.
IN his study, a curiously-shaped building without the accompaniment of
a window, and combining in equal proportions the Byzantine, Romanesque
and Doric styles of architecture, the gray-haired author of “Ben Hur,”
surrounded by his pictures, books and military trophies, is spending,
in serene and comfortable retirement, the evening of his life. As I sat
beside him and listened to the recital of his earliest struggles and
later achievements, I could not help contrasting his dignified bearing,
careful expression, and gentle demeanor, with another occasion in his
life, when, a vigorous, black-haired young military officer, in the
spring of 1861, he appeared, with flashing eye and uplifted sword, at
the head of his regiment, the gallant and historic Eleventh Indiana
Volunteers.
General Wallace never repels a visitor, and his greeting is cordial and
ingenuous.
“If I could say anything to stimulate or encourage the young men of
to-day,” he said, when I had explained the object of my visit, “I would
gladly do so, but I fear that the story of my early days would be of
very little interest or value to others. So far as school education
is concerned, it may be truthfully said that I had but little, if any;
and if, in spite of that deficiency, I ever arrived at proficiency, I
reached it, I presume, as Topsy attained her stature,—‘just growed into
it.’”