Recently a man called on Edwin Markham, author of “The Man
with the Hoe,” we are told by _Success_, and introduced
himself as the writer of a book on which, he said, he had spent
twenty-five years of study and research. Mr. Markham, who is
unusually kind in listening to and counseling with amateur
authors, immediately felt that one who has spent a quarter of
a century on his work is rare, and he invited him to his study
without delay.
“What is the nature of your work?” asked Mr. Markham.
“I have written the greatest book of the ages,” began the new
author; “I have solved the mystery of the world. I know all
about it. I am prepared to prove my statements. I know just why
the world was made, who really made it, and I have laid bare the
mysteries of creation. I--”
“My good man,” said Mr. Markham, interrupting him, “if you have
come to me for advice, let me tell you to take your manuscript
at once and burn it. If you have solved the mystery of this
world, you are its greatest enemy. Why,” continued the poet, “if
you have solved the mystery of the world you have robbed men
of their greatest joy. You have left us nothing to work for,
you have destroyed our ambition, you have reduced us to mere
animals. It is the mysteries of the world that have made it
great, and I, for one, don’t want to have them solved.”
Mr Markham’s visitor sat dumfounded for a moment. The vision of
his twenty-five years of labor flitted before him as he said:
“I guess you’re right--I guess you’re right.” (Text.)
(2149)
N
=Name, A Good=--See REPUTATION.
=Nameless Pioneers=--See UNKNOWN WORKERS.