“Beware of the books. They tell but half
of the story. Whenever a poor wretch asks you
for help, and you feel a doubt as to what result may
flow from your benevolence, give yourself the benefit
of the doubt and kill the applicant.”
And so saying he turned his face to the wall and gave
up the ghost.
A poor and young literary beginner had tried in vain
to get his manuscripts accepted. At last, when
the horrors of starvation were staring him in the
face, he laid his sad case before a celebrated author,
beseeching his counsel and assistance. This generous
man immediately put aside his own matters and proceeded
to peruse one of the despised manuscripts. Having
completed his kindly task, he shook the poor young
man cordially by the hand, saying, “I perceive
merit in this; come again to me on Monday.”
At the time specified, the celebrated author, with
a sweet smile, but saying nothing, spread open a magazine
which was damp from the press. What was the
poor young man’s astonishment to discover upon
the printed page his own article. “How
can I ever,” said he, falling upon his knees
and bursting into tears, “testify my gratitude
for this noble conduct!”
The celebrated author was the renowned Snodgrass;
the poor young beginner thus rescued from obscurity
and starvation was the afterward equally renowned
Snagsby. Let this pleasing incident admonish
us to turn a charitable ear to all beginners that
need help.
Sequel
The next week Snagsby was back with five rejected
manuscripts. The celebrated author was a little
surprised, because in the books the young struggler
had needed but one lift, apparently. However,
he plowed through these papers, removing unnecessary
flowers and digging up some acres of adjective stumps,
and then succeeded in getting two of the articles
accepted.
A week or so drifted by, and the grateful Snagsby
arrived with another cargo. The celebrated author
had felt a mighty glow of satisfaction within himself
the first time he had successfully befriended the poor
young struggler, and had compared himself with the
generous people in the books with high gratification;
but he was beginning to suspect now that he had struck
upon something fresh in the noble-episode line.
His enthusiasm took a chill. Still, he could
not bear to repulse this struggling young author,
who clung to him with such pretty simplicity and trustfulness.
Well, the upshot of it all was that the celebrated
author presently found himself permanently freighted
with the poor young beginner. All his mild efforts
to unload this cargo went for nothing. He had
to give daily counsel, daily encouragement; he had
to keep on procuring magazine acceptances, and then
revamping the manuscripts to make them presentable.
When the young aspirant got a start at last, he rode
into sudden fame by describing the celebrated author’s
private life with such a caustic humor and such minuteness
of blistering detail that the book sold a prodigious
edition, and broke the celebrated author’s heart
with mortification. With his latest gasp he said,
“Alas, the books deceived me; they do not tell
the whole story. Beware of the struggling young
author, my friends. Whom God sees fit to starve,
let not man presumptuously rescue to his own undoing.”
