"Corn," by the Lippincotts, he often urged me to continue writing about the rural folk in our native State, whom we both much loved and admired. My next he took into his own hands and sent to Scribner's, and I really believe that he was as well pleased as I when he brought to me the very cordial letter and the very nice check which were sent by Dr. Holland, who kindly suggested that I would drop the nom de plume of "Philemon Perch." Since that time my work has been received with a favor for which I feel that I am indebted mainly to that generous support which men of letters at the North have extended to their brothers in-the South.
Stoddart.—You knew Lanier well?
Johnston.—Intimately. He was one of the most lovable of men, the heartiest of friends and lovers, in health the most joyous, in suffering the most uncomplaining and hopeful. He was very reluctant to quit life so young; not that he had uncommon dread of death, but because of his devotion to his family, his love for the beautiful of this world, and his eager hope to be able to sing of them in strains of higher and higher melody. I got a letter from him written three weeks before his end, in which, with the freshness of a child who knew nothing of mortality, he wrote of the sweet sights in that lovely region among the North Carolina mountains, and of the dear work which he had projected. Upon these sights he was looking when Death came to him gitting upon his chair. Georgians are obliged to feel proud of Lanier, because he was their best man. |
Page.—A friend of his told me that when he was lying there he would write about the leaves and oaks. He would take hold of a piece of envelope or any sheet of paper and write a verse or two on it.
Stoddart.—Page, what led you into literature?
Page.—I began with newspaper work, under Handy here, on the Richmond Enquirer.
Handy.—The deuce you say! Had I the honor of "assigning" you?
Page.—Yes. When Emerson was in Virginia he delivered a lecture at Washington and Lee University, and I was there as a reporter for the Enquirer. I asked Emerson to lend me his manuscript for my paper, which he refused with great indignation. I sent a long letter to the Enquirer giving Emerson the mischief about it. Then the faculty of the University wrote denying their responsibility for the article. I remember I felt altogether badly abused, believing, as I then did, that I could very easily have written a much better lecture than Emerson's.
Philips.—1 wonder how Handy has managed to make so many friends in the North.
Stoddart.—It is inexplicable, isn't it? Handy, tell us something about your beginnings in journalism.
Handy.—My journalistic career has been on both sides of the Potomac. When I came out of the war I did not have a dollar in the world. I was nineteen years old, and didn't know what to do. The first I did was to become a book-agent, and the book I canvassed was the life of Stonewall Jackson. I was a mighty good book-agent,
