The page from the Patriot is presented with an array of perfectly confused type, of artistic errors in setting up, and when an occasional line gets shifted (intentionally, of course) the effect is alarming.  Anybody who knows the advertising of a small country weekly can, as he reads, pick out, in the following, the advertisement from the “personal.”

Miss Hattie Green of Paris, Ill., is Steel-riveted seam or water power automatic oiling thoroughly tested visiting her sister Mrs. G. W. Grubes Little Giant Engines at Adams & Co.  Also Sachet powders Mc.  Cormick Reapers and oysters.

All of this was a part of The Rolling Stone, which flourished, or at least wavered, in Austin during the years 1894 and 1895.  Years before, Porter’s strong instinct to write had been gratified in letters.  He wrote, in his twenties, long imaginative letters, occasionally stuffed with execrable puns, but more than often buoyant, truly humorous, keenly incisive into the unreal, especially in fiction.  I have included a number of these letters to Doctor Beall of Greensboro, N. C., and to his early friend in Texas, Mr. David Harrell.

In 1895-1896 Porter went to Houston, Texas, to work on the Houston Post.  There he “conducted” a column which he called “Postscripts.”  Some of the contents of the pages that follow have been taken from these old files in the fair hope that admirers of the matured O. Henry will find in them pleasurable marks of the later genius.

Before the days of The Rolling Stone there are eleven years in Texas over which, with the exception of the letters mentioned, there are few “traces” of literary performance; but there are some very interesting drawings, some of which are reproduced in this volume.  A story is back of them.  They were the illustrations to a book.  “Joe” Dixon, prospector and inveterate fortune-seeker, came to Austin from the Rockies in 1883, at the constant urging of his old pal, Mr. John Maddox, “Joe,” kept writing Mr. Maddox, “your fortune’s in your pen, not your pick.  Come to Austin and write an account of your adventures.”  It was hard to woo Dixon from the gold that wasn’t there, but finally Maddox wrote him he must come and try the scheme.  “There’s a boy here from North Carolina,” wrote Maddox.  “His name is Will Porter and he can make the pictures.  He’s all right.”  Dixon came.  The plan was that, after Author and Artist had done their work, Patron would step in, carry the manuscript to New York, bestow it on a deserving publisher and then return to await, with the other two, the avalanche of royalties.  This version of the story comes from Mr. Maddox.  There were forty pictures in all and they were very true to the life of the Rockies in the seventies.  Of course, the young artist had no “technique”—­no anything except what was native.  But wait!  As the months went by Dixon worked hard, but he began to have doubts.  Perhaps the book was no good.  Perhaps