ed the hazardous literary experiment
successfully. Besides, in our case, we have the materials ready to our
hands; surely we can succeed in shaping them presentably if we aim at
nothing but the simple truth."

"Who is to do the eloquent descriptions and the striking reflections,
and all that part of it?" said William, perplexedly shaking his head.

"Nobody!" I replied. "The eloquent descriptions and the striking
reflections are just the parts of a story-book that people never read.
Whatever we do, let us not, if we can possibly help it, write so much
as a single sentence that can be conveniently skipped. Come! come!"
I continued, seeing him begin to shake his head again; "no more
objections, William, I am too certain of the success of my plan to
endure them. If you still doubt, let us refer the new project to a
competent arbitrator. The doctor is coming to see you to-morrow. I will
tell him all that I have told you; and if you will promise on your side,
I will engage on mine to be guided entirely by his opinion."

William smiled, and readily gave the promise. This was all I wanted to
send me to bed in the best spirits. For, of course, I should never have
thought of mentioning the doctor as an arbitrator, if I had not known
beforehand that he was sure to be on my side.

6th.--The arbitrator has shown that he deserved my confidence in him. He
ranked himself entirely on my side before I had half done explaining
to him what my new project really was. As to my husband's doubts
and difficulties, the dear good man would not so much as hear them
mentioned. "No objections," he cried, gayly; "set to work, Mr. Kerby,
and make your fortune. I always said your wife was worth her weight in
gold--and here she is now, all ready to get into the bookseller's scales
and prove it. Set to work! set to work!"

"With all my heart," said William, beginning at last to catch the
infection of our enthusiasm. "But when my part of the work and my wife's
has been completed, what are we to do with the produce of our labor?"

"Leave that to me," answered the doctor. "Finish your book and send
it to my house; I will show it at once to the editor of our country
newspaper. He has plenty of literary friends in London, and he will be
just the man to help you. By-the-by," added the doctor, addressing me,
"you think of everything, Mrs. Kerby; pray have you thought of a name
yet for the new book?"

At that question it was my turn to be "taken aback." T