se, into a mean, slovenly back-office, where a
small, uncleanly man sat tipped back in his chair, picking his teeth. He
seemed the personification of _nonchalance_, impudence, and conceit. As
I entered, he looked up with a lazy insolence, which, had I been a
woman, would have brought a hot flush of indignation to my face, and, on
my mentioning my name, he rose and extended a very dirty hand.

"'Glad to see you, Sir,--hope you'll continue your contributions,--Uncle
Job,--good idea, Sir,--love the little ones? So do we, Sir,--work very
hard for them,--don't pay at all,--poor business,--pure charity,--that's
all.'

"'But you don't mean to say,' I exclaimed, 'that your contributors are
expected to work from charity?'

"'Glad to pay them, if we could, but we can't afford it,--more
contributions than we can use,--best authors in the country write for
us,--pure love for the little ones, I assure you.'

"'Will you give me my manuscripts?' I said. 'I do not vouchsafe to
bestow my time and thoughts for nothing. If you do not pay, I can offer
them to others who do.'

"'You won't find a child's paper in the United States that pays,' he
growled. 'We don't care for contributions. Me and my partner writes most
of the articles ourselves.'

"'Will you give me my manuscripts?' I said again, anxious to put an end
to the interview, and disgusted with the fellow's falsehood.

"'Hallo! Mortimer, do you know where them are?'

"'Sorry I can't oblige you,' said a fat man, dirtier and greasier than
the first, emerging from an inner den; 'they're gone to press.'

"'If you tell me any more lies,' cried I, becoming furious, 'I shall
take measures that you will not at all relish. If you will not _give_ me
my manuscripts, I shall _take_ them'; and, suiting the action to the
word, I snatched them from a shelf, where they lay conspicuous, and
carried them off without further parley.

"This cured me for a while of all literary ambition. But the unquiet
spirit within me would not rest, and during the following summer I wrote
a sentimental tale, full of aspirations, large adjectives, and soft
epithets. It was accepted by a well-known monthly, then supposed to be
in the height of its prosperity. This was a grain of comfort, and I
looked forward confidently to a long future of remuneration and renown,
when a letter of regret arrived from the fair editress, returning my
story, and explaining, that, being unable to meet her engagements, the
magazi