that was most
encouraging--while Mr. White was speaking, and when he had finished sat
with a contemplative look in his eyes, as if weighing the words he had
just heard. Presently he looked up and with the expression of face and
voice of one who in all seriousness seeks information, asked,

"Is moderation really the word you are after, Mr. White, or is it
mediocrity?"

The announcement at the very moment when the question was put, of a
visitor--a welcome one, for he brought a new subscription--precluded a
reply, and in the busy day that followed the broken thread of
conversation was never taken up again. But the unanswered question left
Mr. White with a confused sense which stayed with him during the whole
day and at intervals all through it he was asking himself what Edgar Poe
meant. Truly his talented employe was a puzzling fellow! Could it be
possible that the question asked with that serious face, that quiet
respectful air, was intended for a joke? That the impudent fellow could
have been quizzing him? No wonder his stories gave people
shivers--there was at times something about the fellow himself which was
positively uncanny!

That he and "little Tom" would always see opposite sides of the picture
became more and more apparent to The Dreamer as time went on and along
with this difficulty another and a more serious one arose.

Though the amount of work--of successful work, for it brought the
_Messenger_ a steadily increasing stream of new subscribers--which he
was now putting forth, should have surrounded the beloved wife and
mother with luxuries and placed him beyond the reach of financial
embarrassment, the returns he received from the entire fruitage of his
brilliant talent--his untiring pen--at this the prime-time of his
life--in the fullness of mental and physical vigour, was so small that
he was constantly harrassed by debt and frequently reduced to the
humiliating necessity of borrowing from his friends to make two ends
meet.

The plain truth was gradually borne in upon him--the prizes of fame and
wealth that for the sake of his sweet bride he coveted more earnestly
than ever before, were not to be found, by him, in Richmond, or as an
employe of Mr. White. But the hues of the bow of promise with which hope
spanned the sky of his inward vision were still bright, and he believed
that at its end the coveted prizes would surely still be found--provided
he did not lose heart and give up the quest. Indications