came back! I allers knew he
wouldn't! He bought a share in a circus with the money, and went down
South. They said he married the girl who did the flying trapeze, but
I'm not sure about that. Anyway, it appears he's done a good business,
and I'm sure he's kept Clint's letters to him. There was true grit in
Kirby, I've allers stuck to _that_! Does the pipe seem too strong for
you? The wind does blow it your way, that's a fact."

PASSAGES FROM THE JOURNAL OF A SOCIAL WRECK.

BY MARGARET FLOYD.

_Harper's Magazine, October, 1882._

January 13th, 188-.--Twenty-nine to-day, with two painful facts
staring me blankly in the face. I am reduced almost literally to my
last cent, and have no prospect of increasing this sum. For the first
time in my life I may as well examine the situation impartially. It
is not my fault that it is a physical impossibility for me to get up
early in the morning, and therefore that I never have stayed in
any office more than two or three weeks at the longest. It is
constitutional. I can't write a good hand, or keep books correctly,
for the same reason. Mathematics were left out of my composition. I
_must_ smoke, and it is impossible for me to smoke a poor cigar. If I
am in debt for cigars, as well as other necessities, how can I help
it? I would willingly work if I could only find the kind of work that
would suit me. I am not a fool. There is not a man in New York who
speaks French with a better accent than I do. I can sing better than
most amateurs. There is no vanity in saying that people consider me
good-looking. I don't find it difficult to please when I make an
effort, and yet I am a complete failure. It is _not_ my fault. I'm
a round peg in a square hole. I ought to have been the oldest son
of a duke, with a large allowance. Instead, I am a helpless orphan,
with nothing a year. I seem to joke; in reality I am in despair.
Fortunately, my landlady trusts me blindly, or I would be turned into
the street.

I have sold or pawned all my valuables. I might pawn my dress suit and
studs, but if I did, I couldn't go out to dinner if I were asked, and
that is always a saving. I cannot get a place in an opera company,
because my voice has not been sufficiently trained. There always _is_
something to prevent my success, no matter what I try.

To-day I met Morton in the street. He stopped me and said: "By the
way, Valentine, your name will come up at the Amsterdam very soon. You
are sure to