ore active than want.

All the people going through Vandewater Street appear to be
compositors. Fine, strapping, romantic people, compositors, smeared
with ink! Though there are other interests in this street besides
printing. There is a big schoolhouse with every window in it broken;
grand, desolate look to it! There is a delightful sign which says:
"Horse collars, up stairs." There are little homes toward the end of
the street--it is one block long--little, old, two-story, brick
dwelling houses, in charmingly bad repair, with fire escapes, little
stairs twisting up to the doors and iron railings there, and
window-boxes at the windows.

As you turn at Pearl Street to go back again something comes over you.
It is melodrama that comes over you. The vista of this queer, cold,
lonesome, hard little street, down by the great city's river front, was
painted, or something very like it was painted, on back curtains long
ago. The great, gloomy pile of the Bridge rises before over all. To
make it right there should be a scream. A female figure with hair
streaming upward should shoot through the air to black waters below,
where there is a decrepit boat with a man in a striped jersey pulling
at the oars.

V

THAT REVIEWER "CUSS"

There are very young, oh absurdly young! reviewers; and there are
elderly reviewers, with whiskers. There are also women reviewers.
Absurdly young reviewers are inclined to be youthful in their reviews.
Elderly reviewers usually have missed fire with their lives, or they
wouldn't still be reviewers. The best sort of a reviewer is the
reviewer that is just getting slightly bald. He is not a
flippertigibbet, and still an intelligent man--if he is a good reviewer.

Book reviews are in nearly all the papers. Proprietors of newspapers
don't read these things: they think they are deadly stuff. Many
authors don't: because they regard them as ill-natured and exceedingly
stupid. Book clerks don't read them much: for that would be like
working overtime. Business men infrequently have time for such
nonsense. University professors are inclined to pooh-pooh them as
things beneath them. Still somebody must read them, as publishers pay
for them with their advertising. No publishers' advertising, no book
reviews, is the policy of nearly every newspaper; and the reviews are
generally in proportion to the amount of advertising. Now publishers
are sagacious men who generally live in comforta