"There is evidence of much ability, but there is a lack of earnestness and definite purpose. The paper is newsy and bright, and, in the main, wholesome. It reflects public opinion fairly and honestly, but does little to shape it. It is often spicily controversial, sometimes tiresomely so. I do a good deal of skipping in that line. I wish its quarrels resulted more from efforts to right some wrong; and there is so much evil in our city, both in high and low places, that ought to be fought to the death. The editor has exceptional opportunities, and might be the knight-errant of our age. If in earnest, and on the right side, he can forge a weapon out of public opinion that few evils could resist. And he is in just the position to discover these dragons and drive them from their hiding-places. If, for instance, the clever paragraphist in this column, whose province, it seems, is to comment at the last moment on the events of the day, were as desirous of saying true, strong, earnest words, as bright and prophetic ones, in which the news of the morrow is also outlined-why, Mr. Morton, what is the matter?" "Are you a witch?" She looked at me a moment, blushed deeply, and asked hesitatingly: "Are-are you the paragraphist?" "Yes," I said, with a burst of laughter, "as truly as yours is the only witchcraft in which I believe-that of brains." Then putting my finger on my lips, I added, _sotto voce_: "Don't betray me. Mr. Yocomb would set all his dogs on me if he knew I were an editor, and I don't wish to go yet." "What have I been saying!" she exclaimed, with an appalled look. "Lots of clever things. I never got so many good hints in the same time before." "It wasn't fair in you, to lead me on in the dark." "Oh, there wasn't any 'dark,' I assure you. Your words were coruscations. Never was the old journal so lighted up before." There were both perplexity and annoyance in her face as she looked dubiously at me. Instantly becoming grave, I stepped to her side and took her hand, as I said, with the strongest emphasis: "Miss Warren, I thank you. I have caught a glimpse of my work and calling through the eyes of a true, refined, and, permit me to add, a gifted woman. I think I shall be the better for it, but will make no professions. If I'm capable of improvement this column will show it." Her hand trembled in mine as she looked away and said: "You are capable of sympathy." Then she went hastily to the piano. Before she could play beyond a bar or two, little Zillah bounded in, exclaiming: "Emily Warren, mother asks if thee and Richard Morton will come out to tea?" "I may be in error, but is not a piano one of the worldly vanities?" I asked, as she turned to comply. "I did not expect to see one here." "Mrs. Yocomb kindly took this in with me. I could scarcely live without one, so you see I carry the shop with me everywhere, and am so linked to my business that I can never be above it."