"Possible and true! That is the end of its first quarter, and Shiras gives it up. In fact we all do. No use trying to support an abolition paper here." While he spoke a thought struck me like a lightning flash, and he had but finished speaking, when I replied: "I have a great notion to start a paper myself." He was surprised, but caught at the idea, and said: "I wish you would. You can make it go if anybody can, and we'll do all we can to help you." I did not wait to reply, but hurried after my husband, who had passed on, soon overtook and told him the fate of the _Albatross_. For this he was sorry, for he always voted a straight abolition ticket. I repeated to him what I had said to Mr. McMasters, when he said: "Nonsense!" then reflected a little, and added, "Well, I do not know after all but it would be a good idea. Riddle makes lots of money out of your letters." When we had talked about five minutes, he turned to attend to business and I went to the _Journal_ office. I found Mr. Riddle in his sanctum, and told him the _Albatross_ was dead; the Liberty Party without an organ, and that I was going to start the _Pittsburg Saturday Visitor;_ the first copy must be issued Saturday week, so that abolitionists would not have time to be discouraged, and that I wanted him to print my paper. He had pushed his chair back from his desk, and sat regarding me in utter amazement while I stated the case, then said: "What do you mean? Are you insane? What does your husband say?" I said my husband approved, the matter was all arranged, I would use my own estate, and if I lost it, it was nobody's affair. He begged me to take time to think, to send my husband to him, to consult my friends. Told me my project was ruinous, that I would lose every dollar I put into it, and begged, entreated me to take time; but all to no purpose, when a bright idea came to him. "You would have to furnish a desk for yourself, you see there is but one in this room, and there is no other place for you. You could not conduct a paper and stay at home, but must spend a good deal of time here!" Then I suddenly saw the appalling prospect thus politely presented. I had never heard of any woman save Mary Kingston working in an office. Her father, a prominent lawyer, had employed her as his clerk, when his office was in their dwelling, and the situation was remarkable and very painful; and here was I, looking not more than twenty, proposing to come into the office of the handsome stranger who sat bending over his desk that he might not see me blush for the unwomanly intent. Mr. Riddle was esteemed one of the most elegant and polished gentlemen in the city, with fine physique and fascinating manners. He was a man of the world, and his prominence had caused his name to become the target for many an evil report in the bitter personal conflicts of political life. I looked the facts squarely in the face and thought: