“I believe,” said he, “that a little farce is kept up. They keep a boy to look at a line or two and then return the manuscript. The pages are filled by the old stock-writers, who are sure of the market let them send what they will,--padding-mongers who work eight hours a day, and hardly know what they write about.” We again loudly expressed our opinion that he was wrong, and that there did exist magazines, the managers of which were sedulously anxious to obtain the assistance of what he called literary capacity, wherever they could find it. Sitting there at the Turkish bath with nothing but a towel round us, we could not declare ourselves to a perfect stranger, and we think that as a rule editors should be impalpable;--but we did express our opinion very strongly. “And you believe,” said he, with something of scorn in his voice, “that if a man who had been writing English for the press in other countries,--in New York say, or in Doblin,--a man of undoubted capacity, mind you, were to make the attempt here, in London, he would get a hearing.” “Certainly he would,” said we. “And would any editor see him unless he came with an introduction from some special friend?” We paused a moment before we answered this, because the question was to us one having a very special meaning. Let an editor do his duty with ever so pure a conscience, let him spend all his days and half his nights reading manuscripts and holding the balance fairly between the public and those who wish to feed the public, let his industry be never so unwearied and his impartiality never so unflinching, still he will, if possible, avoid the pain of personally repelling those to whom he is obliged to give an unfavourable answer. But we at the Turkish bath were quite unknown to the outer world, and might hazard an opinion, as any stranger might have done. And we have seen very many such visitors as those to whom our friend alluded; and may, perhaps, see many more. “Yes,” said we. “An editor might or might not see such a gentleman: but, if pressed, no doubt he would. An English editor would be quite as likely to do so as a French editor.” This we declared with energy, having felt ourselves to be ruffled by the assertion that these things are managed better in Paris or in New York than in London. “Then, Mr. ----, would you give me an interview, if I call with a little manuscript which I have to-morrow morning?” said my Irish friend, addressing us with a beseeching tone, and calling us by the very name by which we are known among our neighbours and tradesmen. We felt that everything was changed between us, and that the man had plunged a dagger into us.