I saw more than once the man who thought to clinch an acceptance of his matter by giving me a long explanation of his article, and its value to this or that interest. I had the traveller from distant lands, who wanted to tell in print over again what he had seen. I received copies of verses, accompanied by modest notes from the senders that they might find a place “in some corner” of the paper. I was beset by a delusionist who had a theory for doing away with death, and who left me, as he said to “prefer death” and die in my sins, because I told him I had really no desire to obtain information on the subject. Then I had the “space grabber” to deal with--the poor fellow who writes to live at so much per column, who tries to write as many columns as possible, and half of whose mind while writing is working more to fill up his columns with words rather than ideas. But our modern system of elephantine journalism is in a measure responsible for the “space grabbing” tendency, since our daily and weekly journalistic mammoths and megatheriums gape ever for more and more matter. There is so much space which must be filled, and if not filled stuffed. Every demand brings some sort of supply, and as the paper must be stuffed, the “space grabber” is developed to stuff it. I had also to cope and meet with the literary rehasher. The rehasher is another journalistic brother who writes the same story, experience, description, etc., over and over again in different ways. He wrote it years ago. It proved a success. He has been writing it ever since. He serves it up roast, baked, boiled, broiled, fried, stewed. These processes may endure for several years. Then he shoves it on your table, covered with a thin disguise--a gravy, so to speak--of his more recent opinion or experience. But it is about the same dish. The older and more experienced journalistic nose detects it by the same old smell. Finally it comes up as hash, plain hash, dry hash, wet hash, baked hash, but after all the same old hash.