"I went up a dirty staircase, into a mean, slovenly back-office, where a small, uncleanly man sat tipped back in his chair, picking his teeth. He seemed the personification of _nonchalance_, impudence, and conceit. As I entered, he looked up with a lazy insolence, which, had I been a woman, would have brought a hot flush of indignation to my face, and, on my mentioning my name, he rose and extended a very dirty hand. "'Glad to see you, Sir,--hope you'll continue your contributions,--Uncle Job,--good idea, Sir,--love the little ones? So do we, Sir,--work very hard for them,--don't pay at all,--poor business,--pure charity,--that's all.' "'But you don't mean to say,' I exclaimed, 'that your contributors are expected to work from charity?' "'Glad to pay them, if we could, but we can't afford it,--more contributions than we can use,--best authors in the country write for us,--pure love for the little ones, I assure you.' "'Will you give me my manuscripts?' I said. 'I do not vouchsafe to bestow my time and thoughts for nothing. If you do not pay, I can offer them to others who do.' "'You won't find a child's paper in the United States that pays,' he growled. 'We don't care for contributions. Me and my partner writes most of the articles ourselves.' "'Will you give me my manuscripts?' I said again, anxious to put an end to the interview, and disgusted with the fellow's falsehood. "'Hallo! Mortimer, do you know where them are?' "'Sorry I can't oblige you,' said a fat man, dirtier and greasier than the first, emerging from an inner den; 'they're gone to press.' "'If you tell me any more lies,' cried I, becoming furious, 'I shall take measures that you will not at all relish. If you will not _give_ me my manuscripts, I shall _take_ them'; and, suiting the action to the word, I snatched them from a shelf, where they lay conspicuous, and carried them off without further parley. "This cured me for a while of all literary ambition. But the unquiet spirit within me would not rest, and during the following summer I wrote a sentimental tale, full of aspirations, large adjectives, and soft epithets. It was accepted by a well-known monthly, then supposed to be in the height of its prosperity. This was a grain of comfort, and I looked forward confidently to a long future of remuneration and renown, when a letter of regret arrived from the fair editress, returning my story, and explaining, that, being unable to meet her engagements, the magazine had been sold to pay her debts.