In the morning Cosmo got up full of pleasurable excitement, and set out early to call on Mr. Todhunter. The _North British Courant_ office was in one of the short streets which run between Princes Street and George Street, and in the back premises, a long way back, through a succession of rooms, Cosmo was ushered into the especial little den of the publisher. Mr. Todhunter was of a yellow complexion, with loose, thick lips, and wiry black hair. The lips were the most noticeable feature in his face, from the circumstance that when he spoke his mouth seemed uncomfortably full of moisture, which gave also a peculiar character to his voice. He was surrounded by a mass of papers, and had paste and scissors--those palladiums of the weekly press--by his side. If there was one thing more than another on which the _North British Courant_ prided itself, it was on the admirable collection of other people’s opinions which everybody might find in its columns. Mr. Todhunter made no very great stand upon politics. What he prized was a reputation which he thought “literary,” and a skill almost amounting to genius for making what he called “excerpts.” “Very glad to make your personal acquaintance, Mr. Livingstone,” said the projector of the _Auld Reekie Magazine_, “and still more to receive your assurances of support. I’ve set my heart on making this a real, impartial, literary enterprise, sir--no’ one of your close boroughs, as they say now-a-days, for a dozen or a score of favored contributors, but open to genius, sir--genius wherever it may be--rich or poor.” Cosmo did not know precisely what to answer, so he filled in the pause with a little murmur of assent. “Ye see the relations of every thing’s changing,” said Mr. Todhunter; “old arrangements will not do--wull not answer, sir, in an advancing age. I have always held high opinions as to the claims of literary men, myself--it’s against my nature to treat a man of genius like a shopkeeper; and my principle, in the _Auld Reekie Magazine_, is just this--first-rate talent to make the thing pay, and first-rate pay to secure the talent. That’s my rule, and I think it’s a very safe guide for a plain man like me.” “And it’s sure to succeed,” said Cosmo, with enthusiasm. “I think it wull, sir--upon my conscience, if you ask me, I think it wull,” said Mr. Todhunter; “and I have little doubt young talent will rally round the _Auld Reekie Magazine_. I’m aware it’s an experiment, but nothing shall ever make me give in to an ungenerous principle. Men of genius must be protected, sir; and how are they protected in your old-established periodicals? There’s one old fogy for this department, and another old fogy for that department; and as for a genial recognition of young talent, take my word for’t, there’s no such thing.” “I know,” said Cosmo, “it is the hardest thing in the world to get in. Poor Chatterton, and Keats, and--”