The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1884-07-19

right as | stammered a feeble "thank
you"
".And you really should cut Swim
burne," he added, with a meaning
glance at the manuscript.
81 don't know Mr.. Swinburne-that
is, | met him only once, and then he
said something to me in Creek" | re-
piled.
"He might have said something much
worse. But | merely mean that you
shouldn't devote SO much of your time
to his poetry-the Poems and Ballads,
for instance, and the Songs Before
Sunrise"
GLOW do you know l do?"
internal evidence ;" and he touched
my manuscript. "This betrays severe
course. You must alter your style, Miss
Jones. Time enough for you to come
to the Observation-Disclosures
incomprehensible in ten years, say. You
will be educated up to the point of not
believing a word of it by that time.
Kindly leave me your address, and the
manuscript shall be returned in the
usual way"
"No. II Brown Street, Bloomsbury,
W. c." replied, my face crimson,
"care of Mrs. Kent
He wrote it down, and then stood
up to indicate that the interview was
over, bowed formally, and then touched
little bell. Suddenly a small boy APP
peared, who conducted me down dark,
breakneck stairs, through several mouldy,
dusty, labyrinthine passages and out
through a booksellers shop. | felt
more thoroughly small, mean, miserable
and disguised than l had ever felt in
my whole life, as l emerged from the
shady by-street, containing the Office,
into the light and hustle of Piccadilly,
and as I got into bus vowed never
again to come to personal encounter
with an editor. Hitherto | had been
content to drop my little contribution
modestly into the letter-boxes Of GER
tain weekly publications that delight in
small stories, or would send them by
post and await the result with what
patience | could. Sometimes my sto-
ries and verses were accepted, some
times not, and | fancied that, if an
editor only knew how exceedingly in
dustrious l was, how very much in
earnest, how devotedly attached to my
calling-for | had married the muse Of
literature for better or for worse-there
was no chance between doing that and
being a governess-he would have far
better opinion of me and give me an
important permanent position on his
paper Immediately. Then had heard
so much about the editor of the car
lington )" all the girls at the reading
room of the British Museum were con-
tinually talking of him, and in an evil
hour, armed with my most elaborate
poetical production, l made my way to
the office and requested, and, strange
to say, was granted (for London edit
ors are difficult of access) an interview.
The result vas pain, shame, confusion,
discontinue and, worst of all, failure.
Heaven and earth, how l hated that
man as l sat in the most remote corner
of the bus on my homeward journey
how l vowed to be revenged and let
him know some day whom he had
sneered and jeered at would put
him in novel, in comedy, in bur
lesque. | would caricature him with
pen and pencil. Iwould become fam
GUS merely to spite him, and refuse
oh, the joy of that thought II would
refuse to write serial for his hateful
magazine. l believe | became almost
eloquent in my internal denunciations
of him and, as an immediate practical,
disdainful defiance of him, | got out
at Oxford Street and went into Nudes
for another volume of Swinburne.
In one way or another, the editor of
the ARLINGTON was a good deal in my
thoughts during the next week, and the
more | considered his conduct, the
more l detested him my cheeks burn
ed and my ears tingled as recalled
his low, knocking tones and quiet an
Initiating glances. As for submitting
story, essay or articles to his tender
mercies-never
A fortnight passed, and my manu-
script did not come back. My name
was not Jones, but | really did live
with Mrs. Kent, in Brown Street, and l
told her all about it, so l should have
received it had it been sent. Oh
course. he had tossed it in a conspic-
uous waste paper basket that l had
noticed under his table, and that was
the end it.
One day, quite month after my
encounter with the autocrat of the AR
LINGToN, Mrs Kent announced a visi
tor, a gentleman, to see me and in a
moment there entered the editor, more
cool, calm, self-po-sessed and smiling
than ever.
| "The verses have not come back ir
quite the usual way" he said, sinking
unasked into the only easy chair
was at my writing table, and meant tc
stay there. However, here they are
all safe, with a few marginal notes
You do really leave beautifully broat
clean margins-they're quite tempting