equally probable--three or four strangers as a rule, who have never
seen each other before, but who considerately assemble in one place to
meet their doom. Then the last pages will never fit in with the first.
Your meek but lovely heroine at the beginning has been transformed
into a beautiful vixen as you near the end, and is quite
unrecognizable. The worst parts of all are the sensational ones. You
think you have worked your hero up to a pitch of fiery eloquence,
while his _fiancée_ is dying in agony close by, and when you
complacently turn to read over the passage, you find his words imply
no more sorrow than they would at the death of a relative from whom he
had expectations, or--a mother-in-law!

It is rather a difficult matter in a large family to keep your actions
a secret. Obtuse as most men are, with things going on right under
their eyes, it is not easy to baffle them when once their curiosity is
roused. And yet curiosity is always imputed exclusively to women!
Though Eve _was_ the first to taste the apple, Adam had no intention
of being behindhand. I know a man who always manages to get down to
breakfast five minutes before the rest of his family, for the purpose
of examining the correspondence all round.

Fortunately I managed to escape from these inquisitive eyes, for I met
the postman myself when he brought back my first tale. It was returned
with the Editor's "compliments and thanks," coupled with the regret
that he could not make use of my contribution.

I don't know that I ever felt such keen disappointment as when that
tale came back from its first visit. I had hoped so much from it, and
had been so confident of its success. It depressed me for some time,
and it was long before I ventured upon anything in the literary way