was listened to
disconcerted him. Mr. Hardwill came to his relief.

"What is the title of your book?"

"It is called 'Goldwood.'"

"That is not happy."

"No?"

"No," said Mr. Hardwill, "it should be something striking--something to
catch the eye in an advertisement. For instance, the--the----"

"Frantic Father," suggested Mortimer, quietly; and he gazed at the carpet
to keep from smiling.

Mr. Hardwill eyed him, and displayed his white teeth. There was a little
satire in our author's remark which pleased Mr. H., who could not be hired
to read the spasmodic books which he published. It was policy in him to
cater for that largest class of readers whose tastes are morbid or
inflamed, and he did so.

Mortimer had thrown aside his timidity. He gave a concise sketch of the
plot, touching here and there on some supposed-to-be felicitous incident,
and grew so autorially eloquent over his romance, that the careful Mr.
Hardwill requested Mortimer to leave his manuscript with him, saying:

"I cannot give you much hope. I have more books ready for press than I can
well attend to. If you will call on me the latter part of next week, you
shall have my decision."

With these words, spoken in an off-hand, business-like way, Mr. Hardwill
made a bow, which said, as kindly as such a thing _can_ be said, "You
needn't stay any longer."

Mortimer returned his bland smile frankly, and retired, though he would
fain have called Mr. Hardwill's attention to that delightful and exciting
scene in which Mr. Adine St. Clair meets Arabella Clementina after an
estrangement of two weeks! but he didn't. He again threaded his way through
the labyrinth of literature, and the last sound which fell on his ear, as
he turned from the book-store into the street, was,

"'The Ruined Cigar Girl,' twenty copies!"

"What on earth could anybody want of a 'Ruined Cigar Girl,' or a 'Young
Mother?'" and Mortimer laughed outright.

The wand of Prospero is neither more cunning nor more powerful than the pen
of a well bred author. It creates something out of nothing, (more
frequently nothing out of something), changes time, place, and human
nature; it lifts up the blue roofing of ocean, and gives you a glimpse of
fish-life; and deeper still, shows you the coral forests of the Naiads, and
their aquatic palaces. It draws back the curtain of cloud-land, and feeds
your fancy with forms that never have been, and never will be; summons
spirits from the air, and