the advertising rates. He
was obliged to adopt a descending scale of charges and expenditures to
keep pace with his declining circulation--a fatal sign. A publisher must
lead his subscription list, not follow it.

"I was walking backward," he said, "not seeing where I stepped."

In desperation he broke away and made a trip to Tennessee to see if
something could not be realized on the land, leaving his brother Sam in
charge of the office. It was a journey without financial results; yet it
bore fruit, for it marked the beginning of Mark Twain's literary career.

Sam, in his brother's absence, concluded to edit the paper in a way that
would liven up the circulation. He had never done any writing--not for
print--but he had the courage of his inclinations. His local items were
of a kind known as "spicy"; his personals brought prompt demand for
satisfaction. The editor of a rival paper had been in love, and was
said to have gone to the river one night to drown himself. Sam gave
a picturesque account of this, with all the names connected with the
affair. Then he took a couple of big wooden block letters, turned them
upside down, and engraved illustrations for it, showing the victim
wading out into the river with a stick to test the depth of the water.
When this issue of the paper came out the demand for it was very
large. The press had to be kept running steadily to supply copies. The
satirized editor at first swore that he would thrash the whole journal
office, then he left town and did not come back any more. The embryo
Mark Twain also wrote a poem. It was addressed "To Mary in Hannibal,"
but the title was too long to be set in one column, so he left out all
the letters in Hannibal, except the first and the last, and supplied
their place with a dash, with a startling result. Such were the early
flickerings of a smoldering genius. Orion returned, remonstrated, and
apologized. He reduced Sam to the ranks. In later years he saw his
mistake.

"I could have distanced all competitors even then," he said, "if I had
recognized Sam's ability and let him go ahead, merely keeping him from
offending worthy persons."

Sam was subdued, but not done for. He never would be, now. He had
got his first taste of print, and he liked it. He promptly wrote two
anecdotes which he thought humorous and sent them to the Philadelphia
Saturday Evening Post. They were accepted--without payment, of course,
in those days; and when the papers containi