njury. I must try to be done with Hope. There
was no help for it. I must go to work at something and cease to worry
and lie awake of nights. But I had nothing to do but read and walk and
wait. No word had come to me from the 'Tribune'--evidently it was not
languishing for my aid. That day my tale was returned to me with thanks
with nothing but thanks printed in black type on a slip of paper--cold,
formal, prompt, ready-made thanks. And I, myself, was in about the same
fix--rejected with thanks--politely, firmly, thankfully rejected. For
a moment I felt like a man falling. I began to see there was no very
clamourous demand for me in 'the great emporium', as Mr Greeley called
it. I began to see, or thought I did, why Hope had shied at my offer and
was now shunning me. I went to the Tribune office. Mr Greeley had gone
to Washington; Mr Ottarson was too busy to see me. I concluded that I
would be willing to take a place on one of the lesser journals. I spent
the day going from one office to another, but was rejected everywhere
with thanks. I came home and sat down to take account of stock. First, I
counted my money, of which there were about fifty dollars left. As to my
talents, there were none left. Like the pies at the Hillsborough
tavern, if a man came late to dinner--they were all out. I had some fine
clothes, but no more use for them than a goose for a peacock's feathers.
I decided to take anything honourable as an occupation, even though
it were not in one of the learned professions. I began to answer
advertisements and apply at business offices for something to give me a
living, but with no success. I began to feel the selfishness of men.
God pity the warm and tender heart of youth when it begins to harden and
grow chill, as mine did then; to put away its cheery confidence forever;
to make a new estimate of itself and others. Look out for that time, O
ye good people! that have sons and daughters.

I must say for myself that I had a mighty courage and no small
capital of cheerfulness. I went to try my luck with the newspapers of
Philadelphia, and there one of them kept me in suspense a week to no
purpose. When I came back reduced in cash and courage Hope had sailed.

There was a letter from Uncle Eb telling me when and by what steamer
they were to leave. 'She will reach there a Friday,' he wrote, 'and
would like to see you that evening at Fuller's'.

I had waited in Philadelphia, hoping I might have some word, to giv