nge in pocket, know that
there is even a kind of pleasurable exhilaration in it. The characters
in George Gissing's Grub Street stories would have thought Stockton
rich indeed with his fifty-dollar salary. But he was one of those
estimable men who have sense enough to give all their money to their
wives and keep none in their trousers. And though his life was arduous
and perhaps dull to outward view, he was a passionate lover of books,
and in his little box at the back of the newspaper office, smoking a
corncob and thumping out his reviews, he was one of the happiest men in
New York. His thirst for books was a positive bulimia; how joyful he was
when he found time to do a little work on his growing sheaf of literary
essays, which he intended to call "Casual Ablutions," after the famous
sign in the British Museum washroom.

It was Mr. Stockton's custom to take a trolley as far as the Brooklyn
bridge, and thence it was a pleasant walk to the office on Park Row.
Generally he left home about ten o'clock, thus avoiding the rush of
traffic in the earlier hours; and loitering a little along the way, as
becomes a man of ideas, his article on poetry would jell in his mind,
and he would be at his desk a little after eleven. There he would work
until one o'clock with the happy concentration of those who enjoy their
tasks. At that time he would go out for a bite of lunch, and would then
be at his desk steadily from two until six. Dinner at home was at seven,
and after that he worked persistently in his little den under the roof
until past midnight.

One morning in spring he left New Utrecht in a mood of perplexity, for
to-day his even routine was in danger of interruption. Halfway across
the bridge Stockton paused in some confusion of spirit to look down on
the shining river and consider his course.

A year or so before this time, in gathering copy for his poetry
articles, he had first come across the name of Finsbury Verne in an
English journal at the head of some exquisite verses. From time to time
he found more of this writer's lyrics in the English magazines, and at
length he had ventured a graceful article of appreciation. It happened
that he was the first in this country to recognize Verne's talent, and
to his great delight he had one day received a very charming letter from
the poet himself, thanking him for his understanding criticism.

Stockton, though a shy and reticent man, had the friendliest nature in
the world, an