I told all this to Sue, adding, "I am no sermonizer--not, at least, since my lamentable failure at the obsequies of poor old Tabby--but I feel in the mood for a few plain, honest words on this topic this evening, and only wish I had a larger circle of hearers. I shall not take up any of the points mentioned by my friend the editor, for he has exhausted the subject: he has told you why many fail. I wonder if you have any idea what it costs the successful writers to win, because if you have not I have a friend who is entitled to be placed in this category, and I should like you to know what it cost him to attain his present position. He was eighteen when he discovered an aptitude for literary work by publishing a sketch in the village newspaper, and he was twenty-nine before he succeeded in gaining the slightest public recognition. These eleven years he spent in study, travel, close observation and literary labor, writing home letters to provincial newspapers whose editors published them readily enough, but forgot to send the author either money or thanks; and when he knocked at the door of the paying journals, as he did occasionally during these years, he was dismissed with the same politeness and complacency that you complain of. All this time, remember, he was living the life of a recluse, shunning general society and almost an anchorite as regards the sex: at the same time he was well aware that his friends, who were all engaged in the general scramble for wealth, regarded him pityingly as a man of a chimerical turn of mind, who, despite their efforts, _would_ continue to the end in the profitless pursuit of a phantom. Notwithstanding, he held to his purpose with a tenacity of will worthy of the old Scotch Covenanter from whom he descended. His final success, he has often declared, was owing to a lucky chance. When twenty-nine years of age he wrote a book, and succeeded in finding subscribers enough among those interested in his specialty to publish the work. There was evidence of talent in it which somehow attracted the attention of an editor in Massachusetts, conductor of a high-toned literary journal there, who wrote it up, and was followed shortly after by a New York editor of equal standing: this aided little in selling the book, but it gave him literary standing--a coign of vantage but little appreciated by young writers. Our friend next wrote a sketch half romantic, half historical, and armed with it gained a hearing from the editor who had favorably reviewed his book, and who in turn introduced him to the managing editor of his journal. This gentleman was induced by the author's representations to read the manuscript himself, was pleased with it and inserted it in his columns, together with many others of similar character; and as they were unique both in subject and style they were widely copied and commented upon, and placed the young author in the high-road to success.