little to shape it. It is often spicily controversial, sometimes
tiresomely so. I do a good deal of skipping in that line. I wish its
quarrels resulted more from efforts to right some wrong; and there is
so much evil in our city, both in high and low places, that ought to
be fought to the death. The editor has exceptional opportunities, and
might be the knight-errant of our age. If in earnest, and on the right
side, he can forge a weapon out of public opinion that few evils could
resist. And he is in just the position to discover these dragons. and
drive them from their hiding-places. If, for instance, the clever
paragraphist in this column, whose province, it seems, is to comment
at the last moment on the events of the day, were as desirous of
saying true, strong, earnest words, as bright and prophetic ones, in
which the news of the morrow is also outlined-why, Mr. Morton, what is
the matter?"

"Are you a witch?"

She looked at me a moment, blushed deeply, and asked hesitatingly:

"Are-are you the paragraphist?"

"Yes," I said, with a burst of laughter, "as truly as yours is the
only witchcraft in which I believe-that of brains." Then putting my
finger on my lips, I added, _sotto voce_: "Don't betray me. Mr. Yocomb
would set all his dogs on me if he knew I were an editor, and I don't
wish to go yet."

"What have I been saying!" she exclaimed, with an appalled look.

"Lots of clever things. I never got so many good hints in the same