He was
rallied from time to time on his silence in the office, but he
continued to keep his secret. If his contribution was slighted, no
one should know it but himself.
At last another Saturday morning came around and again he set out for
the post-office. Again he opened the paper with trembling fingers,
and eagerly scanned the well-filled columns. This time his search
was rewarded. There, on the first column of the last page, in all
the glory of print, was his treasured essay!
A flash of pleasure tinged his cheek, and his heart beat rapidly, as
he read his first printed production. It is a great event in the
life of a literary novice, when he first sees himself. Even Byron
says,--
"'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's self in print."
To our young hero the essay read remarkably well--better than he had
expected; but then, very likely he was prejudiced in its favor. He
read it through three times on his way back to the printing office,
and each time felt better satisfied.
"I wonder if any of the readers will think it was written by a boy?"
thought Harry. Probably many did so suspect, for, as I have said,
though the thoughts were good and sensible, the article was only
moderately well expressed. A practised critic would readily have
detected marks of immaturity, although it was a very creditable
production for a boy of sixteen.
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