"
"I hope that need not be for long," he said, "for I feel sure
that you will yet write stories as good as `His Wife's Deceased
Sister.'"
All the manuscripts I had on hand I now sent to my good
friend the editor, and in due and proper order they appeared in
his journal under the name of John Darmstadt, which I had
selected as a substitute for my own, permanently disabled. I
made a similar arrangement with other editors, and John Darmstadt
received the credit of everything that proceeded from my pen.
Our circumstances now became very comfortable, and occasionally
we even allowed ourselves to indulge in little dreams of
prosperity.
Time passed on very pleasantly. One year, another, and then
a little son was born to us. It is often difficult, I believe,
for thoughtful persons to decide whether the beginning of their
conjugal career, or the earliest weeks in the life of their
first-born, be the happiest and proudest period of their
existence. For myself I can only say that the same exaltation of
mind, the same rarefication of idea and invention, which
succeeded upon my wedding day came upon me now. As then, my
ecstatic emotions crystallized themselves into a motive for a
story, and without delay I set myself to work upon it. My boy
was about six weeks old when the manuscript was finished, and one
evening, as we sat before a comfortable fire in our sitting-room,
with the curtains drawn, and the soft lamp lighted, and the baby
sleeping soundly in the adjoining chamber, I read the story to my
wife.
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