What would my
father think of it? I wondered, and opened his
manuscript. "My dearest boy," it began, "I send you a
cutting which has pleased me very much, from a St.
Joseph paper of high standing. At last you seem to be
coming fairly to the front, and I cannot but reflect
with delight and gratitude how very few youths of your
age occupy nearly two columns of press-matter all to
themselves. I only wish your dear mother had been here
to read it over my shoulder; but we will hope she
shares my grateful emotion in a better place. Of
course I have sent a copy to your grandfather and uncle
in Edinburgh; so you can keep the one I enclose. This
Jim Pinkerton seems a valuable acquaintance; he has
certainly great talent; and it is a good general rule
to keep in with pressmen."
I hope it will be set down to the right side of my
account, but I had no sooner read these words, so
touchingly silly, than my anger against Pinkerton was
swallowed up in gratitude. Of all the circumstances of
my career--my birth, perhaps, excepted--not one had
given my poor father so profound a pleasure as this
article in the SUNDAY HERALD.
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