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 with church books, neither sermons nor tracts, do you see?"

"Sir, it is one of sentiment, after the manner of Werther."

"Well, my dear, I have never heard of Werther, and, you see, I don't publish novels at all."

The little authoress, hot, hungry, tired, and mortified, began to tie up her manuscript again with tears in her eyes. Good-natured Mr. Smith said—

"Don't cry, dear, there's money bid for you yet."

When he heard that her name was Owenson, it turned out that her father was one of his greatest friends.

"Will I recommend you to a publisher?"

"Oh, sir, if you would be so good!"

"To be sure I will."

A letter to Mr. Brown, of Grafton Street was written, and with this Sydney again set forth. She found Mr. Brown at breakfast, but he consented that his reader should look at the novel. She left no address, and during her next visit to Dublin, when she happened to take up a book that was lying on a window seat, she found that it was her own "St. Clair!" Four copies were presented to her. The book was afterwards rewritten and published in England, and had the honour of being translated into German.