hen only ten years okl, one night he stole out of the house with a copy of somo verses he had written - a very little poem - in his breast pocket. He wal keil by the door of the newspapcr office on tlie corner, tvvo or three times, and then gathering courage and watching the chance when nobody saw him, he stood on his toes, reaching up and dropped the poem in the letter box. He hurried home with a íluttcring heart but the next evening he walked by the office again, and from the opposite sido of the street he looked up at the printers at their work in their shirt sleevcs, each with i shaded lamp over his case. "Maybc they are printing my poem." hc said When the famfly newspaper carne in, he carricd it away to a secret corner, and there, suiv enouffh, heading the "Poet's Corner," were his verses. When telling this story, long after, when honor and fame 'm full measure were Ii is, he said with a smile, "I don't think any other literary success of my life has made me quite so happy sinee."