I wrote similar sketches, which were published in that magazine.

Then I announced my intention of writing a "long story," and was told by him of the customs that he thought I "lacked the constructive faculty." I hope that I am writing an object lesson, either of learning how, or not learning how, to write.
I labored daily, when alone, for weeks; how many sheets of foolscap I covered, and dashed to earth, was never told.

Since, by my "infinite pains and groans," I have been reminded of Barkis, in "David Copperfield," when he crawled out of his bed to get a guinea from his strong box for David's dinner.

Naturally, I sent the story to _Harper's Magazine_, and it was curtly refused.

My husband, moved by pity by my discouragement, sent it to Mr.Lowell, then editor of the _Atlantic Monthly_.