Lapas attēli

wheatena. Some of these words, as anacardine, cuticura, angoline, are correctly formed, while others, as floraplexion, sudsena, wheatena, are undeniable barbarisms.

To complete my pruning, I eliminate a still longer series of words, which are too rare, too recent, too self-explanatory, or else too uncertain in meaning and use to suit the present purpose. Of these I have: Alcophobia, AntiSnapper, autoharp, balistite, biff, dattir, eikonogen, electricide, electro-thanasia, enchantment (a game), exfratriation, femiculture, ferrosilicon, fluorcalcium, forespanker, gradgrinds, herophone, house-hunting, mealer, metagnostic, metagnosticism, miasma (a color), mimeograph, operator (telegraphist ), orimene, para-toluidine, pediatry or pediatrics, pous, prerolandic, scrimpage or scrimpings, Snapper, tardieu, tipple, tournoi, trachoma, triton (a color), typoscribe, typoscript, typoscripture, thirty-nine.

There now remain a hundred and fifty words of well defined meaning and seemingly well established use, which, in my judgment, the complete English dictionary of to-day should contain and explain. To attempt definitions here would swell this article much beyond its due length; I shall, however, classify these words, as I have previously done, under several convenient heads.

Let me begin with the most fertile field of new terms, that of science and arts. From this I have gathered and retained forty-seven words: Actinomycosis, anti-fat, anti-kamnia, anti-rabic, appendicitis, apple-scab, biochemical, cataphoresis, cataphoric, codonophone, comptometer, ecrasite, electricize, electrocute, electrocution, fluorography, flyer, Graham flour, grammophone, hysophobia, intra-vesical, kelgum, kinetograph, kodak, linotype, lysophobia, madstone, melinite, nickel-in-the-slot machine, nona, obromine, orguinette, orthochromatic, pambutano, paratoloid, phenological, photoceramics, plastomenite, saccharification, sloyd-work, spiroplethe, staff (as used in building the "White City"), telautograph, Texas fever, tuberculine, typogravure, unfreezable. Some of these words will be recognized as already familiar; others stand greatly in need of definition for the benefit of the general reader.

From the domain of science we pass on to

that of religion and philosophy. This yields us only sixteen terms, as follows: American Protestant Association, Christian science, Christian scientist, credal, doctrinarily, Economite, Evangelical Association, extracredal, Harmonist, Idealism, mind-reader, mind-reading, Oneida Community, Rappist, United Brethren in Christ, Zoarite. Such of these terms as designate religious denominations are by no means new, but they are not defined in the International, which, as before stated, is my authority in determining the newness of words.

The field of business and social life has contributed twenty-five words to my collection. They are: Bridge-jumper, boomlet, combine (noun), dockman, dudine, fakir (a pedler), fireguard (a protection against prairie fires), greengoods, Labor Day, life-saver, multi-millionaire, non-union, Pinkerton, quadro-centennial, shutdown, smashup, speakeasy, sooner (in Oklahoma, a settler who entered before the appointed time), squaw man, test case, tie-up, tough (noun), train-jumper, train-wrecker, wind-up.

Of new terms relating to sports and games. I have admitted only eight: Base-ballist, caroussel, craps, mamooz, pigs-in-clover, poolselling, tiddledy-winks, tricycler. This field is very productive of new words, but many of these are too slangy and short-lived for the lexicographer's notice.

In the department of home politics I have collected thirty-one new terms and new meanings, most or all of which the reader will recognize as already familiar and not in need of definition. The list is as follows: Afro-Amer

ican, anti-machine, anti-monopoly, Anti-Poverty Society, anti-ring, Anti-Silverite, anti-trust, apportion, apportionment, Bellamyte, boodler, Councilmanic, Farmers' Alliance, Fusionist, hold-over (adjective), Labor Party, Nationalism, Nationalist, People's Party, placeholder, Populist, reapportion, reapportionment, returning. board, Silverite, single tax, Stalwart, Tammanyite, tariff-monger, Union Labor Party, United Labor Party. The last two terms and Stalwart must be marked as already obsolescent or historical.

Foreign politics give us the following seven words, most of which are taken from foreign.

languages: Anti-Shemitic, berat, buffer state, Dreibund, Riffian, Rigsdag, Skuptschina.

The remaining sixteen words I shall put under the heading "miscellaneous." They are : Awink (poetical ), blazer, boardwalk, census (verb), concededly, consultory, dignifiedly, dotlet, executional, fin-de-siècle, grid-iron grid-iron (verb), happening (noun), house-moving, stormcoat, stupporn, tactful.

No doubt this list of a hundred and fifty recent words might easily be increased, even doubled, by one who would make it his special

purpose to hunt up new terms in the periodical and book literature of our day. No doubt, also, the classification here adopted might be improved upon. However, what is here presented is sufficient to show that our language, as the living speech of a hundred millions of active, thinking people, is daily adopting new words and adapting old words to new ideas, and that the dictionary, like the newspaper, is daily growing old. H. A. Schuler.



In an article upon George Michel, the painter of Montmartre, in the Century for November, 1893, Virginia Vaughan says: "To a more deliberate intellectual artist each new work is an event, the record of a step which brings him nearer to his goal, of which he never loses sight."

This, it seems to me, would make a good motto for all writers who earnestly desire selfimprovement and the uplifting of our national literature. America has not yet attained, a high place in letters. Possibly she is still too young to be admitted to the elderly company of the East, but a close observer may find other causes for this than tenderness of age. How many of our writers are working for art's sake? It needs little more than a glance at current American literature to detect the absence of the "high seriousness" which makes classics. Do our writers set up a goal -a lofty standard of excellence- and make each new effort a serious step toward its attainment? Do we not rather have in view the ephemeral fitness of an article or a story for the pages of certain well-paying publications? There are few Grays these times to labor three years on "An Elegy," and there are few poems written which are not their own epitaphs. Oliver Wendell Holmes is, indeed, "The Last Leaf" of a literary sum

mer when an American literature almost bloomed.

The competition of business has invaded letters. The magazines vie with each other in announcing attractive lists of contributors for ensuing volumes; and the newspapers have captured illustrious names and advertise "Our new $10,000 story." Columns of literary notes are published, exciting literary aspirants with stories of the amounts which have been paid for popular tales and enumerating the editions into which they have run. But when have we seen it heralded that a story or a poem has appeared that will entitle America to a place in literature, and that bears the certain evidence of unselfish love for art and of being a distinct stride toward a goal?

In this spirit of mercantilism, we are in too great haste to print. We seem not to look beyond the glory of print and a remunerative strip of paper. Shall some future critic have just occasion to write that our characteristic impatience was what prevented the making of a national literature? It does require Job-like patience, sublime self-denial, and courage to labor upon one article, or story, or poem, selected, possibly from a wealth of ideas, as leading most directly to a high goal, while the writings of others are being printed, and talked

about, and paid for, all for pure love of the art. In these days of making literature a profession one is compelled to forego the self-satisfaction of doing the best for art's sake. We seem to be forced to write according to the demand. How many are honestly striving to elevate the standard of this supposed demand? Surely there are themes of paramount interest, powerful emotions pulsating American life, which are ready for the effort of the true artist for art's sake, and which, if treated in a true literary manner, - not the affected, traditional sense of literature, but in a broad, progressive, earnest, artistic manner, would make us a national literature.

There is no reason why the writer who does his work from pure love of his art should be a dreamer. He can toil on in as practical a way

as in any other pursuit. The most useful inventions have been made only through years of experiment, and often of sacrifice. A novel, a poem, or a play that will become an American classic cannot be dashed off and hustled into print, any more than a sewing machine or a locomotive can be devised in a day. Shall it be said that in all our broad land there are no disinterested lovers of the most enduring of all arts? Possibly in some luxurious library or some uncarpeted attic there is a "mute, inglorious Milton," and a generous public is waiting for him to burst the bonds of his obscurity. And if his work have the undying quality, the startling discovery will be made that the demand has been adapting itself to the supply, rather than the reverse.

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My first attempt at writing took the form of a novel. When I had reached the five hundred and sixtieth page I was interrupted in my work, and I did not see the manuscript again for a year. At the end of that time I read it over. It was not at all satisfactory, and with a good deal of disgust for my ornate and elaborate style of the previous year, I rewrote it. A liberal pruning soon reduced the manuscript to one hundred pages, and I found that I had inadvertently cut out all my love-scenes, sacrificed my hero, and left my heroine as a mere figure-head, to give point to the adventures of a picnic party. I then put the manuscript away, and at the end of several months read it once more. It struck me as still being too long, so I further reduced it, and after writing it out three or four times, finally condensed it into twenty pages of manuscript. On the whole I thought it pretty good, and determined to let the reading public have the benefit of it, so naming it "A Picnic Party," I sent it off to a local journal.

In about two months it came back to me with the following note: DEAR SIR

I beg to return enclosed manuscript. It is in my opinion very cleverly written, but too long for the pages of the Oracle. Could you not try your hand on short society bits for us? I think "A Picnic Party" might find acceptance with the Post or Sunny Hours. Yours, etc.,


I never received any letter that gave me more pleasure. The " very cleverly written" was incense to my soul. I immediately acted on the suggestion made, despatched "A Picnic Party" to the Post, and devoted my time to writing society bits, "mere pot-boilers," I told myself. I composed a great many of them, but the editor of the Oracle never said that the pot-boilers were cleverly written, although I endeavored to please him with humorous and satirical sketches in the character of a small boy, an old maid, a farmer, a man-about-town, and a philosopher. I can't say how many stamps the society bits cost me, or how long it was before

one of them was accepted. In the mean while "A Picnic Party" came back again, with another very polite note stating that the "Editor of the Post regretted that he could not negotiate for ‘A Picnic Party,' as the Post was not at present paying for outside contributions."

I next tried Sunny Hours. This magazine also returned the manuscript. On the back of it was scribbled in blue pencil:

Sketch fairly well written, but punctuation bad. - EDITOR Sunny Hours.

This necessitated a fresh copy, which having been carefully made, with all the improvements in punctuation that I could think of, I sent it to one of the large magazines. In due time it came back to me as before with "Too late for this season," written on a piece of note-paper. Believing that time was made for slaves, and that in all likelihood another summer would have arrived before the manuscript was returned, I posted the article again. It reached me a little sooner than usual, with a printed refusal, with the words, "Non-acceptance does not necessarily imply lack of merit," underlined in red pencil.

I don't like printed refusals, but the underlined words were a little balm to me, although riper experience inclines me to doubt if they were so marked for my special benefit.

At the next editorial door I approached I was informed that they "had enough sketches of the kind to last for three years."

I began to realize that the literary market must be glutted, but feeling it a pity that "a cleverly written article" should be lost to the world, I sent it out three or four times more, its

many travels obliging me to take several fresh copies, and leaving me heartily tired of the thing. At last I decided to be generous, and wrote to the editor of the Post, reminding him of his first letter, and said he could have "A Picnic Party" without paying for it if he wished. He accepted my offer, and two months later I was in print. Truth compels me to add that the magazine that had the temerity to print my maiden effort collapsed shortly afterwards, although I am naturally disinclined to believe that my innocent little sketch was entirely responsible for the fact, especially as shortly afterward a humorous paper used one of my "society bits."

I had written a great many articles for a certain paper before I dared to suggest that "what was worth printing was worth paying for," but to show that these demands, when reasonably made, are responded to by editors that have souls, I wish to say that my editor replied at once to my hint. In answer to my letter he sent me, by return mail, a nice, new, crisp one-dollar bill-full payment for an article that had taken me a week to write.

I felt snubbed.

A dozen rejected manuscripts couldn't have humbled me as that dollar did, but it was certainly not the fault of the editor. What possible concern could it be to him, that a pen in the halting hand of a novice took an entire week for writing what should have been done in a couple of hours? 7. M. Loes.



If I were asked, "What is the first qualification for success in authorship?" I should say

promptly, "Common sense." A writer may have genius, literary talent, education, industry, and all the other literary virtues, but if he does

not have common sense along with the rest, he is sure to be more or less a failure. Common sense alone will not win success in authorship; but it is the first and most important requisite. BROOKLYN, N. Y. Edward L. White.

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