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or three agents. We read what all of them send, but find the majority without the faculty for discerning what we, in this office, want. They have now and then turned up a new writer. At present their drift is toward getting a score or more writers to allow them to control their output, agents to do the business part, while the writers simply write. For writers living at a distance from New York doubtless the agent is a convenience, but for those living within one

hundred miles of New York the 'placing' service is unnecessary. I wish you would bring out this point - writers who deal with agents miss the help which comes from personal contact with the editors. We send no letters to agents when returning manuscripts. But to writers who show promise, we do, when dealing with them, give criticism which may be helpful in the next writing they undertake." Truman Cross.

The Boston Transcript.

SHOULD WRITERS READ?

"The writer is first of all a citizen of the world, with eyes alert to explore its delights, its sorrows, and its mysteries. No other ever has a yarn to spin. Next he turns his gaze inward. Lastly he studies books. If you must omit one of these three processes let it be the last."

This is a quotation from a book of advice about short-story writing. I nearly fell out of my chair when I read it. I belong to the old school, and would say with Tupper in his "Proverbial Philosophy":"A good book is the best of friends, the same today and forever.

To draw thee out of self, thy petty plans and cau tions,

To teach thee what thou lackest, to tell thee how largely thou art blest,

To lure thy thought from sorrow, to feed thy famished mind,

To graft another's wisdom on thee, pruning thine own folly,

Choose discreetly, and well digest the volume most suited to thy case."

While this may not rank very high as poetry, it has a strong appeal as common

sense.

I have often been amazed at the "thinness" of some, I may say most, of our American writers, and I believe it is due to the lack of the very thing the author of this book on story-writing now boldly says is a non-essential an acquaintance with books.

I feel that his argument is wrong from the start. Are our best writers citizens of the world? “Turns his gaze inward" - we have too much of that introspective construction that leads nowhere. "Books lastly" and then omitted at discretionthat is too, too much! Before beginning a novel George Eliot read "Homer." Her style and diction were no doubt due to her lavish wealth of information. Here is an extract from a letter she wrote to Miss Lewis, a friend and instructor, September 4, 1839:

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"My mind presents just such an assemblage of disjointed specimens of history, ancient and modern, scraps of poetry picked up from Shakspere, Cowper, Wordsworth, and Milton; newspaper topics; morsels of Addison and Bacon, Latin verbs, geometry, entomology, and chemistry; reviews and metaphysics all arrested and petrified and smothered by the fast thickening anxiety of actual events, relative anxieties, and household cares and vexations."

Should writers read? I ask the question in all seriousness, for in a literary club where the matter was first spoken of other members took the view that books were not necessary, while to my mind the teaching is actually pernicious and will work positive harm to young writers.

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THE WRITER is published the first day of every month. It will be sent, postpaid, ONE YEAR for ONE DOLLAR.

All drafts and money orders should be made payable to The Writer Publishing Co. Stamps, or local checks, should not be sent in payment for subscriptions.

THE WRITER will be sent only to those who have paid for it in advance. Accounts cannot be opened for subscriptions, and names will not be entered on the list unless the subscription order is accompanied by a remittance.

The American News Company, of New York, and the New England News Company, of Boston, and their branches, are wholesale agents for THE WRITER. It may be ordered from any newsdealer, or direct, by mail, from the publishers.

Not one line of paid advertisement will be printed in THE WRITER outside of the advertising

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Helston, the young English "workshop bard," says of the machine: "It is a great help in composition, for it clears your ideas. It reminds you by the repetition of one key when you are falling upon an unconscious assonance, and warns you against too many sibilants, and the rest of it."

However showy, or perhaps impressive,

it may be, writing is never good unless it is lucid and direct. There's a hint for writers in a story that Ex-Senator Mason of Illinois has often told. He went to a barbershop to be shaved and the barber, as he lathered him spoke enthusiastically of a political speech he had heard that morning. The barber declared it to be the most eloquent discourse he had ever heard. The orator talked two hours, but the audience would willingly have listened another hour. It was wonderful, a masterly effort.

What did he talk about?" asked the senator. "What was the subject of his address?"

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Particulars regarding the offer of Winthrop Ames, director of the Little Theatre, New York, of a prize of $10,000 for the best play by an American author submitted before August 15 are given as follows :Authors must be residents of United States.

I.

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2. Plays must be original, and of the right length for a full evening's entertainment. No translations, adaptations, oneact pieces, or musical comedies will be considered. Dramatizations of novels, short stories, etc., may be entered, provided full rights to make such dramatizations have been obtained.

3. Each play submitted must be signed with pseudonym only, and be accompanied by a sealed envelope, bearing outside the title of the play and the author's pseudonym, and inclosing the author's real name and address. These envelopes will not be opened until the judges have made their decision.

4. Manuscripts must be clear, typewritten copies, and sent by mail or prepaid express, addressed: "Winthrop Ames's Play Contest, care the Little Theatre, 240 West

Forty-fourth Street, New New York City." Manuscripts must be received before August 15, 1913. The award will be made and the manuscripts returned as soon as possible after that date; but as Mr. Ames cannot hold himself responsible for possible loss, or damage to any manuscript, authors should keep copies of the plays they submit.

5. No play can be considered which has previously been submitted to Mr. Ames, either at the Little Theatre or while director of the New Theatre.

6. The payment of the award of $10,000 will entitle Mr. Ames to all rights whatsoever in the accepted play, and shall be considered as advance payment on account of royalties until these royalties, reckoned at ten per cent. of the gross receipts from the play, shall have amounted to $10,000. Thereafter Mr. Ames will pay royalties of eight per cent. on all additional gross receipts derived from the play.

7. While Mr. Ames engages, in any case, to pay $10,000 for the best play submitted, he does not promise a production if, in the opinion of the judges, no play of requisite merit is received.

The award will be made by a committee of three judges, Augustus Thomas, president of the Society of American Dramatists; Adolph Klauber, dramatic editor of the New York Times, and Winthrop Ames.

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Lowell Hardy, who wrote the story, "The Unwilling Philanthropist," in Lippincott's for May, is one of the group of writers, artists, and dramatists who make up the unique literary and artistic colony at Carmelby-the-Sea, California. Mr. Hardy's first story, Frosty Ferguson; Strategist," was published three years ago in Everybody's Magazine, and was an immediate success. His work is humorous in character western so far as material is concerned. Its popularity is shown by the regularity with which his stories appear in the Monthly

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Magazine Section, Sunset, the Pacific Monthly, Lippincott's, the Black Cat, and other publications. At Carmel-by-the-Sea, where Mr. Hardy works, there are gathered together more well-known writers than in any other place in America. Among those who live and write in this forest town on the sea coast are Harry Leon Wilson, author of "The Man From Home," "The Spenders," and His Majesty Bunker Bean"; James Hopper and Fred Bechdoldt, who wrote 9,009"; Mary Austin, author of "The Woman of Genius"; Grace MacGowan Cooke, author of "The Joy Bringer"; Del H. Munger, who wrote The Wind Before the Dawn"; and Alice MacGowan, author of "The Last Word." Perry Newberry, the writer of boys' stories, who is another of the company, is hard at work now, getting ready to produce the annual play that is given in July of each year by the members of the literary and artistic colony in the beautiful Forest theatre that belongs to the town. The play this year is to be Runnymede," written by William Greer Harrison, and the cast will include all of the notables.

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Hattie Lee MacAlister, whose story, “The Story of Annie," appeared in the American Magazine for May, was born in Raleigh, N. C., and went to school in Sanford and Jacksonville, Florida. When she was twelve years old she went to Centenary-CollegeConservatory, at Cleveland, Tennessee, and three years later took her A. B. While there she won a medal for an essay on Hamlet, but she turned her attention chiefly to sciences and mathematics. After graduation Miss MacAlister taught natural sciences in the high school at Durham, N. C., and she afterward taught in the public schools of Columbia, S. C. Miss MacAlister began to write in the spring of 1911, when she had a series of articles running about a year in Zenith of Duluth. The Columbia State printed some special articles and editorials written by her, and she has had a number of contributions in Latin, a short story, and several sketches in Life, a story, "Puppy Love," in Human Life (now de

funct), articles in American Motherhood, epigrams in the Smart Set, and "The Story of Annie in the American Magazine.

Morris McDougall, who wrote the novel, "The Shanty at Trembling Hill," in the Popular Magazine for May 15, is the son of the late J. L. McDougall, C. M. G., formerly auditor-general of Canada. He was born in Ottawa thirty-one years ago, and is a graduate of the class of 1903, Toronto University. For several years Mr. McDougall spent a part of each summer paddling along the streams of the Laurentian Hills in Quebec, and he has written a number of stories of the French Canadian lumbermen of that country, of which some have been published in the Popular Magazine, and one in the Blue Book for March, 1911.

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"Harriett Spofford Potter," the signed to the story, "Christabel and the Street Called Crooked," in the Red Book for May, should be Lilian Webster Potter, the writer being the wife of Harry Spofford Potter, the illustrator. When Mrs. Potter sent the story to the Red Book, she signed her name, Lilian Webster Potter, on a separate sheet, while the first page of the manuscript bore the direction, Return to Mrs. Harry Spofford Potter." Mrs. Potter supposes that the separate sheet got lost, and that the editor, taking "Harry" to be a diminutive of "Harriet," charitably promoted her to the more dignified name. Mrs. Potter is a new writer, and "Christabel" is her first story. She says her first dip into writing has been nearly as confusing as was Christabel's plunge into Wall Street. Mrs. Potter studied for some time at the University of Michigan, and afterward continued work at the Sorbonne in Paris. While in Paris she wrote a series of articles for a New York Sunday newspaper.

PERSONAL GOSSIP ABOUT AUTHORS.

Browning An interesting and hitherto unpublished letter from the poet Browning has appeared in London. In 1880 the

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I write poems and no prose whatever, having never in my life written one line for a newspaper, review, periodical of any kind with a single exception in the case of a magazine ten years ago or more, of which you shall hear presently. My poems are unpopular and unsalable, being only written for myself and a certain small number of critics whose approbation is satisfaction enough. I publish them - never more than one in a year, at various intervals -sometimes of several years. My publishers give me a royalty," whatever they please, and I derive no more profit from the transaction I should do so if the works reached a second edition, but they never do reach it; only one piece, many years ago, had that distinction. The sum I thus receive I supposed to be capital; if I invested it the interest would of course be part of my income. But I have furnished you with an account of the little independence which enables me to write merely for my own pleasure and not that of the general public. You will see by the letter from my publisher, which I enclose. that for the only book I published last year I got £125, and that rather from his considerate kindness than hope of profit (the last ten books" to which he alludes have been printed in the course of some eighteen or twenty years).

It certainly seems to me if I were to sell as many books from my book case as would produce £125-that would not contribute any income. The one instance of my contributing to a magazine was ten years ago, T think when, wanting to help a charity, I gave a poem, the produce of which (£100) I handed over at once.

But I sometimes get a sum from another source under conditions quite different. My books consist of poems published from 1833 to 1863 or thereabout-all at my own expense, which was never repaid. When eventually collected they were stereotyped and sold singly in volumes, and whenever any fresh copies are struck off this is called an edition, and I receive a small royalty."

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Last November by this process volume 5 brought me £37 10s.

I believe I have not yet recovered what I laid out in the original and more expensive printings to say nothing of profits in the case. I get in like manner a similar sum for the poems of my late wife, but this is virtually a gift due to the publisher's good feeling- -as the copyright is expired, and he or anybody may print them at his pleasure- as was done last year.

I was presented in November with £62 IOS. on this account. Of course this year I shall probably receive nothing whatever, and if I publish nothing new of my own, as very Dossibly I shall not—nothing also. At my age, sixty-eight, it is not likely I can continue to write poetry certainly it will be at much longer intervals than in earlier days.

I have gone into these details because your misconception of my way of life is very natural. I have got a good deal of reputation-university honors, and so forthbut that is just because I never wrote for money. My works circulate very largely in America, but do not bring me a farthing. I am well aware many of my literary friends obtain more for a single poem, novel, or play than I ever did from all my works put together. But I take my way.

I put down the above-mentioned sums in the paper which I return and hope you will think it a little hard that I should be mulcted for having worked my hardest for almost fifty years with no regard to money. If I am wrong I put myself in your hands having faithfully made the statement giving full particulars which you require. I am, sir, yours obediently,

ROBERT BROWNING.

France. Anatole France makes an interesting frank confession. "Soon after Sur la Pierre Blanche' began to appear in serial form," he says, "I went on a long holiday. Before leaving France I split my manuscript into a number of portions, each exactly the right length for a daily feuilleton. I bore these to the newspaper office and saw them carefully arranged in separate pigeonholes. Unfortunately, the printer who had to extract the installments day by day took them in vertical instead of horizontal order, so that the feuilletons appeared without any suggestion of sequence. Apparently, incoherent writing shocks few people nowadays, for only a small proportion of my readers protested against this form of publication." Phillpotts. Of his earlier days when he a London journalist, Eden Phillpotts

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writes: Editing and novel writing I soon found were incompatible. I was living in the suburbs of London at the time, and when the editorship of Black and White was offered me, I declined because I could not do justice to both. I elected to write books and immediately moved into the country. When I first began writing I used to write every novel twice over; in fact my first six books were each written twice, but I have long since abandoned that practice. I like to carry every subject in my head some six months before I commence to write. By that time I have become sufficiently familiar with my characters. Like so many of my fellow writers, I find that only the morning is suitable for creative work. I will not work on a novel in the afternoon, but reserve that part of the day for lighter writing, such as short stories and articles on various topics. But you see that I virtually work all day; in fact, I am not really happy unless engaged in my literary work."

Yard. Robert Sterling Yard, the new managing editor of the Century, was born in Haverstraw, N. Y., February 1, 1861, the son of Robert Boyd and Sarah (Purdue) Yard. He was graduated from Princeton University in 1883, and in 1895 married Miss Mary Belle Moffat, daughter of the late Dr. James C. Moffat, a professor in the Princeton Theological Seminary. They have one daughter, Margaret. For three years Mr. Yard was associated with the firm of W. R. Grace & Co. as head of their foreign cables and correspondence department. During the three succeeding years he was a геporter for the Sun of this city, and afterward was a reporter and Sunday editor for the New York Herald. He remained with the Herald for eight years. He then was engaged for a year in the publishing business, in charge of the establishment of R. H. Russell. When his association with that establishment ended, he entered the employ of Charles Scribner's Sons, and was made manager of the book advertising department. He was with the firm for four years. For this firm he edited the Lamp. and the Scribe for two years. When he re

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