greatly astonished in the morning to find a finished poem on his writing-table. He says that he could more easily split wood or break stones than to write without inclination. He

has to force himself merely to copy what he has written. Dr. H. Erichsen.

DETROIT, Mich.

Going to be a writer, eh? Laudable ambition, very. Great men, those writers. Ten thousand dollars a story, and more, to say nothing of the fame and the afternoon teas, and the moral elevation consequent on thinking you are pushing the world around.

Yes, great men. Used to think of being a writer myself once, long ago. Field's pretty full nowadays. Always room at the top, you say. Yes, that's the trouble with so many of you young people who have read Emerson; you hitch your wagon to a star, and naturally get jerked off your feet, and after dangling in the air for a while, subside, and take up the clothing business or write for the papers.

You know everybody writes these days, and originality lags behind production. Oh, but you have something new, have you? That is what the publishers want. Sure it's new? you know so little has escaped the sweeping pens of George Eliot, Scott, and Thackeray. But it's new, really and truly new. Well, well, poor Solomon! another proof of human frailty. And you have n't written it yet? Ah, that puts another face on the matter. You know things look so different in print. Yes, indeed, it's queer what a cold and sicklied appearance those fiery imaginings have when they take on a local habitation and a name.

Now, I know a young would-be author who goes about making beautiful plots and finding new characters every day, but when the poor creature gets them to take shape in the manuscript, the blush has faded out of their faces and the litheness from their gait, and they seem

like poor decrepit invalids. They need solid food, they're too thin, like the tramp's excuse, "No work."

Thinking is good, and reading is to be recommended, but I would not suggest that in your case, for, of course, you have thought out all your creations.

Now, I know most, if not all, the characters that the young writer (I shan't expose the sex) attempts to portray. Met them before in other books. Nice people they are, too. Of course, I do not expect that every time they visit me they will say the same things, or act just as they did the time previous, but their dear familiar faces do me good.

So your ideas are quite original? That's nice, is n't it? I heard a novelist say he would be glad to get two original ideas a year, but you have ever so many. How pleasant, since coals are so cheap in Newcastle.

You have seen for yourself, you say, the things about which you will write; no hearsay in your case; no empty echoes, no reporting, no compilation, no distribution. You are to be a producer, not a re-producer. I'm very glad. Perhaps you will write "The Great American Novel," and not leave the laurels for the twentieth century.

One cannot see with others' eyes, and you will remember the hard time Herodotus has been having since his death on that point. However, one can write well by simply going to the imagination mill and grinding out one's incidents.

Defoe wrought many a good story out of "whole cloth," and succeeded by his faculty of

"lying like truth." Lord Chatham took his History of a Cavalier" for a true biography, so like the truth was it.

You are going to put your experiences through the process of change by the imagination, and turn them out new, are you? That's a good idea. Hegel and Lewis recommend that, and, come to think of it, that's what lies at the basis of true art. All great writers have done so; clothed their homely, every-day characters in the garments of imagination, transfigured them, so to speak, and yet kept them within the bounds of probability.

You do not believe in reading what others have written? Well, well. Rather revolutionary, is n't it? Weaken your originality, would it? Yes, I do remember that Bunyan produced the first really original form of English prose fiction, and that he was a man of only one book;

but then Cervantes, whom Heine calls the "father of the modern novel," was an omnivorous reader. You recollect what Bacon wrote: "If a man read little, he hath need of much cunning to seem to know that he doth not"? And he also writes: "Reading maketh the full man." That's a fact, and, as you say, full of other people's ideas; and it is our own Ralph Waldo who says: "A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and sages."

And you think success can be obtained now as in the days of "Adam Bede" and "Waverley"? That's well; aim high, and don't forget those books were founded on principles eternal as the human mind, and their success was no accident. Auf wiedersehen!. J. H. Jones.

BOSTON, Mass.

Sometimes I write verses. Very likely they are rather poor verses, yet I confess, in all honesty, that I believe I have read worse. And then the check that often comes in return for these verses leads me to believe that I may rightly count myself among the knitters in the sun, if not one of the dwellers on the summit of Parnassus.

Many months ago I sent some of these humble little verses to a rather leading New York magazine. I sent stamps and the usual few words to the effect that I should like to have my verses returned if they did not prove to be acceptable. This is the response which I received. I copy all but names and titles : — DEAR SIR: Your poem, "A

-" is not without merit, but we have so much better ones on hand, if you expect compensation, we cannot take it. If you care to see it in the pages of without compensation, will be glad to publish it, and will send you copy of it when it appears. Yours respectfully,

To this I wrote in reply (and sending more stamps), that while I did not question the propriety of their placing their own estimate upon the merit and value of any and all contributions sent them, I thought it a pity that they should be willing to publish anything that was inferior, even for nothing or for the price of one copy of their most excellent magazine. I also said that I thought that if my verses were worth anything, they were surely worth at least one year's subscription; but if they thought not, to please return them to me. This was answered as follows:

, Esq.

DEAR SIR: On we wrote you regarding your poem, saying by mistake that we had so much better on hand. We intended to say that we had so much matter on hand, and could, therefore, only use it without compensation. Yours respectfully,

Editor-in-Chief.

All this happened many months ago, and

I have not seen or heard of stamps, poem, or magazine. But the "Lounger" of the Critic told the story in his or her way, and it was retold in THE WRITER. The "Lounger" calls me Madam, but the editor-in-chief in both instances addressed me as "Esq." and "Sir," and it is really true that the granting me those titles has gone far toward soothing my wounded pride, and causing me much amusement.

I really did not think that the editor was brutal. It really seemed to me that he was

One of the most singular and unaccountable of the many idiosyncracies of modern literary style is to be found in the arbitrary and meaningless orthography of the two simple words representing, in all languages, the sweetest and holiest of all human relationships. The puzzle lies in this: That almost without exception the best and most careful writers and publishers of the present day spell "pa-pa" with two "p's," while they insist upon the use of an extra and altogether needless "m" in the word "ma-ma."

An ancient writer says: "Without doubt the word (ma-ma) is formed by Nature herself, since all infants of all nations begin to speak this word, as the most easy of pronunciation, being, in fact, formed solely by the compression of the lips." And he gives two instances of its use by a still older writer (Prior), spelled "ma-ma,' in his "Venus Mistaken" and "The Dove." If, then, the infant, to whose especial use these words are dedicated, unconsciously forms them "by the mere compression of the lips," as 'by Nature herself," what authority have we for spelling them differently? If "pa-pa" is correct, why is not "ma-ma"? If the only correct orthography of the latter is "mam-ma," why do we not write and print "pap-pa”?

THE WRITER.

WM. H. HILLS, . . EDITOR AND PUBLISHER.

THE WRITER is published the first day of every month. it will be sent, post-paid, ONE YEAR for ONE Dollar.

All drafts and money orders should be made payable to William H. Hills. 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. When subscriptions expire the names of subscribers will be taken off the list unless an order for renewal, accompanied by remittance, is received. Due notice will be given to every subscriber of the expiration of his subscription.

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**THE WRITER is kept on sale by Damrell & Upham (Old Corner Bookstore), Boston; Brentano Bros., New York, Washington, and Chicago; George F. Wharton, New Orleans; John Wanamaker, Philadelphia; and the principal newsdealers in other cities.

Everything printed in the magazine will be written expressly for it.

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

Advertising rates will be sent on request. Contributions not used will be returned, if a stamped and addressed envelope is enclosed.

Owing to the inability of the editor of THE WRITER to attend to his duties at the WRITER office, no numbers of the magazine were issued for the last eight months of 1892, or the first four months of 1893. Volume VI. of THE WRITER, therefore, will include the numbers from January to April, inclusive, 1892, and from May to December, inclusive, 1893. The volume will be paged continuously, and the bound volume, when it is completed, will be marked "Vol. VI., 1892-93."

All subscriptions unexpired May 1, 1892, will be dated ahead one year. Subscribers to whom

numbers of THE AUTHOR are due will receive THE WRITER for a corresponding term.

The price of a complete set of THE WRITER, including five bound volumes and the twelve unbound numbers for 1892-93, is now Eight Dollars, express prepaid. Single bound volumes for any year will be sent prepaid for $1.50, excepting the bound volumes for 1887 and 1889, of which the price, when ordered without the others in the set, is now Two Dollars each. Single back numbers of THE WRITER will be supplied, excepting those that are out of print, for fifteen cents each.

The price of a complete set of THE AUTHOR -three bound volumes-is now Four Dollars. Single volumes for 1889, 1890, or 1891 will be sent prepaid for Two Dollars each.

Not infrequently editors receive manuscripts. offered for publication accompanied by letters of which one may be quoted as an example. The writer says:

"Enclosed please find an article. I will be very glad to receive any remuneration you may consider right. I have not seen your publication. If you do not care for the article, you will confer a great favor by informing me where I could send it for publication."

The letter was innocently written, no doubt, and, of course, the author has committed no crime other than a breach of common sense. But what a foolish thing she has done! Postage on the manuscript, which was altogether unsuited to the magazine to which it was submitted, cost her thirty-two cents. For less than that she could have bought at any news-stand a copy of the periodical in question, and a mere glance at it would have shown her that the editor could not possibly accept her manuscript. Why should she waste her money and his time in sending her manuscript to him? Why should she expect him to stop in his work — as he did — and give her advice as to the disposition of her wares? There are literary bureaus that make a business of giving just such information for a proper fee, and authors and editors are making it more and more their custom to refer to them such inquiries as they receive. At all events, every writer may well make it a rule never to send a manuscript to a periodical of which he has

never seen a copy. The manuscript market is governed by the same general laws as other places of exchange, and people do not exercise ordinary prudence when they send their wares blindly to the first buyer whose name they happen to run across.

Another foolish thing that inexperienced writers in their unwisdom often do is to say to an editor in a letter accompanying a manuscript: "If you cannot use this article, throw it in the waste basket. I don't want to see it again except in print." If the author values the manuscript so cheaply, how can he expect that any editor will care to look at it? His letter seems to say: "I don't think much of this manuscript myself. I send it to you thinking that possibly, in a moment of blindness to your own interests, you may make the blunder of accepting it. If you don't, I don't know of any other editor whose judgment is less likely to be good; and, really, the manuscript isn't worth the cost of return postage to me. So, if you can't use it, don't waste either your money or mine by taking a good two-cent stamp to send it back." Of course, the writer may not mean to say all this, but, whatever he means, that is what his letter substantially implies. Nothing could be more unbusinesslike or more imprudent. Every experienced writer knows that an unquestionably excellent manuscript may be returned a half dozen times, or more, before it is finally accepted, and that an author learns by rejections a great deal that is valuable to him. If he omits to ask for the return of his manuscript, and to enclose sufficient postage, he acts as foolishly as a man would who should waste cartridges firing at a target in the dark, and never taking the trouble afterward to inquire whether he came anywhere near the mark or

[In order to secure copyright in both England and the United States, an author must publish his book in both countries on the same day. The book cannot be copyrighted in the United States unless it is printed from type set in this country. On or before the day of publication, the author must have delivered to the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, a printed copy of the title-page (typewriter print will do), a registration fee of fifty cents (if he is a United States citizen, or one dollar, if he is an alien), and two complete copies of the first edition of his book. His letter claiming copyright should read something like this:

BOSTON, Mass., May 1, 1893. Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. DEAR SIR: I enclose fee of fifty cents and printed copy of title-page of a book called [ here insert name of book ], of which I claim copyright as author [or publisher, as the case may be]. I wish to reserve all rights. I reside at [here insert full address]. Yours truly,

JOHN SMITH.

On the front or back of the title-page of each copy of the printed book must appear the words (for instance), "Copyright, 1893, by John Smith." Compliance with these terms will secure copyright in the United States. To secure copyright in England it will be necessary for the author, in addition, to have delivered, on or before the day of publication, to the Registrar of Copyright, Stationer's Hall, London, a copy of the book, with a fee of five shillings, and a letter giving the title of the book, the name of the publisher,