Comes a time, into the life of every man, when character is stretched taut on the torture boards of Fate or broken upon the implacable wheels of Chance.

Into such ordeals were two men lately flung and thereby hangs this tale. And, in the telling, let it not be said that Romance is no more; that the thrills, the battles, the bloody strife, upon which depended the very existence of our forefathers, are passed away with them never to return; that the sordidness of our modern workaday world is unbroken and unrelieved of the frills and fancies, the trials and tests of mental and physical clashes.

which come, sometimes, as refreshing ointment to the soul of man.

Lost is the man who hesitates. Yet, let it not be said that in the crucial fires which so lately melted the very soul of our fellow townsman, Bill Juggler, cashier of the First National Bank, that he succumbed to eternal defeat, nor that the staunch and fearless qualities, with which his ancestors were endowed, were found lacking.

Late, on this afternoon of summer, the village of Movietown was stirred with its usual activities. Loungers on the court house lawn, slept; merchants in the stores dozed or fared forth to golf upon the nearby greens while their clerks bustled about preparing for the evening trade; a checker game progressed eternally in the office of the chief of police; across the street from the First National Bank a policeman lounged upon a pool room bar; while, in the bank, the cashier pursued, in a leisurely way, his customary duties.

Not a cloud appeared to dim the horizon. Peace, it would seem, would reign a hundred years. How swiftly, in the spin of a second hand, all this may change! Even then a strange car, in which a stranger rode, was to be seen upon the streets

ONE MOMENT PLEASE!

If Mr. ERASTUS JOHNSING, bank janitor, is in the city he is advised to call at the office of this newspaper. Anyone knowing of his whereabouts should report to police. He is wanted as a material witness.

(Continued on Page MDCCXCVIII)

they profit most the writer who studies them, no matter what his metier. The unmistakable demonstration of the success of co-operative study, criticism, and marketing in advancing the interest of the writer will influence us to emphasize that phase of our editorial policy. For the rest, technique and markets will continue to receive the major emphasis.

Our advertising policy remains unchanged. No advertisements for correspondence schools will be accepted. No "song writer" appeals will be found in these pages. The thousand and one kinds of crooks and quacks who infest the profession will not be recognized. This is not alone to protect our readers from exploitation. Rather, it is to retain the respect of the ever larger-growing group of people who resent an insult to their intelligence in the advertising pages, perhaps more than in the reading pages. Better a little food than much bait.

Editor, the Forum:

Life is a whirling wind. It brings the dust, the leaves, the bits of paper, the scent of dying fires. Yes, it is early winter, when the thought of past moments in the year flutter through memory.

Out of the complexity of clubs, societies, charitable work, the church, reading up on local politics, social engagements, "thank you" speeches and all the rest, comes a crystal thought for us as writers. We have to make a compromise with the facts of crowded existence. When do we write? When do we read? When do we find the solitude necessary for our own little contemplation of the universe? To answer briefly, we do not. And that must be the answer unless we do as most people in other walks of life are doing compromise.

The times tell us some truths and many lies. What shall we believe? Whom shall we follow? What is our own path of straight-thinking? The mob will get you, if you don't watch out. And on the other hand, you want to get the mob, for it is a part of the writer's business to mingle among his fellowmen.

These days are full of shattered illusions, wider horizons, and consequently much anguish in the soul of man. But there is also a stirring of imagination,

an anxiety to search for truth and a search for a way which will have beauty and rationalism. It is of vital interest to the writer, for he must be the recorder of these changing times. So much is always said about the "great commercial age," but precious little is being understood about man's (and woman's) awakening spirit. So let us allow the mob a place. Life's associations are the practical school, where the most wise may learn.

It seems to me that there are too many organizations. The struggle to attend all of the clubs, lodges, and parties which my husband is compelled to patronize is enough to bring us to the poorhouse if we don't land in a sanitarium first. Useless activity, with a good book at home, should be the rule rather than the exception. Let us choose (so says my almost vanquished resolution) enough leisure to sum up life's real, but not spurious, treasures.

If I were to make a prayer of only one sentence, I think it would be, "Oh, Lord, cast out my old prejudices, and renew my sense of humor." And if we really wished for just that much, and got it, 1927 would become the happiest kind of a new game, the invention of which is uniquely copyrighted by every writer. Maude Sumner Smith. Omaha, Nebraska

Editor, the Forum:

The Teutonic peoples used to believe in gnomes, trolls, and kobolds, mischievous forest, cave, and house spirits who made things go wrong both at home and abroad, though they were also supposed to do kindly services.

I wonder if America is not infested with slang gnomes and kobolds who plays pranks with the pens, typewriters, and vocal cords of high and low, rich and poor, educated and uneducated, and make every American, young and old, speak and write slang on all occasions, on the solemn occasion as well as on the playful.

This conjecture of mine has been evoked by reading an excellent article on an idealistic subject by

a contemporary American writer who possesses the true writer's gift, and “the pen of a ready writer," but who nevertheless mars his work by a frequent use of such words and expressions as "geezer," "shakes a wicked Waterman," "I'll say he can," "boob," "piffle," "bone" (for dollar), etc.

Now, this writer is an educated man, and a gifted man. Why, then, does he use slang? Apparently in order to secure a humorous effect, and also to secure an effect of homely force. By mixing slang with literary English he secures, by the method of contrast, a certain humorous effect, and by this use of slang the language of uneducated and vulgar persons who are swayed by their emotions and passions - he secures an effect of seeming force, for slang is

the attempt of an uneducated person to say things graphically and forcefully.

I admit that on certain occasions, and on occasions when humorous effects are sought, an educated speaker or writer may employ slang with some grace, if he employs it judiciously. But ordinarily slang should be avoided like the plague. A writer never can achieve anything better than humor by the use of slang. But a writer who seeks humorous effects cannot write with power and influence. Our own Mark Twain realized this fact, and lamented that people would not take him seriously even on those occasions when he meant to be serious. Humor, except when wielded by very skilful hands, is the weapon of the weak. It is the ordinary weapon of

Editor, the Forum:

woman. But woman is always ready to discard humor for tears, for she realizes that tears are a more effective weapon than humor.

Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress" is a standing example of the supreme force of simple, homely AngloSaxon words and idioms. "Here will I spill thy soul," said Apollyon to Christian. How much stronger this is than "Here will I bump you off" (though perhaps the two terms are not quite the same in meaning). "To bump off" or "to kill" may be in good use a thousand years from now, but one who desires to use good English will wait a thousand years before using the expression. Charles Hooper.

Coeur d'Alene, Idaho

Truly, all men are brothers, especially if they have literary aspirations. Unless you seek him out in his haunts, you very rarely meet a real live author. The modesty of the tribe is positively uncanny. But in the houses of the rich or the hovels of the destitute, on ship-board in mid-ocean, on the shell-torn fields of France or in the lonely ranch house on the great Western Plains, I have had only to mention casually that I have done a bit of scribbling, to learn that my auditor had an aunt, now defunct,

Editor, the Forum:

who once wrote a book. The crudest code of good breeding demands that I enquire about the book. Invariably it develops that but a few copies were printed for private circulation only.

I wish you would print this letter, so that if there are any of your readers who have NOT a latelamented aunt who published a book for private circulation, they would write and tell me so and put my mind at rest. C. W. Newcomb. Craigmyle, Alberta

I have been very much interested in what your contributors have to say about Commercialism, the Weather Eye and Specialization. Recently I sent a series of Children's Poems to a child's magazine. They came back with the following note:

"Thank you for sending us your poems, but we feel they could be used to better advantage by some farm journal with a children's section. The large percentage of our readers are not farm children and we fear they would not appreciate your poems for the reason that they could not vision things as farm children."

Now, I am not one of those sensitive plants who are indignant because an editor returns my wares, and I am indeed more than grateful to any editor who tells me "why" instead of sending the old line of "not exactly suited to our needs." But this raises a question in my mind that I wish to place before the readers of THE WRITER. These poems had a farm setting. But must it be that no other children are to read about the farm except farm children? Conversely, is it forbidden to have farm children read about skyscrapers, street cars, huge busses, policemen, etc., when they may never have seen any of these? Can city children form no vision of collie

dogs and sheep, chickens, plows, fences, and barns? Are stories of Africa to be circulated solely in the Dark Continent? (And I did enjoy "Tarzan" and Haggard's stories, while the stories in "Adventure" take me on a magic carpet far away to wonderful lands!)

It seems to me that all readers like both the familiar and the strange. I like stories of domestic life and business life because I know the ground and can easily put myself in the story. Also, I like stories of strange places, as it widens my vision and gives me new things to think of. I have never seen the sea, but I love stories of the sea (if there are not too many directions about sails, gallant or otherwise.) "Crossing the Bar" and Masefield's sea poems give me an ache in the heart that is akin to homesickness. Can this be because I was born in the sign of Pisces?

I can see that material suitable for Weird Tales would not be acceptable to the Atlantic Monthly, but I do not agree that manuscript with a country setting must be offered only to farm papers. Of course I do not mean to insist on the high poetical value of the verses that inspired this letter, but my argument is based merely on the theme.

The recently organized firm of Ives Washburn, Publisher -119 West Fifty-seventh street, New York, began business October 12. It is the intention of the new firm to publish a general list of books that have a popular appeal, as Mr. Washburn is a firm believer in the slogan, "The public be pleased." As a newspaper reporter, writer, magazine editor, book editor, and London manager of an American publishing house, his past experience gives him an appreciation of the author's point of view as well as that of the publisher, and he has helped to develop a number of well-known writers in the last decade. The new firm is particularly interested in Western stories, mystery-detective, adventure-travel, and juvenile material for boys and girls of high-school age. Novels with a fresh point of view and a distinctive quality will also be welcomed. At present the firm will not publish poetry, drama, religious, or educational books. Unsolicited manuscripts may be sent to the New York office without previous correspondence, and will receive careful and prompt attention.

EVERYBODY'S MAGAZINE - Spring and Macdougal streets, New York, wants, primarily, stories of adventure, stories based on the lives of men and women in those places where there is still enacted the immemorial, primitive conflict between man and woman, or between man and nature Western stories, stories of the sea, stories in strange, far countries, and, also, to some extent, stories of crime and mystery in such large cities as New York or London. Everybody's prints no articles and no plays, but it does offer a market for short poems or anecdotes that fit into the atmosphere of the sort of stories just mentioned. Novels may contain from 50,000 to 90,000 words: novelettes, 50,000 words: and short stories, 10,000 words, but the chief demand is for short, short stories, not exceeding 5,000 words.

THE AMERICAN GIRL-670 Lexington avenue, New York, is in the market for short stories, containing from 3,000 to 3,500 words. The magazine is edited with the fifteen- and sixteen-year-old girl in mind, who, as Miss Ferris, the editor, says, is a very avid young