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When young, I lov'd. At that enchanting age,
So sweet, so short, love was my sole delight;
And when I reached the time for being sage,
Still I lov'd on, for reason gave me right.
Snows come at length, and livelier joys depart,
Yet gentle ones still kiss these eyelids dim;
For still I love, and love consoles my heart;
'What could console me for the loss of Him?

But how instantly even Landor's pathos must yield to that of the modern Yeats when the lingering love of many and many years concentrates itself in the latter's four lines, perhaps the profoundest he ever wrote:

When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

But in turning from personal emotion to immortal dreams, no one has perhaps produced eight lines more likely to be immortal than those of our own Whittier :

And so beside the Silent Sea

I wait the muffled oar;

No harm from Him can come to me
On ocean or on shore.

I know not where His islands lift

Their fronded palms in air;

I only know I cannot drift
Beyond His love and care.

Is it not marvelous that it should be not merely to a woman, but to one regarded by

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The sun is rising let us go!

Consider what multiplying shelves full of books are written to tell us what life means, its purposes, and its ending, and then see how it is condensed into a few lines by Susan Coolidge :

Thank God for life life is not sweet always,
Hands may be heavy-laden, hearts care-full,
Unwelcome nights follow unwelcome days,

And dreams divine end in awakenings dull.
Still it is life, and life is cause for praise,
This ache, this restlessness, this quickening sting,
Prove me no torpid and inanimate thing,

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earth, our earth, shall time not make us free? Cry wellaway, but well befall the right.

We sometimes meet with verses from the German whose calmness and love of Nature make them a model for more impetuous races of men, as in these by Eichendorf, which have been translated:

O Silence deep and strange !

The earth doth yet in quiet slumber lie:
No stir of life, save on yon woodland range
The tall trees bow as if their Lord passed by.
Like to one new-create,

I have no memory of grief and care; Of all the things that vexed my soul of late I am ashamed in this calm morning air. Walt Whitman, whose flashes of inspiration are never more impressive than when he looks toward the barrier between life and death, gives us the following:

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We may be sure that Professor Longfellow, among the simpler poems of his earlier years, did not fail to preserve such an invocation as this:

O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
What man has borne before !

Thou layest thy finger on the lips of care,
And they complain no more.

Peace peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!
Descend with broad-winged flight,

The welcome, the thrice-prayed-for, the most fair, The best-beloved Night!

Emerson utters his whole lesson in eight lines; and we, as his fellow-countrymen, may well refresh our souls with them:

As the bird trims her to the gale,

I trim myself to the storm of time;

I man the rudder, reef the sail,
Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime :
"Lowly faithful, banish fear,

Right onward drive unharmed;
The port, well worth the cruise, is near,
And every wave is charmed."

Thomas Wentworth Higginson.

these

The Boston Transcript.

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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 pages.

Advertising in THE WRITER costs fifteen cents a line, or $2.10 an inch; seven dollars a quarter page; twelve dollars a half page; or twenty dollars a page, for one insertion, remittance with the order. Discounts are five, ten, and fitteen per cent. for three, six, and twelve months. For continued advertising payments must be made quarterly in advance.

Contributions not used will be returned, if a stamped and addressed envelope is enclosed. THE WRITER PUBLISHING CO., 88 Broad street, Room 414, BOSTON, MASS.

P. O. Box 1905.

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be well to say that a scenario is a synopsis of a play. It gives the characters, a description of the acts, a few bits of the dialogue and some of the action, not necessarily all. It unfolds the plot and the development of the characters. The World makes these suggestions to competitors.: —

"It should be remembered that the play sought is one which will fit the requirements of a woman star whose power of portrayal includes both comedy and strong emotion.

"Furthermore it should be a play of modern life in the United States, not a costume' play nor one based on historical episode. Nor should it deal with religious, political, or labor questions. "While sentiment and a good love story are essential to the plot, what is wanted is more than merely a 'pretty' story. The play should be forceful, of vital human interest, and abounding in action and dramatic situation. Withal, it must be a clean play; not ' goody-goody' nor preachy, but yet avoiding needless exposure of moral delinquency.

"The introduction of characters with visible afflic tions, such as cripples, deformed persons, victims of mental weakness, and the like, may call up memories to some in the audience of some one near and dear to them similarly afflicted, or may otherwise work harm. Such characters are dangerous to the success of any play, and should be avoided.

"In writing the scenario, it is well to divide the story into acts. Three or four acts should suffice to set forth almost anv play."

Autograph dealers and collectors of rare manuscripts agree that the tendency to use the typewriter is to increase gradually, but surely, the value of autographs. Those who are interested say that it is becoming difficult to find any but typewritten letters of eminent men of this era, especially those in public office. The same is true of manuscripts. Perhaps this will have a tendency to console writers who cannot afford a typewriter, and who have to get out their manuscripts in the old-fashioned way by hand.

Of course, Will Irwin takes it for granted that the public will understand that his new book, "Confessions of a Con Man," is not an autobiography.

The complaint is often made by disappointed writers that editors do not know what they want, and it may be true, but most

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Anna Sturges Duryea, whose poem, "Seed-Time and Harvest," was printed in Harper's Bazar for May, is also the author of two articles, "Making Friends of One's Nerves" and "The New-Found Realm of the Sub-conscious," which appeared in the June numbers of the Delineator and the Designer. These articles are the outcome of Mrs. Duryea's interest in psychological problems. Though she has published much fiction and verse, she has been for many years a student and a teacher of psychology, with special interest in the problems of the sub-conscious. Mrs. Duryea has taught psychology in Washington and in New York, and on going to Boston for a winter took a natural interest in the psychotherapeutic work being done at Emmanuel church. She spends much of her time writing and speaking, and Dr. Worcester has cordially authorized her to speak on the work known as the Emmanuel Movement. Mrs. Duryea believes that there is very much help for the average nervous American

woman along the line of mental prophylactics and therapeutics, and is doing something to prove her position. A dainty little story of hers, called "Sir Knight," which the Putnams published some years ago, earned for her immediately a place (which for some reason she refused) in the World's Library of Best Literature. During the coming months the Delineator, Harper's Bazar, and other magazines will publish articles by Mrs. Duryea.

Frances Pusey Gooch, whose novelette, "His Child's Godmother," was published in the Smart Set for May, is the wife of Robert E. Gooch, of Cleveland, O. She is a Kentucky woman, and a graduate of a Southern college. She decided upon a literary career at the age of twelve, and did juvenile contributions, editorial work on her college paper, short stories, and one novel, "Tangled Lives," under various pen-names during her girlhood. "Miss Mordeck's Father," published by Dodd, Mead & Co., New York, and "The Burden of Mystery," run serially in a Southern magazine, were the first efforts under her own name, and both deal with subjects double consciousness and hypnotism - which she now admits. her youth alone gave her courage to handle. Her literary career got side-tracked in a pleasant rush of domestic, social, and club. duties. A progressive, rather than "advanced," club women, she has done work in the literary departments of federated and unfederated clubs, in the several large cities her husband's business has taken them to, that has won for her the reputation of possessing an intellectuality above the average. The interrupted ambition, resumed as a diversion, has been stimulated by the favor with which her clever and original handling of an old theme in "His Child's Godmother" has been received, and Mrs. Gooch is at work more earnestly and systematically than ever before.

Alta Brunt Sembower, author of the story, "The Sheltering of Cecilia," which Harper's Magazine published in its May number, is a resident of Bloomington, Ind., the seat of

Indiana University. She is a graduate of the university, and a member of the Kappa Alpha Theta Sorority. Her first stories were written while she was in college, and were published in class periodicals, although she never attempted the "college story." Her first success in "disposing of" manuscripts was with Harper & Brothers, who accepted her first manuscript, but her first published story appeared in Collier's Weekly. In Collier's short-story contest of 1905, two of Mrs. Sembower's stories were accepted. Since that time she has had stories published in Harper's Weekly, the Delineator, and Harper's Magazine. She is now at work upon a novel, which she hopes to complete within a year.

Lloyd Roberts, whose poem, "The Saddest Time o' Year," was printed in Appleton's Magazine for May, is one of the younger members of that literary clan-the Robertses which has six active members, not including Bliss Carman, the cousin, the others being Charles G. D. Roberts, W. Carman Roberts (associate editor of the Literary Digest), Theodore Roberts (author of four novels published by L. C. Page & Co.), Elizabeth Roberts MacDonald, and Douglas R. Roberts (son of Charles G. D. Roberts and brother of Lloyd, whose verse has appeared once or twice in Appleton's). Six years ago Mr. Roberts came from Canada to become the assistant editor of Outing, under Caspar Whitney. After three years he gave up this position and made a two-months' trip to Europe. Returning to New York, he was married within a year, and he now lives at Port Ewen-on-Hudson, where, as he says, he divides his hours between his pen and his hoe. He hopes to have a volume of verse and a first novel published in the fall.

PERSONAL GOSSIP ABOUT AUTHORS

Hardy. Thomas Hardy entered yesterday on his seventieth year. Had the king been well advised he would have given him a birthday gift of Meredith's Order of Merit.

I hear good accounts of Hardy's health. Occasionally he comes to London for a short visit, but never with any flourish. Fanfares are left for our Hall Caines and their kind. The number of literary men who have even seen Hardy is small. I have heard of his attending the academy banquet, he once was guest at a club dinner, on the memorable occasion when the Omar Khayam Club entertained Meredith at Dorking Hardy spoke, and I can testify that once he received the Whitefriars Club at Dorchester. But as a rule the man is more than English in his habit of reserve. By the way, is it generally known that his first book was called "The Poor Man and the Lady"? 'Meredith read it in manuscript, recognized its power, recommended it for publication, but privately advised Hardy not to begin his career with a book which, because of its revolutionary theories, might alienate the public. Whereupon Hardy withdrew the manuscript and wrote Desperate Remedies." He is still busy on his great worlddrama, "The Dynasts." He finished his career as a novelist with "Jude the Obscure "the one book of his which he expects to live! - London Letter (June 7), in Chicago Evening Post.

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My practice with regard to reviews is to look for none and to read all that may come in my way. It is like expecting a windy day in our climate when we go out of doors and face the air; an author must master sensitiveness when he publishes. He knows what he intended, and should be able to estimate the degree of his attainments. Criticism will then brace him. We have not much of it, and there will be indifference to wear through, and sometimes brutality to encounter. Tell yourself that such is our climate. I began sensitively, but soon got braced. Here and there a hostile review is instructive if only that it throws us back on the consciousness of our latent strength.

Clement Shorter devotes a page of the Sphere to George Meredith's literary career. He waited long for the appreciation of his readers, "making so little money by his books that he was content until some

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