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the editor of the Cosmopolitan wrote to zine for June, is a New York woman, now Viss Caruthers, asking her to send on what living in Paris. She has had poems pubshe had on hand for his examination.

lished in the Metropolitan, Harper's, the Reader, and several other periodicals. Her

work is not hackneyed, and her poems have Howard R. Garis, whose story, “ The Dis

been praised by good authorities and widely appearance of Iris Fordyke," appeared in

quoted. the People's Magazine for June, is a former newspaper man, having been a reporter cn the Newark (N. J.) News for twelve Maude Woodruff Newell, author of the years. His early education was obtained in.

story, “The Awakening,” published in the the scliools and academies of Syracuse and Red Book for June, is a Connecticut girl East Syracuse, N. Y., and in Newark.

He still in her twenties, and lives in Bridgeport. has been a farmer, a railroad clerk, a car Her first story, "A Daughter of Romany," checker in the railroad freight yards, a was published in the Red Book about six printer's devil, a stenographer, and finally years ago. The first number of The Munsettled down to newspaper work. His first sey

Company's magazine, Woman, two published work was a novel, based on the years ago, contained “Twenty-three for Salem witchcraft craze, and entitled “With Skelly," which caused considerable favorable Force and Arms." This made something of comment. Miss Newell has also had stories a hit "literarily,” but not financially. About in the Smart Set, one, “ The Long Hunt," two years ago, finding that his literary in the July issue, being published under the efforts took up so much of his time, Mr. nom-de-plume, “ Jean Elginbrod,” which she Garis gave up his newspaper work, and now has used until quite recently. “A Japanese devotes himself to writing books for boys Enchantment,” published in the Blue Book and short stories. Four of his boys' books for February, has since been dramatized. have been published, and two more are to The baby in “The Awakening” is a real be brought out this fall. He has had books baby. Miss Newell asserts that he is a new published by the J. B. Lippincott Company, story each day himself, and boldly anLittle, Brown & Co., and Crossett & Dun- nounces her intention of stealing him some lap. Some of the books deal with his ex- day when his mother is n't looking. Almost periences as a reporter, and others are of invariably after the publication of her the adventure type. He has had nearly a stories, Miss Newell has received letters hundred short stories published in various concerning them from some one quite unmagazines and papers, including the Newark known to her. At present she is at work News, the Argosy, the Youth's Companion, on a book, which she hopes to get out next Short Stories, Judge's Library, the All- winter. Story Magazine, the Popular Magazine, and the People's. Other tales, having for a central figure Sherman Ford, the detective

Charlotte Louise Rudyard, author of mystery-solver, who plays the main role in

Mater” in Harper's Monthly for May, “ Iris Fordyke,” will appear in the People's

and “Robin Songs,” in Harper's Bazar for Magazine. His story, “ The Yellow Pow

the same month, is a young writer, a New der,” is printed in the August number. Mr.

Yorker, and a graduate, in 1904, of Vassar Garis now lives, with his wife and two chil

College, where she was identified with spedren, in Verona, N. J., where, between spells

cial study in the English branches.

She of writing, he raises chickens, as he says,

afterward engaged in journalism, having “for pleasure, and very little profit.”

been received on the staff of the Brooklyn Eagle upon the submission of her first

article. Later she resigned to continue in Elsie Casseigne King, whose poem, * The the newspaper field as free lance, and latterly Voderns," appeared in Lippincott's Maga- has been occupied in editorial work and


magazine writing. Contributions in verse, prose, and literary criticism under her name have appeared in various periodicals, notably Harper's Magazine, the North Ameri

Review, Harper's Weekly, Harper's Bazar, the Chicago Post Supplement, and the Bookman. Her recent verses have appeared in Harper's Magazine for February, May, and June, and in Harper's Bazar for February and May. An article in the North American Review of November last discussed the relationship of the man and the woman in Mrs. Humphry Ward's novel, “The Testing of Diana Mallory," and another in Harper's Weekly, in May, 1908, looked forward to the success of Charles Rann Kennedy's drama, “ The Servant in the House," then in its first days on the New York stage. Miss Rudyard was born in New York, and lives there at the present time.


listened humbly. A heated discussion had taken place on the meaning of some passage ; and at last, as no one seemed satisfied, he had diffidently suggested a possible reading. But he had been unmercifully snubbed, and promptly given to understand he knew nothing about it." In an after-breakfast discussion of Romeo's assertion, “What's in a name ? " the poet contended that a person's name influenced his whole life and character and profession. And he added in an aside : “I never should have written a line of poetry if I had been called Stubbs!”

Caine.- Hall Caine has just finished his novel, “ The White Prophet," upon which he has been at work for three years. He is accustomed to start his literary labors at 4.30 a. m., writing steadily from that hour until II o'clock. This particular book he has written through three times. It is a novel of about 200,000 words.

Coleridge. - Arthur Coleridge, speaking at the summer festival of the College for Working Women, at which the Bishop of London presided, related that the poet Coleridge once journeyed from Highgate to Holborn to visit a nephew, Sir William H. Coleridge. It was very cold weather, and the poet had on a double-breasted waistcoat which met just below his neck. It was discovered that he had got no shirt. His nephew remonstrated with him, to which the poet replied : " I'm very sorry, William, very sorry ; but I've forgotten my shirt." Upon this Sir William kindly lent his uncle a shirt, “and,” said the speaker, “I regret to say that very necessary garment was never returned to its original owner." London Evening Standard.

Ernestine Winchell, whose story, “Youth's Handicap,” in the Woman's Home Companion for June, marks a distinct departure from the writing which she has previously been doing, is Mrs. L. A. Winchell, of Tollhouse, Calif. From her little bungalow half-way up the slope of the Sierras she has loved to weave into romance the fast-disappearing Indian race, and the scarcely less primitive local whites, although the higher types sometimes win her away for a time. She is a very busy woman and has little time for writing, but she hopes soon to have more leisure for such work. Out West and the Pacific Monthly have been appreciative publishers of her local stories.


Browning.-Two good stories about Robert Browning are told in an article by the late Professor Masson's daughter in the Cornhill Magazine. While visiting her father at Edinburgh in 1884, the poet told how he had gone as a guest to a meeting of a Browning society, and “had sat, unrecognized and unnoticed, in the background and

Crawford. — A writer's method of working and ideais concerning his work are always of interest to those who read his books. The following letter written by Marion Crawford attests the author's conscientiousness in method and in business affairs. It was written to Mr. Shorter in 1902 :

MY DEAR MR. S. : I have been remiss in not writing, and must apologize for my silence, the more so as I know that I am causing you great incon. venience by not fulfilling my promise with regard to “ The Harvest of the Sword." I can only say that

it is in no sense my fault if I cannot give you the their life together was ideally happy.

He book aíter all at the time appointed. I have

encouraged her in her literary work, and her worked at the manuscript unremittingly for months. I began it four times. I have done everything in my

verses to him in the beginning of her “Inpower to write it, and have done no other work since dian Love Lyrics " give a hint of her devothe first of August, and the result is so utterly un. tion to him. When he died in 1895, she satisfactory that, after allowing the first three chap

committed suicide by shooting herself, sayters to be sent to you, I decided to cable and throw up the contract. It is the first time I have ever done

ing that she found life insupportable without such a thing, and I am driven to it by the great diffi

her husband. They were buried in the same culties of the subject, and not by any neglect. I grave at Madras, the city where their last decline to allow a book so imperfect to go before

days had been passed. the public while feeling that by renewed labor I may

Laurence Hope was one of three sisters, succeed in the end. ... Yours very truly,

all of whom distinguished themselves in the

MARION CRAWFORD. world of literature. Her youngest sister is " Laurence Hope.” -- How many readers of

Victoria Cross, the author of “Life's Shop “The Stars of the Desert,” that book of

Window," and other novels, whose real lovely verse, and its companion volumes,

name is Vivien Corrie. “ Indian Love Lyrics” and “Songs from

The above facts seem worthy of publicathe Garden of Kama," know that the author,

tion because they are not generally known, Laurence Hope, is dead and that she was a

and something about the personality of a

writer is always interesting to the readers, woman? Laurence Hope was the pen

and in spite of her defiance of conventions, name of

the poetry of Laurence Hope seems destined Adele Florence Corrie, who afterward be

to live, and it still holds a unique place in came the wife of General Nicholson, who

the Modern world of letters. — “Croquill,” saw much service in India, and was in charge of the Mhow division at the time of his Whitman. - Elizabeth Leavitt Keller, the death. For many years they resided in nurse who was summoned at the time of beautiful bungalow in Madras, and there Walt Whitman's last illness, tells in PutMrs. Nicholson loved to dispense hospi- nam's Magazine what she found when she tality to her chosen friends. She was of a went to the little house in which Whitman peculiar, unconventional nature, which is re- had lived for some years in Camden. flected in her poetry, and only those who “I laid aside my wraps," she says, “and were of the same mind appealed to her. in company with Dr. Bucke groped my way She loved the world of books, occult science, up the dark staircase, and, passing through and strongly sympathized with the Moham- a closetlike anteroom, entered the chamber medans. Those friends chosen for their of the dying poet. The small room brilliancy of mind more than for their mate- crowded with objects which the dusk of a rial wealth found in her a warm, ardent, winter's afternoon did not fully reveal. The generous friend, extremely unconventional only things that stood out vividly were the in her views, and a woman not at all fond of white pillow and the placid face encircled social gaiety in the usual acceptation of the with snowy hair. Motionless he lay, but term.

when I was presented to him he raised his She was born in England, and began very eyelids, extended his hand, and welcomed me early to write verse, but it was not until after kindly. His brother, his literary executors, her marriage that she wrote anything that and certain other friends, grouped together,

considered worthy of publication. were speaking in low tones. When Stars of the Desert” made its ap- "On entering the dining-room, I was impearance it attracted widespread attention pressed - as I have since learned that others because of its sensuous beauty and wealth of have been by its remarkable likeness to imagery.

the cabin of a ship. . . . As I sat in that Laurence Hope was devoted to her hus- little, dimly-lighted den and peered into the band, who was much older than herself, and still dimmer apartment beyond, I was more






and more struck with the disorder on all looked down, the sight was beyond descripsides. My first glance had been one of be- tion. The owner was only a few inches wilderment; I now looked with deliberation above his worldly possessions ; he seemed a and amazement at my surroundings. Con- part of them, and the picture would have fusion, dust, and litter - it seemed the ac- been incomplete without him. cumulation of ages. I afterward learned “I began by picking up the newspapers that for more than two years no books, nearest the door, folding them, and stacking magazines, or manuscripts had been them on the landing at the head of the stairs. moved from this, Walt Whitman's peculiar Little by little I made my way into his room, sanctum.

but it was slow work, and not much could be “ There were no bookcases, large shelves, effected during the first week. or writing desk ; there was no receptacle “I continued to put things in order, alfor newspapers, and, apart from the two ways desisting when my patient showed the overloaded tables, the floor had received all least sign of annoyance. I would often go of them. Upon this his general table the into the room on the pretext of putting daily papers had been dropped when read ; wood in the stove, and I soon learned to the weeklies had followed, and in their turn perceive just how much or how little I could the monthly magazines. An immense num- do. The bound volumes, invariably thrown ber of periodicals and pamphlets had been face downward into the mass, I arrayed upon received in the course of two years, and all some shelves in the little room. Many were were still here. Almost everything was yel- presentation copies - among them one by low with age and soiled with the constant Longfellow and one by Tennyson. These tramping of feet.

shelves were already doing double duty, but “ The mass, which was nearly solid, was in this crowded house there always seemed two feet in depth, and had many transverse

to be room for a little more. ridges. Mr. Whitman had never bought Periodicals I piled outside with the newsstationery ; he utilized wrapping papers, old papers, and as no shred of writing was to be letters, and envelopes, and as he was in the taken out, all the script was made into a habit of making his poems over and over,

mound in one corner of the room. In this afterward tearing up rejected bits. I found, confused pile were rolls of manuscript writon clearing up, bushels of fine litter, evenly

different colored bits of paper ; dispersed.

many were pinned together. No wonder On the left of the bed the mass of rub- some one said that Whitman's manuscripts bish had reached a height of at least four resembled Joseph's coat ! In the litter were feet. On investigation, however, there innumerable letters ; thousands of requests proved to be a lounge underneath. The for autographs ; poems that had been subtables stood like cows in a meadow with mitted to his criticism ; friendly letters from the grass up to their bodies ; and the legs of home and abroad; all his business correthe bed, also, were buried out of sight. The spondence ; postal cards, notes of congratu. only thing that had gone up with time was lation, invitations, envelopes unnumbered, the imposing easy chair. This with its visiting cards, wrapping papers of all brands. white wolfskin, surmounted the pile like a

and sizes, variety of string of all lengths, throne. The woliskin was sadly moth-eaten, and ranging from the fine colored cord which as were the old and poor garments that hung druggists use to the heaviest and coarsest upon the walls.

of twine. There were several pieces of rope, “At one of the tables a bent metal drop coins, pins galore, countless pictures, and light held a chipped argand burner at a dani- many photographs of himself. Strings were gerous angle, and within this dingy glass interwoven through the accumulated shone a feeble ray of light, just making layers that it would take days to come to the visible the pallid face and hoary hair of the ends of them. Moths flew around the room dying man. As I stood on the mass and in perfect security, and industrious spiders



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had curtained the corners and windows. On the door hung the old hat, and on a table a plaster bust of the poet stood sentinel.”


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are interested in journalism to specialize on folks. That is the greatest, the most interesting, the most pliable, the most numerous, the most fascinating, the most unusual, the most satisfying subject in the world — folks.

And if you have anything like a sense of humor, for heaven's sake nurse it. Humor is the scarcest commodity in the United States. It is extinct elsewhere, almost. Don't let the serious-minded persons tell you anything about dignity and all that sort of rot. If you can write funny stuff write it, and you'll be riding in your own automobile when the serious-minded person is writing serious protests to the paper against pay-as-you-enter street cars."

Suggestions for Newspaper Writers. Some excellent advice for newspaper writers was given by Samuel G. Blythe in an address delivered recently before the third annual convention of the Intercollegiate Press Association. Mr. Blythe said he did not regard newspaper work as a road to wealth, but as a way“ to live a big, broad life.” After saying that it is the duty of every man who contemplates entering journalism to get all the knowledge he can, he continued : “No person, however, can teach a man to write. You can be taught the principles of writing, the grammar, and the rhetoric, and all that, but you must teach yourself to write. The mere facility of writing correct English does n't mean anything. There are scores of persons around newspaper offices who can write correct English. The trouble is they have n't any ideas to anglicize correctly.

“The man who goes into journalism and who desires a big success must specialize. After his experience as an all-round reporter on all the assignments, pick out one subject and specialize it. Likewise he should try to make his stuff as different from the stuff of other men on the papers as he can. I found that out early, and when I was a cub reporter I tried to write every item in a way the other reporters would n't think of writing. The results were disastrous in instances, and I had a lot of trouble with city editors and copy readers, but I finally got into the place that whenever there was story they wanted handled in an unusual way

- that did n't start, “There was a meeting last night, and so forth - I got it.

“It took years, years when I was beaten to a pulp by men who could n't see it as I did, but I won out. And in looking over the ground I determined on my specialty early. I chose people — folks. People want to read about other people. If you will allow me, I will advise you young gentlemen who

Edward Everett Hale's Style. — Frank B. Sanborn, commenting upon some of Dr. E. E. Hale's limitations, admits that he had “that incommunicable gift — style." And he proceeds to account for it. “I once remarked to Dr. Hale that I found something French in his manner of writing – a lively clearness, which we instinctively connect with Gallic authors, who seem to have it by nature. I said : 'You must have read much French early.' He replied : 'I did.' Being once laid up with a wounded or broken leg, he had the range of the numerous French books in the library of his uncle, Alexander Everett, and so got that familiarity with good French which is one of the best helps in writing English.” A blessed broken leg !

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Are Letters Copyright? – An interesting legal and literary dispute seems certain to arise over the letters of the late George Meredith. The London solicitors of the Meredith executors have issued a statement calling attention to the fact that the copyright of all letters written by Meredith is now vested in the executors. It will be recalled that there was a dispute over the ownership of the letters written by Charles Lamb, but then the courts decided that the owner of a letter was the proprietor of the paper with the words written on it, and not the proprietor of the composition independent of its inscription. Yet the same court later made the decision, in another case, that the possessor of the letters written by

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