fixed on the goal ahead that they did not notice the little stones under their feet. The very difficulties of the way are the best possible discipline by which to develop the power necessary to the only kind of success which is worth the having. Habits of carelessness, swelling of the head, and flabby degeneration of the brain are a few of the results of the easy and ephemeral reputations which startle the world for a season, and then collapse like a toy balloon.

Conceit is so universal a human quality, that it is but just that the world should demand of a man some proofs of what he can do, before accepting him in any given capacity. Much of the so-called lack of appreciation and apparent unkindness are but necessary caution, of which the young author has no right to complain until he has furnished some basis for his claim to consideration. What one has done, not what he believes he can do, must always be the test of a man's powers. Absolute justice we need not expect of a world wherein none are omniscient, - if it were possible to receive it, probably we should still be dissatisfied; but as most of us are rated higher than we deserve at some points, the balance is kept fairly even. The author, especially the young one, is apt to demand that the world shall accept him at his own valuation, a mistake which works greatly to his prejudice. A reasonable humility induces a juster treatment, for even editors are human, and, therefore, not devoid of humanity.

It is probably true that, if one is a married man and desires to support his family in luxury, send all his sons and daughters to college, keep a carriage and coachman for his wife, and a steam yacht for himself, he would do well to ponder long the question whether his brains, when tried in the crucible, will yield a sufficient proportion of the precious metal to warrant him in making literature his only means of livelihood. But if one is so constituted that coachmen, and yachts, and silverplate, and all the gorgeous paraphernalia of so called wealth are but poverty to him when compared to the pure delights of a congenial employment and the peculiar fascination of the literary life, then he needs not to choose, for the choice is already made. It is incumbent upon every man to pro

vide the best possible living for himself and his family, but that best is not to be found in the cramping of one's whole life into a mere, miserable money-getting. And if one is a woman in this age of self-reliant, self-supporting women, then (always supposing that she has sufficient brains) the literary profession offers itself as a means of support more profitable than many, and also as a thoroughly enjoyable and mentally enriching occupation. Herein lies a reason. To some of us, who do not regard the mere making of money as the chief end of life, taking in washing, or turning one's self into an animated machine in some stuffy office, or a dozen other occupations which are recommended as being suited to the capacities of women, do not yield sufficient of that joy of effort and of conscious growth which are a necessary spice to make life worth the living. It is the unalienable right and privilege of us all to be allowed to do that which we can do well, and which we rejoice in doing because we can do it well.

So far the argument seems to be wholly in the line of self-interest, but will prove to be the opposite if examined closely. Genuine talent of any kind is not so common a thing that the world can afford to discourage its exercise. Genuine literary talent, even if it do not rise to the height of genius, works to great ends. Literature pure and undefiled, literature sifted of the trash which has no claim to be considered literature, is the concentration of the world's best thoughts and deeds, permanently preserved for a memorial and an inspiration to other great thoughts and deeds. To have a part in the creation of this literature is an ambition worthy in itself and entitled to be consid ered truly philanthropic.

To belong to the noble army of authors is in itself a sufficient recompense for any incidental hardships. Rebuffs, misconceptions, and lions in the way all count for nothing in view of the results to be attained. One who would be an author must first learn to be a philosopher, and one who is a philosopher can afford to be thought a fool. The world once called Emerson a fool but to be a fool with Emerson seems to some of us more worthy than to be a millionaire or a demagogue. Alice L. Anderson.

WINDHAM, N. H.

14

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.

No sample copies of THE WRITER will be sent free.

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

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.

effective, that the number of signatures shall be as large as possible. It is to be hoped that every active writer who sees a copy of the petition will not only sign it himself, but get the signatures of as many other working writers as he can, and then forward the signed petition to the editor of THE WRITER.

The tendency of the times is to make newspapers take the place of magazines and magaThe great zines take the place of books. newspapers now, particularly in their Sunday editions, vie with the magazines in everything but the fineness of their mechanical work. Besides giving the news, they have original contributions from the leading writers of the day, many of them "syndicated," or shared with other papers, but some of them written exclusively for the paper in which they appear. Their pages are covered with illustrations, coarsely executed and poorly printed in many cases, but generally effective, nevertheless. The newspapers now give to the public in the way of "timely" articles the service that used to be expected from the magazines, and there is hardly one of the great fiction writers who has not had a novel or a story appear first in the columns of the daily press.

Meanwhile magazines have been usurping the place of books, and with the increase in their number, the number of books published and read has fallen off. Most of the leading novels nowadays are first presented to the public in monthly instalments in the magazines, and their authors get the benefit of a double market, first with the magazine publisher, and then with the publishers of books. Important "timely" articles are published in the magazines, either singly or in series, and in the latter case it is only afterward that they are made up into books. People have come to depend more on the magazines and less on books for their daily reading, and the flood of magazine literature has increased so that no one man now can possibly keep up with it. All this, of course, is a good thing for the newspaper manager and the magazine publisher, whether it is a help to the book publisher or not. The author is benefited, too, because the magazine field is a broad one, the

newspaper field is broader still, and there is still the possibility of publication in book form after the fruits of these two fields have been thriftily garnered. The newspapers and the magazines give wider publicity to an author's work, and secure for him a great circle of readers whom he could not otherwise hope to reach.

The writer who can afford to buy a typewriter and does not buy one makes a serious mistake. In the manuscript market, under present conditions, clear and neatly-written copy will always have the preference, and typewritten copy is almost as legible as print, and much more legible than any handwritten copy can be. An editor searching for a suitable story among the manuscripts submitted to him is sure to give the preference in reading to the manuscript that seems likely to give him the least trouble, and that manuscript is pretty sure to be a typewritten one. Of several good stories the one that gets the first reading has the best chance of acceptance, and so the author with a typewriter has a long lead over his competitors. Moreover, typewritten copy represents print, and an author can tell how his article will look in print when he takes it from the machine. Defects stand out more clearly and are more likely to be remedied than in ordinary manuscripts. Furthermore, by the use of carbon paper, duplicate copies may be made at the first writing, and the author is secured against loss of his manuscript in the mail or in a careless editor's hands. Altogether, the typewriter is a useful aid to the literary worker, and the writer who can afford to buy one and keeps his money in his pocket makes a very bad investment.

Next to a typewriter, a camera is useful, especially to a descriptive writer. With a "detective" or hand camera, pictures from life may be taken to illustrate any article that he may be writing, and such pictures sent with copy always enhance the value of a manuscript. Used with good judgment, a hand camera will pay for itself very soon in the hands of a descriptive writer he furnishes pictures with his manuscript and the editor does the rest. To say nothing of the fascination of photographing,

There must be few, if any, now living, besides the octogenarian who told me, that remember how Dr. Francis Wayland wrote "Limitations of Human Responsibility."

My uncle, who afterward taught mathematics for twenty years at the English High School in Boston, was then a young tutor at Brown University. He stayed at the college during a twoweeks' vacation in which the book was written, and was several times in the president's room.

The doctor wrote standing at a shelf fixed against the wall, and as fast as he finished the sheets laid them on a pile in a chair at his right hand. From time to time, they were taken away to the printing office, so that the earlier pages were already in type when the last were written.

My uncle assures me that the whole work was finished within those two weeks, and was printed just as it was first written.

This, with some other feats of a similar kind, notably the production of Gibbon's "Decline and Fall," without the alteration of a line, suggests the question whether a writer ought not to aim at such a mastery of his own style, and such a grasp of his own thought, as to do, at once, whatever is the best he himself can do, without leaning too much on the help of revision. In all other work, trusting to future mending slackens the tension.

This is far from saying that a young writer can safely send the printer wet manuscript. Before that vacation Dr. Wayland's fingers had been worn to fit his pen. Before he put the book on paper, its thought and expression may both have had infinite revision beforehand, which precluded revision afterward.

PACKERVILLE, Conn.

Julius Robinson.

A WRITER'S TWO MILD REQUESTS.

Editors have their trials, which no doubt seem very grievous to them, and they have a perfect right to air them. Indeed, I, for one,

always read an article on the grievances of editors with much interest, to discover if there is not some fault in my treatment of them which I may mend. But not being in the editorial chair, I cannot speak of editorial sorrows from experience, and, therefore, must present what few grievances I have from the writer's point of view.

A manuscript of mine recently came back from the editor of a magazine which pretends to high literary merit. As the manuscript consisted of only thirteen pages, I had folded it twice across the width and sent it in an envelope of the ordinary size, such as most business men use in their correspondence. It came back in a long, narrow envelope, and was, therefore, folded lengthwise, with an ugly crease near the middle.

Of course, it had to be rewritten before it could be submitted elsewhere, and so I had it copied on the typewriter, which cost me seventy-five cents. Had I not cause for righteous indignation against that editor, and was I wrong in vowing never to purchase another copy of his magazine? Request number

sent me the following letter, which he has given me permission to publish :

NATICK, Mass., Aug. 11, 1891.

MY DEAR SIR: Your letter has been forwarded to me at my summer home.

I

Your question is rather difficult to answer. think, perhaps, it may be well for you to read carefully and critically the books of successful juvenile authors. This will enable you to learn what has contributed to their success. When I commenced writing for young people my publisher recommended me to read "Optic's " books (he had been in the field ten or a dozen years) and judge for myself what made the boys like his books. I did so, but retained my own individuality, so that there are marked differences between my books and his. My present taste inclines me to prefer the juvenile books of J. T. Trowbridge to any other. Let me add that I have always made a close study of boys in order that my characters might seem to be drawn from life. I have a natural liking for boys, which has made it easy for me to win their confidence and become intimately acquainted with them. It would be well, I think, for you to write short juvenile stories first. I did so, and it was the success of one in particular that led me to think I had found my vocation. It was copied in hundreds of papers.

I don't know whether you will find these suggestions of any service. I hope you may, and wish you success in any work you may under. take. Yours truly,

HORATIO ALGer, Jr.

The success of Mr. Alger's books make his suggestions valuable to all writers of books for boys. Edgar G. Alcorn.

GALLIPOLIS, Ohio.

WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE'S DEFENCE.

This letter, addressed to the editor of THE WRITER by Will Allen Dromgoole, is so bright that it is printed in order that readers of the magazine may enjoy it also:

BOSTON, Mass., December 22, 1891. MY DEAR SIR: You will pardon me for writing, I know, inasmuch as it is Christmas, and we all take advantage of every license possible at that season. We even allow the

drunkard a spree at Christmas. Now then! in the November WRITER you are pleased to say, "The young lady who signs herself Will Allen Drumgoole will soon bring out a book of folk-lore tales of Tennessee." Now, it is n't the tales that disturb me, since they are written (would they were worthier!), bought, and paid for by friend, the peerless Perry (Perry Mason & Co.), long ago. But you say I sign myself "Will Allen Drumgoole." My dear sir, I don't do anything of the kind. Dromgoole ("O," if you please) is a rare old name that my father fetched from Old Virginia, and my grandfather-God rest him! - brought from "ould Ireland." Don't spell it with "u for the sake of my ancestors. I sign myself "Will Allen Dromgoole!" My dear sir, whatever else shall I sign myself, since my good mother so signed for me as the last effort for a name for the last of six girls, an "niver a blissed b'y amongst us, yer honor." Will Allen! it is n't a bad name, although it does n't altogether index the woman who bears it. Not that she is not good, but that the name is masculine; the woman-four feet ten inches, weighs eighty-seven pounds, is as ugly as sin, and was never so far from home as now in her small life" signs herself Will Allen Dromgoole." Let me! All women cannot master this matter of names in the good old way that I was wont to dream of before my destiny took hold upon me, adversity chose me for a friend, and ambition stirred down in my soul's depths, and frowned upon youth's foolish fancies. And then even the best of women can only get relief (in the old way) for the last name. And could I do that, why, I should still be forced to sign myself Will Allen - possibly Jones.

Now, will you forgive all this, for the sake of the Christmas time?

There is nothing in a name, because Will Shakespeare said so. And I might answer to the gentler ones, Sallie, Annie, Jennie, or even Liz. But I am Will, and like it. It licenses me to write saucy letters to editors who mistake me for a man with a moustache or those who speak of me as a lady who signs herself thus.

There's nothing in a name, except a bit of fun, and unless it be attached to a bank check. The man who believes there is nothing in a name, as that old heretic declared, ought to try signing somebody else's to a fat check. And the woman who is such an infidel ought to "sign herself Will Allen Dromgoole" for a season. Why, I had a letter from a widow once offering me marriage. Think! if I had been named Mehitabel, or Jemima, or Jerusha, the offer might have come from a widower.

Then, too, there is a Boston bachelor who invited me to visit him, because I signed myself Will Allen, and, finding I was n't the

gender to wear Will Allen, he countermanded the invitation. Nothing in a name! Do you believe it? Could you, if you had been called Miss "Dumbfool," Miss "Dromedary," and Miss "Dumbell " (by adding an "e that name would have answered), as I have? Nothing in a name! Call yourself Sally Ann awhile and see if you'll not quit THE WRITER and go out to hire as housegirl in less than a week. Label a fowl a goose and expect it to be a gander is stuff (not stuffing); don't you say so?

But Christmas will be here before I stop unless I look to my pen.

My dear sir, please, again, forgive me, and especially for making bold to sign myself, Yours sincerely, Will Allen Dromgoole.