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Patience, and found my ideas ran twice as smoothly.

"I am at present hard at work at a play in collaboration with my son, 'Bootles,' and I find this play is easiest to write in the evening. But my novels are always written in the mornings, after I have answered all my letters, and I always have an enormous mail."

CURRENT LITERARY TOPICS.

Meredith as Judge of Manuscripts. For thirty years George Meredith served as reader and critic for a publishing house, and his judgment must have been relied upon. The result did not always justify his critical view, at least so far as popular standards are concerned. In the Fortnightly Review for August there is an article by a member of the publishing firm, B. W. Matz, descriptive of Meredith's activity and quality as reader.

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As might be inferred, Meredith's standard for judgment of submitted manuscripts was exquisitely high. After Hugh Conway had been so successful with "Called Back," Meredith rejected a manuscript by the same author, which afterward was published by another house, under the title of "A Cardinal Sin." In 1861 he refused to indorse the manuscript, of "East Lynne." "Opinion emphatically against it," was his terse communication to the publisher. Authors as Ouida," popular as Mrs. Lynn Linton, Thomas Hardy, Baring Gould, Herman Merivale submitted manuscripts which did not please Mr. Meredith. On the other hand, he was keen to any very genuine quality, and appreciative of it. Two early attempts by William Black came to his hands, and he at once felt the talent shown. Of one of these he wrote: "In its way, very good in the earlier part, highly promising. I have not seen the concluding portion; but it is but a thin thread of story I have got as yet. The author's mind evinces strong sense and poețic perceptions; he has a remarkably clear style, and a power of giving soft, pathetic touches, which I commend. He does not know much of life, nor has he

the proper artistic feeling for the development of his characters in an interesting way. Write very encouragingly. Do not lose sight of him."

Of the other manuscript submitted, his opinion was sent directly to William Black : "Book will not do, but the author strongly encouraged. A man on whom to keep an eye." On poems submitted by Edwin Arnold, Meredith wrote: "I should say this man will do something. The collection of poems here is not of sufficient weight to justify any speculation on the book. The translation in hexameter from Bion is especially good. He should wait till he has composed

a poem likely to catch the public ear. There is no distinct original mark in these poems not enough to rely on." On Samuel Butler's "Erewhon" he wrote: "Will not do." He said "No" to Immaturity," by G. B. Shaw, though there is some doubt as to whether it was the Shaw. Among his reports on rejected manuscripts are the following:

A provincial maiden aunt of the old time had about the same notions of humor and horror. A similar manner of narrating.

This is laughable enough in manuscript. But in print the ridicule would fall upon the publishers. Might gain a prize for dullness.

Rather pretty frail piece of young lady's work. Poor story of the French Terror. Historical portraiture befitting the pen of an urchin fifty years back. This is the vocabulary of a boy of fourteen.

Called humorous by the author. Cockneyish dialogue, gutter English, ill-contrived incidents done in daubs, maintain the assertion.

A tale reading as if told by a romantic grandmother of the present generation.

Absurd in point of style, which is that of a child. "The Mystery of the Pigeon Holes": Melancholy stuff to see and smell.

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in tendency, hard in style," he observed of another novel which Mrs. Lynn Linton submitted to Chapman & Hall years later. Speaking of Mme. Sarah Grand's novel, "The Heavenly Twins," he said: "The author is a clever woman and has ideas; for which reason she is hampered at present in the effort to be a novelist." He went on "The writer should be advised to put this manuscript aside until she has got the art of driving a story. She has ability enough, and a glimpse of humor here and there promises well for the future." The first book by the late Mrs. Craigie, "Some Emotions and a Moral," provoked this remark: "Written with some power to exhibit the emotions of the sex mainly in the form of whims."

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The pleasantest aspect in which Meredith is revealed is that in which he appears as the friendly counselor. When he detected promise in a manuscript he was delighted to take pains with the author. The shining instance of his helpfulness involves Thomas Hardy, whom he ultimately came to regard as the best of contemporary novelists. Hardy sent to Chapman & Hall his first novel, "The Poor Man and the Lady," which long afterward he himself described as very wild." Meredith did not advise publication, but he felt that the author was one to be encouraged, and at an interview presently arranged between the two he must have spoken invaluable words. They remained friends thenceforth down to the end, and in a public speech made in 1895, when the Omar Khayyam Club was foregathering in Meredith's neighborhood, the younger novelist declared that if it had not been for the encouragement he received then from Mr. Meredith, he would never have devoted himself to literature. George Gissing also considered himself in Meredith's debt. Following suggestions made by the latter, he was enabled to improve his first novel, "The Unclassed," and the experience was repeated when he wrote his second book, "Isabel Clarendon." When Olive Schreiner sent her first manuscript to Chapman & Hall, the best that Meredith could say for it was: "Plot silly, early part well written," but her

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Before a manager can accept a play, no matter how good it is, he must consider its initial cost and its probable running expenses, and compare these with the amount of money his seating capacity will yield in the event of success. Given two plays of equal merit, for example, he will give preference to the one with the smaller cast of characters and the least requirement in the way of special scenery.

"People will send in plays calling for three or four changes of scene in every act, mechanical effects costing thousands of dollars, and long casts of characters, many of whom would have to be paid $40 or $50 a week just to speak half a dozen lines convincingly. And many of these plays are so full of good, valuable ideas that their authors are perplexed and indignant when they are rejected with a promptness which would argue that they had n't even been read. And so they go about crying that there is a close corporation of authors and that the new writer has no chance.

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'Now, the chances are that such a play has n't been read. The experienced manager knows from a glance at the cast and scenery that he could n't get back the cost of putting it on.

"If the young or inexperienced dramatist would save himself the stinging disappointment of having a play which has cost him months of mental effort sent back almost by return mail, he should follow some such plan as the one I always recommend to my friends who wonder why they are SO treated.

"First let him think out his play with the greatest care for the economy of characters and scenes which is commensurate with effective telling of his story. He should not

ring in casual personages with only a scrap of a part when, by the exercise of a little ingenuity, their lines could just as well be spoken by one of the characters actually necessary to the plot. Nor should he switch his scenes from place to place except for the most unavoidable reason. All this entails thought, but not much actual writing.

"Having done this, let the new dramatist write a letter to the manager telling him that he has a play of such and such a character not going into the plot - that it contains so many acts, calls for such and such scenery, and requires a cast of so many parts, and that the parts are such as this or that wellknown actor or actress would fit. By this means the manager will get some idea of the cost of producing the new play, and in most cases he will reply to the author's letter telling him whether or not it will be worth his while to submit his manuscript.

"Now, with this tip from the manager, let the budding Mr. Pinero or Mr. Klein send on his scenario. He need n't have written a line of the play itself; he need n't have spent half his spare salary on typewriting and all his nights in the frenzy of composing dialogue. All that will come later, mitigated by the joy of at least a possible acceptance if the manager has thought well of his scenario.

"That," said the author of 'The County Chairman,' "is the common-sense way of going about the business of selling a play. And if it is followed it will save many a heart-burning and no end of drudgery." New York World.

The Untried Playwrights. "Don't blame the managers too severely for what they produce," says a professional play-reader in Munsey's for September. "If you could only read what they reject! It is not that the managers are all they ought to be; it is not that talent does not sometimes go begging, and genius is not sometimes shown the door. It is simply this - that out of the great mass of manuscripts which aspiring playwrights and librettists dump in upon the managers, far less worthy material is to be found than even the most cynical of the uninitiated suppose; that the totally unknown

dramatic author of talent is one in 10,000 so it is small wonder that he sometimes escapes notice for a while! - and that nearly all the good plays are likely to come in the future as they have in the past, from the writers of experience. The writers of experience may often fail to persuade a manager to produce the more daring or original of their works, but I have never heard that they had any trouble in getting a manager to listen to them; and ultimately they find a manager to produce.

"But, you urge, the writers of experience had to begin some time; they were not always well known. True. Yet consider that there are many hundreds of theatres in the United States. There are fifty-three on Manhattan Island alone. These theatres have to be kept open, plays have to be supplied for them. The art of play-writing is intricate, difficult; it requires the possession of a very peculiar and very rare gift. There not at present half enough trained writers who possess this gift to supply all our theatres with worthy plays. The managers, willy-nilly, are constantly on the lookout for new material, for new authors. If a young or unknown author has real dramatic talent, if he possesses the spark, so great is the market, and so limited the supply, that he is pretty sure to get a hearing."

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LITERARY ARTICLES IN PERIODICALS.

[ For the convenience of readers THE WRITER Will send a copy of any magazine mentioned in the following reference list on receipt of the amount given in parenthesis following the name - the amount being in each case the price of the periodical with three cents postage added. Unless a price is given, the periodical must be ordered from the publication office. Readers who send to the publishers of the periodicals indexed for copies containing the articles mentioned in the list will confer a favor if they will mention THE WRITER When they write. ]

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PROOF-READING AND TYPE-SETTING. Anna Steese Richardson. Woman's Home Companion (18 c.) for October.

MY REMINISCENCES. Edward Everett Hale. Woman's Home Companion (18 c.) for October.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF A NOVELIST. The rapid rise

of H. G. Wells. With portrait. G. W. Harris. American Monthly Review of Reviews (28 c.) for October.

THE BONDAGE OF THE PRESS. "An American Journalist." Twentieth Century Magazine (28 c.) for October.

ERNEST HOWARD CROSBY AND HIS MESSAGE. Hamlin Garland. Twentieth Century Magazine (28 c.) for October.

THE MEANING OF LITERATURE FOR PHILOSOPHY, Ernest Albee. International Journal of Ethics (68 c.) or October.

THE PROCRASTINATION OF HAPPINESS IN FICTION. Myra Swan. The Author (London) (18 c.) for Oc

tober.

THE ART OF ILLUSTRATING. Illustrated. William Brett Plummer. The Author (London) (18 c.) for October.

MEREDITH IN BROKEN DOSES. Archibald Henderson. Forum for October.

TOLSTOY IN THE TWILIGHT. Henry George, Jr. World's Work for October.

EDWARD EVERETT HALE. With photograph. Edward Hale. Harvard Graduates' Magazine (78 c.) for September.

SIMON NEWCOMв. With portrait. Harvard Graduates' Magazine (78 c.) for September.

DANGEROUS TENDENCIES IN MODERN FICTIONINSANITY. Dietetic and Hygienic Gazette (13 c.) for September.

THE SHAKESPEAREAN PROBLEM. George Hookham. National Review for September.

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Stephen Phillips, the English poet, is in bankruptcy proceedings, and when he failed to appear in court, it was explained that he could not obtain money enough to get to London from Brighton, where he has been staying.

John Vance Cheney, the poet, critic, and librarian, says he has not retired from the literary field, to manufacture hair-oil. It is another John Vance Cheney who has gone into the hair-oil business.

Florence Wilkinson was married recently to Wilfred Evans, of Surrey, England.

Ivan Swift, sometimes called "Poet of the North," has established a printing and crafts shop at the old Leggett home near Detroit. The first book out is a second and larger edition of his "Fagots of Cedar," which has been favorably reviewed in this country and England.

"Doctor Johnson and Mrs. Thrale," by A. M. Broadley, published John Lane, contains letters, hitherto unished, from Oliver Goldsmith, James Ill, Fanny Burney, Dr. Charles Burn les. John Philip Kemble, Mrs. Siddo Piozzi, and it a Includes unpublished journ Wele Dr. Johnson in 17

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A volume of crit entitled "The Rom lish Poetry," just pub & Co., comprises a fifty in all, covering a

wrote more than two plays and one adaptation in a year.

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"The writing done, I immediately begin revising it. First I go over it with much care with a black lead pencil, heavier than the one I used for the first writing of the play, so that I may see at a glance which was the original and which the revised portion of the page. Next I go over it again to make still nicer corrections, this time with pen and ink this so at a glance I may know whether a word that appears on the page was my first, second, or third written thought. A fourth going-over, to do still more polishing, is done with a blue pencil. The last touches are made with a red lead pencil. So on every page of a play of mine, before I relinquish it with a great sigh of relief into the hands of a typewriter copyist, appear five kinds of handwriting, each signifying to me the stage of completion of the play. The work of revision is done quickly when the production of a play is near. Otherwise, after the second goingover I put it away, and reserve my decorative touches of red and blue until a few days before it is submitted to the managerial eye and the managerial judgment.

"I make almost no changes in my play at rehearsals," added Mr. Fitch. "When I have gone over my play the fourth and last time, it may not be perfect, but it is as near perfection as I can bring it, with my original plan of it. But the writing and revising a play is merely the tree putting forth its leaves. The two-years' thinking of the play before it is written is the solid portion of the tree, its root, and trunk, and branches.

"An idea of a play comes to me usually from reflection upon some peculiarity of

character I have observed."

Mr. Fitch made play-writing pay. His income from his dramas has been estimated at all the way from $75,000 to $150,000 a year. New York Tribune.

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word, and I have no patience with the uses to which it is put or the abuses it suffers. I have written my books as I have because at the time of working at them I loved the spirit of those ages so much that I naturally infused it into them. I could not help myself. You can't explain why you do a thing or why you don't do it, that is, satisfactorily. You can employ words, but they leave you in the dark.

"An artist goes through a country twenty times, and suddenly he sees a picture there and paints it, that is all. It sounds simple, but can you tell why he did not see the picture the first time, or, finally seeing it, why he must throw aside all the remainder of his work and paint that? I can't. It all belongs to the intricacies of mood which are beyond the ken of wisdom.

"I will give you an example at its best and worst.

Once George Eliot was in Devonshire, and she had occasion to go to the house of a woman who lived upstairs in a very simple cottage. As she went up the stairs she saw an opened door, and looking through into the room, she noted a long table, some chairs on one side, and a larger chair, as if for a teacher, on the other. That, it is claimed, is the only view she had, and in answer to her question regarding it, the woman she had come to see remarked that it was the place where the Peterites held their meetings. With that scant information, ocular and verbal, she wrote the wonderful account of the sect in 'Silas Marner," which is said by those who know to give an absolutely accurate idea of that religious body. Here you have the idea at its best.

Before she wrote 'Romola' she spent some eighteen months in Florence studying, or rather delving into the archives, and probably there never was a worse novel of the Italian Renaissance written than that. There you have the example at its

worst.

"All that is necessary is to love enough, and you can write as you will. Your characters will be mediaeval people or they will be modern, as you determine by that power of finding the natural method through su

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