ure it no longer, and she said to
herself, "They _sha'n't_ see my name in the paper any more"; and she sat
down on the green grass and thought of a nice new name that pleased her,
and she called herself by that name always when she wrote for the
papers. And as she never got famous so that she wanted to tell people
what her pen-name was, her friends never found it out, and she lived and
died in peace.

_Haec fabula docet_--Don't be made to feel it's cowardly to use a nom de
plume if you want to. It isn't likely to do any harm, and it may save
you lots of bother.

_Persis E. Darrow._

WENTWORTH, N. H.

TO WRITE OR NOT TO WRITE.

When any one living in this age of the world feels that he has thoughts
clamoring for utterance, he seeks advice from some one who has attained
success in the profession of literature. In most instances he receives
no satisfactory criticism, and is compelled to act on innate conviction
of his right to enter the "thorny path" and fight his way up to the top,
where, we are told, there is always room.

There seem to be two literary factions pitted against each other. Those
of one class employ their best effort in dissuading young writers from
writing; those of another set forth an author's life in glowing colors.
One faction will tell you that half the manuscripts sent to editors are
not even accorded the courtesy of an examination unless signed by a
well-known name. Another says that editors are keenly on the outlook for
original matter, seizing with avidity anything that promises to make a
new element in current literature.

A noted author writes to a young aspirant: "Sweet and natural though
your utterance seems to be, let me ask you in the friendliest spirit not
to write at all. The toil is great, the pursuit incessant, the reward
not outward." To the same young woman writes another equally well-known
writer: "Your work is excellent; you _can_ and _will_ succeed."

The fact is obvious that there is a literary aristocracy in America.
Born in an intellectual atmosphere, with inherited talent, wrapped in
their own dreams, knowing little of the struggle and toil of their less
fortunate co-workers, its members stand aloof, saying: Thou shalt not
enter therein. The old Italian poet quaintly puts it:--

"For singing loudly is not singing well;
But ever by the song that's soft and low
The master singer's voice is plain to tell.
Few have it, and yet all are masters now,