And each of them can trill out what he calls
His ballads, canzonets, and madrigals.
The world with masters is so covered o'er
There is no room for pupils any more."

Therefore, the individual who contemplates becoming an author must be a
law unto himself. If he finds his truest expression, his greatest
delight in literary work, let him persevere, all the world to the
contrary notwithstanding.

"There is no chance, no destiny, no fate,
Can circumvent, can hinder, or control
The firm resolve of a determined soul.
Gifts count for nothing; _will alone is great_."

An editor, noted for his gentleness and courtesy, tells us that all
writers must go through an evolutionary process of rejected manuscripts,
and cites the instance of Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford, who awoke one
morning to find herself famous. She had written "The Amber Gods." When
congratulated as the first author who had attained reputation by a
single effort, she replied:--

"No, that is not true. I have been writing for years under an assumed
name."

_Susan Andrews Rice._

WASHINGTON, D. C.

THE DELUGE OF VERSE.

A fragment of a conversation overheard the other evening, when the
writer, half-buried with the daily proof-sheets from which he knows no
escape, was hurrying westward on an afternoon train, is the _raison
d'etre_ of this communication. The participants were two young and
pleasant-looking girls: they discussed matters feminine, of which only
the words "toque," "a bewitching little thing," and "pink velvet" had
reached my ears; but when I heard the question, "What became of your
last poem, Clara?"--and the reply, "_Youth's Companion_, came back with
a printed slip; _Independent_, ditto; then I tried the _Waverley
Magazine_, who accepted it, but did not pay young contributors"; I
became unthinkingly an interested eavesdropper, and just then, with
creak and clatter, the train stopped, the station, "Wellesley," was
called, and the fair ones departed, taking my thoughts (and all power of
concentration on work in hand) with them.

I mused in this wise: "Just why does the average young person give him
(or her) self out in verse, good, bad, and indifferent?" The _Youth's
Companion_ does not want a Wellesley girl's lucubrations; it has verse
on hand from many of the most skilled and charming writers in that line.
But it does, I know, want good stories for boys, for girls,--and where
can be a better "_local