the Southland for any, even the most captious, to imagine that they too are members of a mutual admiration society: each one fought his way single-handed and conquered through his own individual merits. And every writer in the United States has the same chance that they have.
The same chance, but no better chance. It is true that the magazines are overcrowded. The editor of this magazine, for example, receives every year from four to five thousand articles. Out of these, the inexorable limitations of space will allow him to accept only about two hundred. Now, fully half of those two hundred may be supplied by authors of established reputation, whose work is always acceptable, not only because there is an audience eager to peruse every line from their pen, but also because it is pretty sure to be good work. They may not always be able to give of their best, but their second-best is generally ahead of the best work of even the cleverest tyros and amateur. This is susceptible of ready proof. Single out what you believe to be the poorest story of Howells or James or Aldrich or Stockton or any one of a dozen writers who might be mentioned, write as good a story yourself, and, unknown though you be, it will certainly be accepted.
But to continue. About one hundred articles a year can be accepted from among the four thousand or more articles sent by lesser or less known writers to the editor of Lippincott's Magazine, and in order to decide as to these one hundred it is necessary for him to examine all the four thousand. Here is where the average contributor is most sceptical of the editorial good faith. He doubts whether his manuscript will ever be examined at all, and he is fond of playing guileless little tricks by which he thinks to convict the editor. The editor of this magazine, for his part, confesses to a wicked pleasure in humoring the contributor, and where he finds two pages' glued together he carefully leaves the glue undisturbed, and where pages are placed upside down or in wrong numerical order he does not interfere with the disarrangement. It is not often necessary to read an entire article in order to reach an accurate estimate of its merits. And some articles it is not necessary to read at all, because from their very nature they are unsuitable. Translations, for instance, are not wanted. Illustrated articles are not wanted (in spite of the fact that this is not an illustrated magazine, the editorial eye is continually feasted on sketches or photographs sent in with an article suitable only for an illustrated magazine). Theological articles are not wanted. Heavy political disquisitions are not wanted. Articles on Julius Cæsar or on the Interstate Commerce Bill are not wanted. And so on ad infinitum. More than this, articles which arc in themselves suitable may not meet the momentary wants of the magazine. An editor may have so much poetry on hand or so many short stories that he may be disinclined to accept any more. In all these cases the manuscript may be returned without a reading.
A hue and cry has been raised against the printed notice which so frequently accompanies a rejected article. This notice has sometimes travelled back to the editor with the mystic legend "Chestnuts" or "Rats" scrawled over the top. Protests of all kinds have been received against it, and the editor has been conjured to write a letter of encouragement, advice, or criticism. It takes so little time to write a letter! Yes, dear friends, it takes little time to write a letter, but it takes a very long time to write five thousand; and contributors should consider the limitations which his merely human nature imposes upon the editor, and refrain from adding that last straw to his burdens which may break the editorial back.
