The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1884-06-28
MY FIRST EDITOR.

| 1 snatched up the manuscript, and was leaving
! the ROOM flushed with shame, trembling with
| rage and indignation, when the editors voice
arrested my attention. l turned around and
| looked at him scornfully, for 1 felt could have
withered him with a glance; but he did not seem
| to feel it much.
You're most impetuous young lady" he
| said, in a slow, low, musical voice. Il have not
half finished my criticism of this very remark
able production" and he took the manuscript
quietly but resolutely from my trembling fingers.
| 'Now, Miss -"
sJones," said shortly.
mo, not Jones; but the name will serve"
And 1 felt his keen gray eyes on my face and
observed an amused smile lowering round the
corners of his mouth, which was half hidden by
long, fair, dropping mustache ''Now, Miss
Jones, pray sit down"-he indicated a high,
leather-covered chair just opposite to him-"and
let us talk this matter over If you had been
content like other aspiring young authors, to
| send your contribution in the ordinary way,
through the medium of the postman and news
paper wrapper it would have been declined,
doubtless, and returned with or without the Gus
tomary though not very consoling thanks; but,
| since you have bearded the lion in his den, you
must listen to me for few minutes"
| l bowed and sat down He had got out his
I scalpel and was going to scarify me merciessly,
but as had brought it on myself L felt must
| heroicay endure it, though l glanced surrepti-
| tously round the den" in search ofsome means
of escape He fixed me with his glttering
| eye" and waited, wondering why | had been
| SO mad and misguided as to enter an editorial
| Office at all.
Slowly, deliberately, with sort of fendish
satisfaction, he smoothed out the crumped man
uscript. glancing at me with amused interest
i Inv do xurifa lice
| Il don't know; because like to, suppose"
| "a woman's reason-therefore valid. But do
you honestly and really think it is necessary
for people, even in poetry, and supposing they
| are very much in love with each other-which
| no one is nowadays-is it necessary for them to
be bitten and 'smitten, and that sort of thing2
| Is it really desirable in the interests of common
| humanity for hearts to be melted and smelt-
| ed F--and placed his finger under a certain
| stanza. ''This sentiment for instance, is simply
| ferocious."
DON'T" 1 CRIED angry cts very cruel
and unkind of you If you don't want my
| poetry, you say so, and have done with it,"
| - My passion flowed forth with torrent
| which Of course rhymesawth 'abhorrent.'
Stop, pleasep-and l thrust my fingers into
my ears in the most undignifed misery; but
| could not shut out the sound of the clear quick,
| hooking voice. l shut my eyes; but still
| there was the horrid gloatng, good-looking
editor, watching me closely, his hand resting on
my beautifully written poem-I thought then
| and think to this day that it was and is beauti-
full When l looked at him again. he was laugh
| ing at my distress, smiling to himself, like
! ghoul or harry, or something equally horrid,
but that ne was exasperatingly good-looklng
Now Miss Jones, what else have you written
beside this very remarkable production with
| another suppressed smile.
Some blank verse and blanker prose,
| And more of both than anybody knows,
1 reply, little bitterly. will you please give
me my manuscript I'm very sorry to have
troubled you; l shall never do so again!"
"Oh, yes you will; and 1 shall be very glad to
consider some of the blank prose you speak so
| despairingly Of If you will let me see a nice
| matter of-fact commonplace little story, or a
short article useful domestic subject,
| such as The Average Servant or Occupation
| for Girls'-anything of that sort-can you sug-
gest anythingl'-and he looks at me gravely
and questioningly-'s something novel and at
| tractive, that might be treated briefly and
brightly-made "a feature of, in short-I shall
be very pleased to consider anything of that
sort you will favor me with, Miss Jones"
| He always paused most provokingly after the
| Miss and hardly knew whether TO be angry
or to laugh outright as L stammered feeble
| ''thank you"
''And you really should cut Swinburne," he
added, with a meaning glance at the manu-
script
II don't know Mr.. Swinburne-that is, met
him only once, and then he said something to me
| in Greek" replied.
''He might have said something much worse
But merely mean you shouldn't devote so much
of your time to his poetry-the Poems and
| Ballads for instance, and the Songs before
| Sunrise. l"
"How do you know dol"
| ''Internal evidence, and he touched my man
| uscript This betrays severe course. You
must alter your style, Miss Jones. Time
| enough for you to come to the cynical sensual
metaphy ica-incomprehensbe in ten years. say.
| You'll be educated up to the point of not be
| ieving a word of it by that time. Kindly leave
| me your address, and the manuscript shall be re-
| turned in The usual way"
| mo. II Brown street, Bloomsbury, W. c." I
| replied, my face crimson, care Of Mrs Kent"
| He wrote it down, and then stood up to indi-
| cate that the interview was over, bowed form
| ally and then touched little bell. Suddenly
small boy appeared, who conducted me down
| dark, break neck stairs through several mouldy,
| dusty labyrinthine passages and out through
| booksellers shop. felt more thoroughly small,
| mean, miserable and disguised than l had ever
felt in my whole life as l emerged from the
| shady by-street containing the Office into the
light and hustle of Pccadilly, and, as l got into
| bus, vowed never again to come to personal
| encouter with an editor. Hitherto had been
| content to drop my little contribution modestly
| into the letter boxes of certain weekly pubca-
tions that delight in small stories, or l would
| send them by post and await the result with
| what patience could. Sometimes my stories and
verses accepted, sometimes not and 1
| fancied that, if an editor only knew how exceed
! ingly industrious l was, how very much in
| earnest, how devotedly attached to my calling
| for l had married the Muse of Literature
| for better for worse-there was no choice
between doing that and being a governess-he
would have far better opinion of me and give
| me an important permanent position on his pa
| per Immediately Then l heard so much about
| the editor of the Arlington all the girls at the
| reading room of the British Museum were con
| tinually talking OF him; and in an evil hour,
| armed with my most elaborate poetical produc-
| ton, l made my way to the Office and requested,
and strange to say, was granted flor London
editors are difficult of access) interview. The
| result was pain, shame, confusion, discomfort
ure and, worst of ALL failure. Heaven and earth,
| how hated that man as l sat in the most re-
mote corner of the bus my homeward jour
ney-how vowed to be revenged and let him
| know some day whom he had sneered and
| jeeped at! l would put him in a novel, in a com
edy, in burlesque l would caricature him