The Arkansaw traveler., 1886-02-20
THE FIRST SUCCESS.
[Arnold's Kaleidscope.l


 The history of first attempts in the pro- fession of literature is almost, without ex- ception, history of incomprehensible rebuffs and disheartening failure. There may be some writers so just in their self estimate or SO fortunate in the retaining criticism of their friends that they have never offered manuscript which did not meet with acceptance; but almost invari- ably he who has caught the writing fever, can find no rest for its weary soul until his 6rst-born bantling has undergone edi- torial scrutiny. In nine hundred and ninety-nine cases out of thousand this first production is sent forth in a very strong hope, amounting almost to belief that it will be published, and in nine hun dred and ninety y-eight of these cases It comes hurrying back blasted by the fatal words, declined with thanks, ," or damned with faint praise. Again and again the doleful experiment is repeated, with the same result, until the sore-headed tyro cries out against all editors as stupid tools or as malevolent 6ends who delight in the sufferings of ambitious and unknown authors.
 But my dear young friend, let me tell you one thing whose truth and ferceiul- ness you may not realize just now. lfyou had an enemy, bitter, ruthless unscrup. ulous enemy and he were the editor of an influential publication, he would accept all those manuscripts and print them without alterations and with your name in full at tached. He could not do a more cruel thing nor one which, if you attained snc- cess in after life, would haunt you with more inexorcisable horror The time would come when you would undergo a good deal to sweep into oblivion those beloved thoughts and expressions, which once seemed to you grand and thrilling, but of which you now blushingly perceive the tawdry meanness. No; little as you may realize it, editors are your most mer- ciful friends, and the danger is far greater that you will see print too soon than that your efforts will go unappreciated.
 But young authors not only misjudge tho worth of their productions but also re- gard as peculiar to their own vocation trials and obstacles which are in reality the common lot of man. This is so gross fallacy that one cannot but be surprised at the number who are deluded by it You have, perhaps, passed the early stages of literary experience, have tested your strength and feel just confidence in your own ability to do creditable and valuable work. Still, you cannot bring editors to appreciate your worth. Your manuscript comes back from a magazine declined because there is no room for it and in the next issue of the magazine you have the pleasure of reading a long, commonplace piece, distinctly inferior to yours in almost every particular. Proba- bly, the successful piece, however, has a name of more or less celebrity attached. You have been pushed aside by a noted man who has, after all, done nothing that you could not have done better. You lay the blame of this partiality upon the edi. tor and thiAk that yours is . peculiarly hard lot.
 No, you have only found out what every man whe aspires to succeed finds out sooner or later. The poet and the pork. dealer are on an even footing in the mat. ter of establishing reputation. You arc only feeling the operation of law which you yourself would be the first to insis, upon. If Patti singA or if Irving acts, ol if TeHnyson writes new poem, you give your time and attention to them, withou, going tediously in quest of some undis- covered genius of equal merit The very fact that these persons have produced masterpieces in the past is sort of guar antee that they arc capable of equally good work now, and entities them to . respectful hearing.
 Probably hundreds of merchants ir New York sold goods as fairly and a, chsaply e A. T. Stewart but for years thu msre prestige of his name was suf6cien