New-York tribune., 1901-01-12
A GRIEVANCE.
SOMETHING AUTHORS SUFFER- FROM MENTIONED
BY MARION HARLAND.


From The Bulletin of the Society of American
Authors.
The impertnent things that we'll bred people
say a perpetual puzzle TO the student Of
mankind and manners. The touch OF humor IN
such cases usually lies in the placid uncon-
scousness of the offender The particular (and
unintentionaD impertinence that irritates at
the present writing-as a cindery mote infiames
the inner eyed-is the question everybody, from
intimate friend TO the acquaintance of ten min
utes. feels at liberty TO ask me or any other
author. The acquaintance of a certain
brand considers that the ceremony Of introduc-
tiOn to member of the Literary Guild Is not
quite consummated until ne has inquired. with
his most agreeable smile, What are you writ
ing now?" He is not prompted by vulgar curl
osity to pry into my affairs He does not care
the section of a fig what am doing think
ing of doing. The strong probability is that he
would be bored to extinction were / to enter
upon a detailed account of matters that are en-
crossing my mind and busying my pen He
does not covet the cheap distinction of being
the first to peddle literary gossip. He has an
idea, firmly riveted upon a foundation OF other
peoples laying, that the query Is the thing"
with which to begin conversation with a
writing man woman. In point of fact" as
Cousin Feenix says. he believes that authors
like to be catechized along this line.
Should the eyes Of this type Of amable blum
derer fall upon this paper | wish TO assure him.
in behalf Of the Guild of which l am a humble
member, that writing people" do not like to
answer such questions; that nine hundred and
nnety-fVe out of the thousand authors he may
chance TO meet in the course of long and in
qusitve life would shrink from his catechsm
as from rough handling of a delicate subject:
that the higher the victims ideal OF his art, the
more painful Will be such handling. II he de-
mand explanations Of what Is mystery to him.
l cannot give 1t in full. He could not enter into
the peculiar delicacy of reluctance TO discuss
ones brain children with curious or Indifferent
associates 1 wish l could hope that the amia-
bic blunderer will receive upon my testimony
the truth that such sacred reluctances are and
learn to respect what he does not comprehend,
the secret into which his soul cannot enter At
a reception last winter / found myself. toward
the close of the evening, sitting upon the same
sofa with one of the lions of the occasion. the
most eminent. he is the most genial of Amer
lean humorsts. / said to him presently, II
take il for granted that nobody dares to ask
you. What are you writing now? or What
work have you in hand al present? or, worst
Of ALL Are you still engaged In literary labors
Mr.. --.'" My friends refined face rested
wearily his hand; his eyes deep with
sadness; Not ask me such questions! 1 give
you my word have been piled with each and
every of them seventy nine times at least
since l entered this room. The last man who
made himself agreeable IN this way wanted to
know what royalty | get on my books. and, at
q rough guess, how much make per annum by
my pen. l didn't ask him how much he had
cleared by stock gambling last year, although
my question would have been less impertinent
than his / threshing my brain as you
came up for a short, strong answer that would
do for all such inquisitors" Then and there
told him the story of Mrs. Babcocks boy.
This venerable gentlewoman-long since gone
to her rest-was the daintiest. gentest and most
tender hearted of Christians. and a Bostonian
of Bostonians. One day. alighting from her car
riage on Westinghouse she almost stepped
upon a ragged gamin. He not over four
years old; he barefooted bareheaded and
so dirty that the tears rolling down his cheeks
made channels that gave the only glimpse of
the natural skin. My poor little man." said
the sweet saint, putting a gloved hand on his
tangled curls, Don't cry so hard! What is the
natter" He jerked the matted head away,
digging his fists into his eyes with louder bel
low "No-o-ne o. yer BANKED bidness." In our
home circle do not use the word l have
yelled land the gamin didn't, nor / fancy is
my genial humorst addicted to it, But Mrs
Babcock's boy is favorite classic with US 1t
helps me "a little) to think of him when I am
asked What you writing now?'