Do I think, then, literature a desirable career for a young American?

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I will not answer this question directly. There certain employments in our complicated civilization which seem to belong to people who, for various reasons, are left out of the other avocations.

There is the stage, for example, which has furnished a resource to many a good fellow who could not be broken into the more regular and monotonous professions. There are capital men who have a spice of genius in them, with a certain inclination to innocent vagabondage. There are women, too, who can shine upon the stage, but could not sit down in a country kitchen and enjoy peeling potatoes for dinner.

Leave to such the stage, the magazine, journalism, and transient literature. Let them supply the baked bread and crisp French rolls of Goethe, which are "savory and satisfying for a single day." But if you ask me what I have to say to young men ambitious of producing excellent and durable works, my advice is, first get rich in some one of the ordinary pursuits of civilized men, and then consecrate your leisure to nobler toil. This was Benjamin Franklin's way, who remains at the present hour one of the most original, powerful, generous, and fruitful of American men of genius. - James Parton, in the Buffalo Express.

HOW A BOOK IS MADE.

We will presuppose that we have the MS. in hand, that it is written with a plain round script in jet-black ink, on white paper not larger than eight by ten inches; or, better still, that it is typewritten, and that each leaf is separate. The first question is the type.

Shall it be brevier, bourgeois, long primer, small pica, or pica? We will say that small pica is to be used; the next question is the estimate.

How many pages will the book make, allowing, say, three hundred and fifty words to the page, in small pica type, and what will be the size of the page? By counting the words in the manuscript we find the number. By comparing with some other book, or by setting up a sample page, we find he size and at the same time determine whether

it is to be leaded or not- that is, whether " "leads (strips of metal) between each line will be needed to make them wider apart, and make the book more pleasing as to shape and ease of reading. Then comes the dummy.

We have now determined the type, the number of pages and their size, and would like to see what the book will be like when done; whether fat, or graceful in outlines; so we select the paper on which it is to be printed, and bind up a blank book of the exact size and shape-minus cover- which the book will be, under the above restrictions; then, if satisfied, an artist is consulted in regard to the design for the cover, which is drawn, and the design sent to the die maker, who cuts the brass dies with which it is to be stamped upon the cloth by the binder..

In the mean time, the proofs of the first pages have begun to come from the composing-room. There, half a dozen typesetters have each fastened a page of the MS. on a board before each case, for ease in reading, and each man is busy in picking up the types from the rows of little boxes, and sticking them in a small holder, long enough to contain one line, with bits of type-metal "spaces"-between each word. The matter, as set up, is transferred to a larger holder, which is ultimately screwed up tightly. in a "form" (a square frame like the wood around a slate) and laid upon a press, and it is from this that the proofs have been taken, in long strips, called galley-proofs. In a quiet corner two employees are sitting, one reading from the MS., the other following the reader with the proof, and checking errors and deviations with busy pencil. The typesetter is paid by measure, and all such deviations must be reset by him in his own time, which means just so much lost time; so a blindlywritten manuscript really robs the compositor of money for each letter that he fails to read aright.

The strips of arranged and corrected type are now divided into pages of the proper size, and numbered; proofs are again taken, and on these the proof-reader marks such questions of grammar, punctuation, seeming errors in proper names, etc., as become necessary because of the accurate following of the copy; and this is the page that is generally sent to the author for revision. As such errors are due to exactly following his MS., the cost of their correction is generally charged to his account. (A page of corrected proof, showing the marks commonly used by printers to express errors, may be seen in the back part of Webster's Unabridged Dictionary.)

The pages have thus far been printed from loose type. If the book is to be of permanent value and in constant demand, a second edition may have to be printed (at date of writing, they are printing the one hundred and fifty-fifth thousand of Edward Bellamy's "Looking Backward"), and as it would be a needless expense to set the type each time anew, the forms of type are sent to a foundry-room, and casts are taken in type-metal by stereotyping, or electrotype plates are made. The pages can then be printed from these plates, and the type itself can be released for other use. All errors which now remain must be corrected, if at all, by the slow process of cutting out the old words and substituting new, and this work is generally charged for at the rate of fifty cents per hour; an expensive matter, since the addition of a line, nay, of a word, to a page already full necessitates a change upon the next page, and the next, until a space is found at the end of a paragraph or chapter to absorb the overflow. The plates are now ready for the press. The preface the book's best bow to its audience has been written and set up; copies of the title-page have been printed, bearing on the reverse side the words "Copyright, 1889, N. Dodge" (if said N. Dodge is the author, or owner of the copyright), and these copies have been sent to the Librarian of Congress with the fee- fifty cents for record in the name of N. Dodge, thus securing for him a legal right to prevent any one else from reprinting the book in this country for a term of years. And it is now time to invoke the aid of steam. The plates are laid upon the press and registered; i. e., care is taken to see that the line on one side of the leaf will be printed exactly an antipode to the corresponding line on the other side, and that the pages are in their proper order; the belt is adjusted, and the great machine begins its stately progress, printing living words upon the snowy sheets of paper fed to it by a light-handed girl or boy.

As it is not clear to every one why the pages thus laid upon the press are not arranged consecutively, we will explain by supposing a single sheet of paper is folded once. It is now a pamphlet of four pages, which we will number. Unfold it and pages I and 4 are on one side of the sheet, pages 2 and 3 are on the other. A book with pages thus folded is called a folio. Let us take the same sheet and double it once, bringing the top down to the bottom; then fold it the other way. This makes, after cutting, four leaves (eight pages), and is called a quarto (4to). Suppose we do not cut the leaves, but mark the pages and again smooth out the paper; the sheet shows how the pages must then be

laid upon the press in order that they may not only be consecutive, but also right side up. Thus the words folio, 4to, 8vo, 16m0, 32mo, etc., not only show how many times the sheets have been folded to make the book, but also, in a general way, how large it is, since there is a common standard of size at the outset - the largest sheet that will fit the press; and each successive "-mo " minifies the size of the page in question. In practice the 32mo is usually folded on a half-sheet, eight pages long by four wide.

As the sheets come from the press they are damp, and must be hung away on racks in the drying-room for a space, and then be pressed smooth under heavy weights, before they find their way to the bindery. Once there, rows of girls fold by hand or machine, collate in their proper, consecutive paging, and pass them to the sewers, who stitch the sheets rapidly with peculiar sewingmachines, some of which use a thread of wire. In another room the covers have been made of pasteboard, overlaid with cloth of selected colors, and stamped under heavy pressure with the title and design. Some books are now laid under a great knife, and the edges are carefully sheared off level, including the folded crease of the double sheet. This, of course, decreases the width of the margin of the page, but, on the other hand, it can now be sent to the gilder, and given a golden edge which will protect it from being soiled with dust. A more common method is a compromise; the sides are left untouched, with as wide margins as possible, and the top alone is sheared and gilded, that being the part on which dust more naturally settles among the shelves; the great point being that a wide white border sets off the artistic appearance of a leaf as the white mat does the water-color. Neither is an essential, but both increase the enjoyment of the

Owner.

Books of reference, of large size, like dictionaries, generally have marbled edges. Small vats of dyes, holding a dozen gallons of liquid, are prepared. The binder sprinkles a dye of another color upon the surface, where it spreads in oily spots. A wooden rake with foot-long teeth is drawn once through the liquid lengthwise, the color mixing in streaks; perhaps it is then drawn once more from side to side, according to the pattern desired; a frame holding several books is then dipped in it so that their edges only shall be submerged, and is then set one side to dry-the result you see in your 'unabridged." Meanwhile, the common fry, the books that are for the multitude's passing enjoyment, are simply shorn and passed to the bindery,

placed it before the public in book form, were led to issue only a small edition, and from type which was immediately distributed. But the small edition was soon exhausted, and the work had to be reset and stereotype plates prepared, in order to satisfy the great demands of the trade.

After Alexander Kinglake had written " Eothen," a work which, from beginning to ending, exhibits not merely rare interest in the way of adventure and character sketching, united with romance of a personal nature, but wonderful in workmanship in respect to style and finish, it was offered by the author to a London firm for examination. It was promptly declined. It was then submitted to other publishers, who, one and all, refused to undertake its publication, assigning this and that reason for so doing. But one day Kinglake, almost given over to despair, summoned sufficient courage to walk into a bookshop in Pall Mall, and after introducing himself to the proprietor, informed the latter of the ill-success attending his efforts to find a publisher, and closed the interview by making the proprietor a present of his manuscript, if he cared to accept the gift. The publisher took the manuscript home with him that night, and gave it a careful examination, and, appreciating its great worth, decided upon its immediate publication. At first it sold slowly, but a favorable notice from Lockhart in the Quarterly Review led to a speedy demand for it on the part of the public, and edition after edition was disposed of, and more were called for. So soon as the work had become a financial success, the publisher made it a practice on each Christmas morning for many years to send the gifted author a generous check in appreciation of the service he had rendered him.

After the author of "A Fool's Errand" had written this novel, he submitted it to the editor of a leading New York paper, whose political sentiments were in strict accord with those contained in the work, with the suggestion that it appear as a serial in the columns of the paper in question. But the proposition, and the manuscript also, were declined by the editor, who, it would seem, had grave doubts respecting the expediency of taking the work. The author then sought the various publishers, and, at last, after several failures, found a New York house willing to undertake the publication of his work. It was published, and, as the public is well aware, proved to be one of the most popular and successful books of the period, its sales within a comparatively short time amounting to a large figure, and proving not only a most profitable venture for the publishers, but making its author

both famous and fairly independent from a pecuniary standpoint, in addition to making the work a standard book of fiction in this country.

Many years ago a most unpretending-looking manuscript, written by a young girl living in a quaint old parsonage among the Yorkshire hills, was sent forth to one publisher after another by the timid author, only to be returned in each instance to the owner, until the packet containing it had become so thickly written over with the names of firms which had declined it that there seemed to be no room left for any more. But one day the manuscript chanced to meet the attention of a reader connected with a hitherto unsought house, who was so captivated with its singular freshness and beauty that he induced the firm to bring it before the world. The volume met with a most flattering reception - such, indeed, as does not often fall to the lot of even the most successful publications. To this day the book in question is one of the most popular of its kind, being eagerly sought after by almost every individual who ever has heard of it. Such, in brief, is the history of "Jane Eyre." – Newell Lovejoy, in the New York Star.

THE WRITER'S INSPIRATION.

"Never write unless you have something to say," is the advice of the Experienced Writer to the talented Young Person who is eager to start out on the road that leads to the literary Temple of Fame. It is very good advice, no doubt, but does the Experienced Writer himself always follow it? Does any writer follow it, indeed, taking it exactly in the sense in which it is accepted by the talented Young Person aforesaid? Generally speaking, I am very much afraid the answer must be "No."

The people who write because they have to write; because there is something in them that must have utterance; because their brains are teeming with ideas to which they must give birth; because they feel themselves inspired, and the Spirit bids them speak, such people are seldom met with on the stairs that lead to the lofty editorial room. There are people who delude themselves into the belief that they are so inspired, but they find it hard to instil this belief into the minds of

editorial sceptics. A few there are, no doubt, who-like Mrs. Stowe with her "Uncle Tom's Cabin " -are filled with an idea that must have utterance, no matter what the obstacles in the way may be. These few are very few, however; indeed, it is hard to think of a second example to strengthen the illustration which Mrs. Stowe

Instead, therefore, of saying, "Never write unless you have something to say," the Experienced Writer should give to the talented Young Person this warning, "Always get something to say before you write." A man may determine that he will be a successful writer, and go to work to accomplish that end without a spark of what is ordinarily called inspiration. He simply makes a business of getting something to say and learning to say it well; and his chances of literary success are ineffably greater than those of the "inspired " genius whose innate ideas are all-sufficient in his own conceit, and whose conceit is usually greater than any literary talent that he may possess. William H. Hills, in The American.

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TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS OF THE EDITOR.

Journalism, both as a business and as a profession, has been revolutionized within thirty years. Before that time it had very little of the profit of the one or of the rank and character of the other. As a vocation, it was limited and precarious; as an intellectual exercise, it was narrow and unexacting. Neither in its rewards nor in its achievements, taken as a whole, did it rank at all with the pulpit, or the law, or medicine. Outside of the few who became political oracles, and who were more politicians than editors, it offered no positions worthy of any ambition. Now all this is completely changed, and there has been no such marvellous progress in any other field, unless it be in railroading and one or two other lines of development which combine intellectual and material requirements. As a business, journalism has become a great enterprise, with vast capital, heavy expenditures, an army of workers, and large profits, and requiring the best business management. As a profession, it has immeasurably broadened in its scope, attractions, demands, and opportunities. The old

journalism was little more than political pamphleteering; the new journalism is the comprehensive epitome of the world's life, and the leader and reflex of human thought and activity. The one generally involved party servility and limited careers; the other offers individual independence and the most splendid pecuniary and personal prizes.

The great modern newspaper springs from no single Jupiter, but shines with a whole constellation of stars. The chief may be as able as the masters of the past, but unless he calls about him the most varied and brilliant talents in many departments, his journal will lag in the strenuous and eager race. The reporters will include young men with the gifts of a Daudet or a Gautier for description. The correspondents will number masters of style, who can paint a scene almost as well as Macaulay painted the trial of Warren Hastings. The editorial writers will contain essayists as charming as Coleridge and polemics as sinewy and pungent as Cobbett. No visionary idea this, since Daudet, Gautier, Macaulay, Coleridge, and Cobbett were all working newspaper men. And beneath these more showy qualities there will be, as the bulwark of the best journalism, a breadth and accuracy of information which are the first requisites and which are the foundation of solid and lasting success.

Of course, it is not implied or meant that all who are employed in journalism must be of this rank, and that there is no room for others. Much of journalistic work requires no genius. Much of it is best when it is the most simple, direct, and succinct narrative. Yet there is no department which may not be illuminated by genius, and many of the demands of journalism of to-day require ability, training, and acquirements of the highest order. The scope of the modern newspaper embraces the widest range of human progress and endeavor. It rivals the magazines in its production of current literature. It outbids the book publisher for the foremost writers of the day. It discusses theology with the authority and sanction of the pulpit. It elucidates questions of law with the learning and penetration of the courts. It commands the highest artistic, engineering, and scientific talent for the solution of problems within their domain. It sends Stanley to Africa and Schwatka to Alaska; secures treaties before the diplomats and messages before Congress; beats the detectives in unearthing crime and the prosecutors in stopping violations of law; explores the asylum and the charnel-house; leads the council chamber in improvements and the exchange in business develop