In course of time I came temporarily to the occupancy of an editorial chair. I became a “We.” Because on becoming an editor you cease to be an “I,” you are more. You are several persons rolled into one. You are then the publisher, the proprietor, the paper’s biggest paying advertisers, the political party you represent, and the rest of your brother editors. Under these circumstances it is impossible for you to say what “I” think. Because in some cases you may not know what your own private opinions really are, or if they should assert themselves strongly you might not want to know them. You are a “we,” one advantage of which is that as in a sense you have ceased to exist as a personality. You are no longer personally responsible for what you say in print. The responsibility of the “we” can be distributed among so many that it need not stick anywhere and the bigger the paper the larger the area over which it can be distributed. I knew there was a difference between “editing” a paper and writing for one, but how much of a difference I did not realize until my destiny placed me temporarily in charge of the Sunday supplement of a city daily, which, in accordance with the regulations, or rather exactions, of modern journalism, published a Sunday paper, or rather magazine, of sixteen pages. I had about forty-six columns to “edit.” To “edit” is not to write. I speak thus plainly for the benefit of the many young men and maidens who are to swell the ranks of the great army now industriously engaged in sending contributions to the editor’s waste basket, and who still imagine that the editor does nothing but write for the paper. I pause here a moment to ask where, at the present increase of size and amount of matter published, are our Sunday papers to stop. Already the contents of some Sunday issues amount to more than that of the average monthly magazine. While this competition is going on at such a lively and increasing rate between newspaper publishers to give the most reading matter for the least money, I wonder if the idea may not in due course of time strike them that they may be giving to those who read more than they can really read and digest. Our business men to-day do not read one-half the contents of the daily paper. They have only time to glance at them. They would really be much better suited could some device of journalism give them their news in readable print in the compass of a handkerchief, and give them no more.