It reminds me of a time when I wrote, maliciously, I admit, to a certain well-known magazine, to tell its editors a story they had printed by a renowned author had been cribbed entire (unconsciously, possibly) from an old classic; and I told them, too, if they would prefer to print original stories, I had one on hand. I got back such a deliciously solemn reply regretting the unconscious plagiarism and asking me to send on any story I had. I did not do so, for the good and sufficient reason that I had already sent it to them several weeks previously, and had had it rejected without comment. No doubt it deserved to be rejected; every one else did the same with it. To be sure, one kindly editor took the pains to tell me why, personally. "The trouble is," he said, "there isn't enough story. Your character-drawing is both careful and sincere, however." So it must have been dull to deserve anything like that. I wish we could hear a little more of the experiences of those poor rejected, who never do "get over the wall," as Mr. Harrison terms it. I imagine it would be both illuminating and ludicrous. And, oh! the happy moments I had on reading E. S. Martin's comments, in Life, on Mr. Harrison's article. Mr. Harrison makes the charge that magazines will print poor stories of well known writers in preference to good stories of the unknown, and Mr. Martin's response is: "It does not follow that the editors were wrong because they did not buy Mr. Harrison's tales before Queed. Maybe they were not more than average stories. But after Queed they were stories by the author of Queed.... Queed pulled all Mr. Harrison's past tales out of the ruck, and put them in the running. It was hardly fair to expect the editors to pick them for winners beforehand." What then are editors for, if not to "pick winners?" And Mr. Harrison says himself that Queed was rejected by two publishers. Probably it was hardly fair to expect the publishers to pick such a winner in advance. We, the rejected, have always humbly thought that was their occupation--their raison d'être. And if Mr. Harrison's short stories were "not more than average stories," doesn't it prove his contention that average poor stories by the known are more acceptable to editors than good ones by the unknown? At least I am going to think so, and some day I shall write an article on the lofty distinction of being rejected. M. H. P. The witty mind is the most banal thing that exists.--James Stephens in The English Review. Sentence Reviews