the profession of letters—the happiness peculiar to congenial work, intensified by steady, mental growth, and the development of resources within herself which rescue her from morbidness, loneliness and selfishness.
The successful writer must draw information and inspiration from her contact with human nature. She must know people in order to write of them, consequently she is never self-centered. She may become egotistical, spoiled by flattery when success is achieved, but during her probation she is dependent upon her fellow-men, therefore interested in them, and so is herself interesting.
Against this argument must be arraigned the stern fact that the woman who is entirely dependent upon her own efforts should not turn to writing, even though she may have the gift, as a profession in which she can secure immediate returns. She must combine writing with more practical work, something that will pay her board and keep a roof over her head until she wields the pen with such dexterity that financial returns are sure and regular. This period varies. Some women suddenly develop a gift for humorous versification, epigrammatic little essays, or a new field of fiction, and score phenomenal success; but as a rule the history of the writer who builds a substantial success reads far differently. My first story was writ-
