and here he must trust only himself and take his own risks.
Now as to entering the profession of literature.
My correspondent who writes the above letter knows that, if she has a son or a brother who wishes success as a physician or a watch-maker, he must take time to train himself for his work-must educate his observation, his memory, his very sense of touch, for that pursuit-and the education will involve time, patience, tools, and a teacher.
Why is it that she herself expects to enter at once on a profession involving wider observation and more delicate forces than either medicine or watch-making, without any special preparation whatever?
This is the discouraging thing about almost all letters of this class, that they are so rarely accompanied by any sign of personal humility.
What the most successful writers have won by years of early study, followed by other years of incessant practice, these aspirants expect to gain at a grasp.
The very letter from which the above quotation is given contained eleven misspellings, so little attention had been given by the writer to the very rudiments.
Like the country girl who came to consult Mrs. Fanny Kemble Butler
about her career as an elocutionist, and explained frankly that what she wanted was not to learn how to read in public, but how to get her audiences together, so these mistaken persons