ation it has to thank the
snows of six-and-forty winters.

Our intimacy has been of long standing, for my first and last editor is
one and the same being--the present writer.

From the day that I, as a little schoolboy, seated on the uncompromising
school-form looked upon as a necessary adjunct to the inception of
knowledge, produced in MS. and for private circulation only my first
journalistic attempt, up to the present moment, I can confidently assert
that during my varied experience I never was brought into contact with
a more interesting set of men than those I have seen stretched upon the
editorial rack.

The primary requirements which tend to make up the composition of an
editor are good health, an impenetrably thick skin, and the best of
humour. Secondly, he must be able to command experience, a thirst for
work, and the power of application; and, thirdly, he must possess tact
and discretion. A universal and comprehensive knowledge of human nature
must also be his, for not only has he to be capable of judging and
humouring the overstrung men and women of talent with whom he
deals--those fragile, sensitive flowers from whom he extracts the honey
wherewith to gratify the palate of a journalistically epicurean
public--but he must also have a thorough knowledge of that public to
enable him to direct those who work for him, for they, shut up in their
studies and studios, may not realise that the man at the look-out has to
weather the storms of public opinion, of which they reck little if it be
that what they work at may be to their own liking, albeit unpalatable to
those whom they seek to feed.

Like poets, editors are born, not made. An editor may make a paper, but
a paper never made an editor. But as to the commercial success or
failure of a periodical, the editor is absolutely a nonentity. There are
two sides to the production of a periodical: one is the business side,
the other the editorial. The success or failure of a periodical depends
almost entirely upon the business manager.

One of the youngest and most successful newspaper proprietors once
called me a fool. I wrote and asked him why. We had an interview. He
said frankly: "You are a fool, in my opinion, for producing too good an
article for the money. The public does not appreciate good work, and you
will never make a commercial success of your paper. Your staff is too
good; your printing is too good; your paper is too good. I am a success
because I kn