Flaubert. But all men cannot have such mentors, nor can all afford so
long an unremunerative apprenticeship. For some the better plan is _not_
to linger on the bank, and take tea and good advice, as Keats said, but
to plunge at once in mid-stream, and learn swimming of necessity.

One thing, perhaps, most people who succeed in letters so far as to keep
themselves alive and clothed by their pens will admit, namely, that their
early rejected MSS. _deserved to be rejected_. A few days ago there came
to the writer an old forgotten beginner's attempt by himself. Whence it
came, who sent it, he knows not; he had forgotten its very existence. He
read it with curiosity; it was written in a very much better hand than
his present scrawl, and was perfectly legible. But _readable_ it was
not. There was a great deal of work in it, on an out of the way topic,
and the ideas were, perhaps, not quite without novelty at the time of its
composition. But it was cramped and thin, and hesitating between several
manners; above all it was uncommonly dull. If it ever was sent to an
editor, as I presume it must have been, that editor was trebly justified
in declining it. On the other hand, to be egotistic, I have known
editors reject the attempts of those old days, and afterwards express
lively delight in them when they struggled into print, somehow,
somewhere. These worthy men did not even know that they had despised and
refused what they came afterwards rather to enjoy.

Editors and publishers, these keepers of the gates of success, are not
infallible, but their opinion of a beginner's work is far more correct
than his own can ever be. They should not depress him quite, but if they
are long unanimous in holding him cheap, he is warned, and had better
withdraw from the struggle. He is either incompetent, or he has the
makings of a Browning. He is a genius born too soon. He may readily
calculate the chances in favour of either alternative.