own early days: a shoe-dealer, for an advertisement, placed a huge pair of shoes, size 35, in his window. I grasped the opportunity to make a salable photograph. It did sell; but not to Popular Mechanics, for the editor wrote that he was unable to use it because he had printed, several months before, a picture of a huge pair of shoes made for a circus sideshow worker. Consequently, the subject of your photograph may be just the thing the editor would want if he hadn't had his requirements already satisfied. Therefore, study those photographs which have been printed, and make newer and better ones.

When the King of England comes to town, it may be all very well to command him to stand still, to look serious or to smile, for a picture of him so posed may be literally "eaten up" by the local newspapers; but a national weekly, such as Collier's, demands something different. Posed photographs are at a discount. They are too plainly "pictures of men having their pictures made." What is wanted are life and action. It isn't necessary to ask the King to stand on his head. Ask him to shake hands with the Chief-of-Police; or let him do something else which shows he has the power of action.

On an invaluable rejection-slip prepared by a national magazine, examples are given of "What we want and don't want." Under a photograph of Senator Johnson with upraised fist, as if he were driving home a point in his speech, is printed: "Here the upraised fist does the business—makes action, life—and transforms what would otherwise be just an ordinary likeness of Senator Johnson into a striking and arresting picture."

But if a photograph is sufficiently unusual it may be without life and yet may sell, although it gains materially by a show of action. Under a photograph of a floating submarine, the rejection-slip notes: "No action here; but it is safe to say that few of the readers of this magazine skipped this one when it appeared. Submarines are common today; but not the kind that carry huge twelve-inch guns." Similarly under a photograph of three men standing in a row and looking with a "where's-the-birdie?" expression at the camera, the caption is: "A posed picture and, as is usual in such circumstances, a dead one. We used it because a story centering around these men was a singularly interesting one appealing to a large audience in America." But no matter how extraordinary a photograph is, it gains a hundred-fold by exhibiting signs of life.

True, a "dead" picture may sell; but a live one will sell more quickly, and the photographer's work will be more in demand, and the resulting cheque will be larger—much larger.

If you make a photograph of a building—even for instance, a new arsenal—you will never sell it to such a publication as the New York Times roto-section. The rejection-slip says, under such a picture: "There isn't even a human being in it to relieve the severity of the building's hard lines and the flat expanse of water. We do not care for such pictures." True, a photograph of a building—and of a building only—may sell for a few dollars to an architectural magazine; but more dollars and a bigger future come from putting life into photographs and in getting your work into the national weeklies as a result.

Again, no magazine wishes to buy a photograph of something not new. A monument, if photographed a moment after the unveiling and with the crowd around it, is a likely seller; but if the photographer waits several years, a print of the monument is unsalable. And that is not strange: you prefer fresh to cold-storage eggs.

The big secret of the successful press-photographer is the introduction of human beings into his photographs of inanimate objects. Human beings have a deep interest in each other. When one is introduced into a picture, human-interest is introduced at the same time; and, if the human being is pictured in the act of doing something, the interest is even higher. For no one ever outgrows the question, "What ya doin', mister?"

Popular Science Monthly says: "We want good, clear photographs of a human being doing something of a mechanical nature. The subjects must be new." If a new invention is pictured alone, it is lifeless and meaningless. But let a human being operate it and a photograph of it gains in value.

One has only to apply his common sense to the matter. If a murder is committed in the city, the newspapers will not demand photographs of the corpse; it will do very well to obtain a photograph of the "arrow-points-to-the-scene-of-the-crime" variety.

One has to depend wholly on his "nose for news" and this sometimes proves treacherous. "A human-interest photograph sometimes slips past the trained nose of a photographer of twenty years' experience and is picked up by a beginner," to paraphrase Charles Phelps Cushing. And, on the other hand, the old-timer may snap away confidently at a subject which the beginner has scorned, and then find he has an unsalable print on his hands. Sometimes, so to say, "noses for news" contract colds and are unable to scent a subject's salability. But colds may be cured and the scents picked up once more. The best remedy is to stop, to think, and to sniff again.

There is a market somewhere for every good print. There is no market anywhere for a print that is not good.

The best part of the whole business is this: no one—not even old Nick himself—can induce an editor to buy a photograph he does not want; and if, on the other hand, he knows he can use it, he will buy it at once, be it offered by Donald Thompson, who is a world-famed press-photographer, or by John Brown of Smithville, whose first attempt it may be.

V

SIZE, SHAPE AND FORM

Aspiring fictionists learn at some stage of their budding genius that one long stride toward editorial favor lies in the proper preparation of the manuscript. Just so, a photograph which is not prepared in accordance with editorial standards suffers a handicap.

Some editors specify the size of photograph they prefer. Thus, Collier's prefers 4 × 5 prints; but it will use prints larger, and a few smaller than that size. In the same way, Garden Magazine reports that it prefers 6½ × 8½ prints, and the Thompson Art Company says it prefers the 5 × 7 or 8 × 10 size.

Other magazines make no mention of size. Popular Mechanics reports: "The size of the print is not so important as clearness and gloss." Indeed, the greater number of magazines do not specify a preferable size because by so doing they discourage contributors of prints which are desirable, but not of the size specified.

If a magazine insists on having prints of one certain size the photographer should not be discouraged because his camera does not make photographs of those dimensions. The making of enlargements is now no more difficult than the making of contact-prints; if the negative is sharply focused and the lens of the enlarging-machine is good, an enlargement will not differ much in quality from a small print.

To me, it seems that the ideal camera makes photographs of 3¼ x 4¼ inches. This is very slightly smaller than 4 × 5, and a less costly "film-eater." Negatives of that size are sufficiently large to make salable prints without enlarging them, and if a larger print is desired, they are of good proportions for the operation of enlarging. Prints of the 2¼ × 3¼ size are too small to offer to magazines unless the subjects are all-commanding; however, the size is a very good one, and not too small for the making of excellent enlargements if the lens of the camera is good. I have heard of one photographer who uses exclusively a vest-pocket camera equipped with a fast anastigmat lens: he never attempts to market any of the small prints, whose size is 1-5/8 × 2½, but enlarges the prints to about 4 × 6. There are many advantages possessed by the small camera over the large camera; but 3¼ × 4¼ is the happy medium. I have never had a print of