Page:Weird Tales volume 02 number 03.djvu/81

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 * THE EYRIE
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 * THE EYRIE
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TILL our readers continue to tell us what's wrong with our magazine—and also what's right with it.

Our Vox Pop mail is heavier than ever; and this indicates that WEIRD TALES is steadily widening its circle of readers. And that, you may be sure, doesn't displease us any.

Some of our correspondents are ecstatically delighted, some are only moderately satisfied, and some are woefully disappointed, with the magazine we're trying to edit. That doesn't irk us either. We shall never be troubled, in fact, so long as people write to us—either in praise or disparagement. That shows, at any rate, that WEIRD TALES is being read and discussed.

But if they cease to say what they think of the magazine—if they ever stop caring about it, one way or the other—why, then, of coarse we WILL begin to worry. We'll know then that something is wrong somewhere.

We've often remarked in these Columns of Canning that nobody can make us sore, no matter how hard he slams our magazine; and we've gone even further and declared that our calumnious letters are read with keener interest than those that flatter us. And, just to prove that we meant what we said, we're going to start The Eyrie this month with all the lampoons we've received in four weeks.

There are only three, as it happens, and here they are:

That came from a young woman in Hayward, California, who, though signing her name, requested us to credit her criticism to "An Old Fashioned Woman." And the next was written by a gentleman of Jersey City, who likewise asked to have his name omitted:

And the third comes from Dick P. Tooker, of Minneapolis:

ND now, having disposed of that trio of roasts (which quite failed to blister us), let us turn to those letters another sort. First, we shall consider this one from Joel Shoemaker of 4116 Aiken Avenue, Seattle, Washington: