the public mind.”  Yet, when urged to a given point in the discussion, he could not deny that ‘the effect on the public mind’ of the Passion Play at Ober-Ammergau is generally impressive and helpful, while he was bound to admit that there was something to be said for the introduction of Divine personages in the epic romances of Milton and Dante.  What could be written in poetic verse did not, however, seem to him suitable for poetic prose, and I did not waste words in argument, as I knew the time had come for the parting of the ways.  I sought my present publisher, Mr. Methuen, who, being aware, from a business point of view, that I had now won a certain reputation, took “Barabbas” without parley.  It met with an almost unprecedented success, not only in this country but all over the world.  Within a few months it was translated into every known European language, inclusive even of modern Greek, and nowhere perhaps has it awakened a wider interest than in India, where it is published in Hindustani, Gujarati, and various other Eastern dialects.  Its notable triumph was achieved despite a hailstorm of abuse rattled down upon me by the press,—­a hailstorm which I, personally, found welcome and refreshing, inasmuch as it cleared the air and cleaned the road for my better wayfaring.  It released me once and for all from the trammels of such obligation as is incurred by praise, and set me firmly on my feet in that complete independence which to me (and to all who seek what I have found) is a paramount necessity.  For, as Thomas a Kempis writes:  “Whosoever neither desires to please men nor fears to displease them shall enjoy much peace.”  I took my freedom gratefully, and ever since that time of unjust and ill-considered attack from persons who were too malignantly minded to even read the work they vainly endeavoured to destroy, have been happily indifferent to all so-called ‘criticism’ and immune from all attempts to interrupt my progress or turn me back upon my chosen way.  From henceforth I recognised that no one could hinder or oppose me but myself—­and that I had the making, tinder God, of my own destiny.  I followed up “Barabbas” as quickly as possible by “The Sorrows of Satan,” thus carrying out the preconceived intention I had always had of depicting, first, the martyrdom which is always the world’s guerdon to Absolute Good,—­and secondly, the awful, unimaginable torture which must, by Divine Law, for ever be the lot of Absolute Evil.

The two books carried their message far and wide with astonishing success and swiftness, and I then drew some of my threads of former argument together in “The Master Christian,” wherein I depicted Christ as a Child, visiting our world again as it is to-day and sorrowfully observing the wickedness which men practise in His Name.  This book was seized upon by thousands of readers in all countries of the world with an amazing avidity which proved how deep was the longing for some clear exposition of faith