due chiefly to training, to a cultivation like that of the ear for music.  Possibly we are entering on an age in which the people care less for form, for phraseology, than for what seems to them true, real—­for what, as they would express it, “takes hold of them.”  This is no plea or excuse for careless work, but rather a suggestion that the day of prolix, fine, flowery writing is passing.  The immense number of well-written books in circulation has made success with careless, slovenly manuscripts impossible.  Publishers and editors will not even read, much less publish them.  Simplicity, lucidity, strength, a plunge in medias res, are now the qualities and conditions chiefly desired, rather than finely turned sentences in which it is apparent more labor has been expended on the vehicle than on what it contains.  The questions of this eager age are, What has he to say?  Does it interest us?  As an author, I have felt that my only chance of gaining and keeping the attention of men and women was to know, to understand them, to feel with and for them in what constituted their life.  Failing to do this, why should a line of my books be read?  Who reads a modern novel from sense of duty?  There are classics which all must read and pretend to enjoy whether capable of doing so or not.  No critic has ever been so daft as to call any of my books a classic.  Better books are unread because the writer is not en rapport with the reader.  The time has passed when either the theologian, the politician, or the critic can take the American citizen metaphorically by the shoulder and send him along the path in which they think he should go.  He has become the most independent being in the world, good-humoredly tolerant of the beliefs and fancies of others, while reserving, as a matter of course, the right to think for himself.

In appealing to the intelligent American public, choosing for itself among the multitude of books now offered, it is my creed that an author should maintain completely and thoroughly his own individuality, and take the consequences.  He cannot conjure strongly by imitating any one, or by representing any school or fashion.  He must do his work conscientiously, for his readers know by instinct whether or not they are treated seriously and with respect.  Above all, he must understand men and women sufficiently to interest them; for all the “powers that be” cannot compel them to read a book they do not like.

My early experience in respect to my books in the British Dominions has been similar to that of many others.  My first stories were taken by one or more publishers without saying “by your leave,” and no returns made of any kind.  As time passed, Messrs. Ward, Locke & Co., more than any other house, showed a disposition to treat me fairly.  Increasing sums were given for successive books.  Recently Mr. George Locke visited me, and offered liberal compensation for each new novel.  He also agreed to give me five per cent copyright on all my old books published