only, will our children be able to judge of the phases of
our generation. Now, we desire beyond all things to stand
well with our children, but when our story comes to be told
we do not know who will have the telling of it.

Too Close to the Tellers.

We are too close to the tellers; there are many tellers, and
they are all talking together; and even if we knew them we
must not kill them. But the old and terrible instinct which
taught our ancestors to kill the original story-teller warns
us that we shall not be far wrong if we challenge any man
who shows signs of being afflicted with the magic of the
necessary words.

May not this be the reason why, without any special
legislation on its behalf, literature has always stood a
little outside the law as the one calling that is absolutely
free--free in the sense that it needs no protection?

For instance, if, as occasionally happens, a judge makes a
bad law, or a surgeon a bad operation, or a manufacturer
makes bad food, criticism upon their actions is by law and
custom confined to comparatively narrow limits. But if a
man, as occasionally happens, makes a book, there is no
limit to the criticism that may be directed against it, and
it is perfectly as it should be. The world recognizes that
little things, like bad law, bad surgery, and bad food, only
affect the cheapest commodity that we know about--human
life.

Therefore, in these circumstances, men can afford to be
swayed by pity for the offender, by interest in his family,
by fear, or loyalty, or respect for the organization he
represents, or even a desire to do him justice.

But when the question is of words--words that may become
alive and walk up and down in the hearts of the hearers--it
is then that this world of ours, which is disposed to take
an interest in the future, feels instinctively that it is
better that a thousand innocent people should be punished
than that one guilty word should be preserved, carrying that
which is an untrue tale of the tribe.

Remote Chances of a Tale's Survival.

The chances, of course, are almost astronomically remote
that any given tale will survive for so long as it takes an
oak to grow to timber size. But that guiding instinct warns
us not to trust to chance a matter of the supremest concern.
In thi