as we termed it by consent. It was further agreed
that he should abstain from looking at a line of it until the whole was
written--a compact which I have not heard he found any difficulty in
keeping. Indeed, there was plenty to occupy us both without the book.
Snow lay thick on the fells that spring, and the glissading was
excellent; we had found, or thought we had, a new way up the Mickledore
cliffs; and Mr. Gladstone had just introduced his first Home Rule Bill,
and made the newspapers (which reached us a day late) very good reading.
However, the MS. was finished and read with sincere, if discriminating,
approval, on the eve of our departure.

The next step was to find a publisher. My earliest hopes had inclined
upon my friend, Mr. Arrowsmith, of Bristol, who (I hoped) might remember
me as having for a time edited the _Cliftonian_; but the book was
clearly too long for his 'Railway Library,' and on this reflection I
determined to try the publishers of 'Treasure Island.' Mr. Lyttelton
Gell, of the Clarendon Press, was kind enough to provide a letter of
introduction; the MS. went to Messrs. Cassell & Co., and I fear the end
of my narrative must be even duller than the beginning. Messrs. Cassell
accepted the book, and have published all its successors. The inference
to be drawn from this is pleasant and obvious, and I shall be glad if my
readers will draw it.

[Illustration: MR. AND MRS. QUILLER COUCH IN A CANADIAN CANOE]

It is the rule, I find, to conclude such a confession as this with a
paragraph or so in abuse of the literary calling; to parade one's self
before the youth of merry England as the Spartans paraded their drunken
Helot; to mourn the expense of energies that in any other profession
would have fetched a nobler pecuniary return. I cannot do this; at any
rate, I cannot do it yet. My calling ties me to no office stool, makes
me no man's slave, compels me to no action that my soul condemns. It
sets me free from town life, which I loathe, and allows me to breathe
clean air, to exercise limbs as well as brain, to tread good turf and
wake up every morning to the sound and smell of the sea and that wide
prospect which to my eyes is the dearest on earth. All happiness must
be purchased with a price, though people seldom recognise this; and part
of the price is that, living thus, a man can never amass a fortune. But
as it is extremely unlikely that I could have done this in any pursuit,
I may claim to have the be