ng speed; such
wild roaring of the firemen to clear the way; such frantic dashing aside
of cabs, carts, 'buses, and pedestrians; such reckless courage on the
part of the men, and volcanic spoutings on the part of the fires! But I
must not linger. The memory of it is too enticing. "Deep Down" took me
to Cornwall, where, over two hundred fathoms beneath the green turf, and
more than half-a-mile out under the bed of the sea, I saw the sturdy
miners at work winning copper and tin from the solid rock, and acquired
some knowledge of their life, sufferings, and toils.

[Illustration: THE DRAWING ROOM.]

In the land of the Vikings I shot ptarmigan, caught salmon, and gathered
material for "Erling the Bold." A winter in Algiers made me familiar
with the "Pirate City." I enjoyed a fortnight with the hearty
inhabitants of the Gull Lightship off the Goodwin Sands; and went to
the Cape of Good Hope, and up into the interior of the Colony, to spy
out the land and hold intercourse with "The Settler and the
Savage"--although I am bound to confess that, with regard to the
latter, I talked to him only with mine eyes. I also went afloat for a
short time with the fishermen of the North Sea in order to be able to do
justice to "The Young Trawler."

To arrive still closer at the truth, and to avoid errors, I have always
endeavoured to submit my proof sheets, when possible, to experts and men
who knew the subjects well. Thus, Capt. Shaw, late chief of the London
Fire Brigade, kindly read the proofs of "Fighting the Flames," and
prevented my getting off the rails in matters of detail, and Sir Arthur
Blackwood, financial secretary to the General Post Office, obligingly
did me the same favour in regard to "Post Haste."

One other word in conclusion. Always, while writing--whatever might be
the subject of my story--I have been influenced by an undercurrent of
effort and desire to direct the minds and affections of my readers
towards the higher life.

_Trials And Troubles of an Artist._

BY FRED MILLER.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. M. JESSOP.

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[Illustration: NEAR TWICKENHAM.]

Are any professional men so liable to public insults as painters? Only
last summer a new, and I think unique, type of insult was dropped upon
me. I had a picture in hand, and wanted a bit of background to complete
it. I had seen just the very thing near Twickenham, so, taking my
sketching-box and camp-stool, I trained out, and in due course sta