Gypsies. Altogether then, had it not been for the unexpected success
of _The Coming of Love_, a story of Gypsy life, it is doubtful
whether I should not have delayed the publication of _Aylwin_
until the great warder of the gates of day we call Death should close
his portal behind me and shut me off from these dreams. However, I am
very glad now that I did publish it; for it has brought around me a
number of new friends--brought them at a time when new friends were
what I yearned for--a time when, looking back through this vision of
my life, I seem to be looking down an Appian way--a street of
tombs--the tombs of those I loved. No wonder, then, that I was deeply
touched by the kindness with which the Public and the Press received
the story.

One critic did me the honour of remarking upon what he called the
'absolute newness of the plot and incidents of _Aylwin_.' He
seems to have forgotten, however, that one incident--the most daring
incident in the book--that of the rifling of a grave for treasure
--is not new: it will at once remind folk-lorists of certain
practices charged against our old Norse invaders. And students of
Celtic and Gaelic literature are familiar with the same idea. Quite,
lately, indeed, Mr. Alfred Nutt, in his analysis of the Gaelic
_Agallamh na Senorach_, or 'Colloquy of the Elders,' has made
some interesting remarks upon the subject.


As far as I remember, the only objection made by the critics to
_Aylwin_ was that I had imported into a story written for
popular acceptance too many speculations and breedings upon the
gravest of all subjects--the subject of love at struggle with death.
My answer to this is that although it did win a great popular