there are two letters of mine, concerning 'The Right of Way', written to
Henry M. Alden, editor of Harper's Magazine. To my mind those letters
should never have been published. They were purely personal. They were
intended for one man's eyes only, and he was not merely an editor but a
beloved and admired personal friend. Only to him and to W. E. Henley, as
editors, could I ever have emptied out my heart and brain; and, as may be
seen by these two letters, one written from London and the other from a
place near Southampton, I uncovered all my feelings, my hopes and my
ambitions concerning The Right of Way. Had I been asked permission to
publish them I should not have granted it. I may wear my heart upon my
sleeve for my friend, but not for the universe.

The most scathing thing ever said in literature was said by Robert
Buchanan on Dante Gabriel Rossetti's verses--"He has wheeled his nuptial
bed into the street." Looking at these letters I have a great shrinking,
for they were meant only for the eyes of an aged man for whom I cared
enough to let him see behind the curtain. But since they have been
printed, and without a "by your leave," I will use one or two passages
in them to show in what mood, under what pressure of impulse, under what
mental and, maybe, spiritual hypnotism it was written. I first planned
it as a story of twenty-five thousand words, even as 'Valmond' was
planned as a story of five thousand words, and 'A Ladder of Swords' as a
story of twenty thousand words; but I had not written three chapters
before I saw what the destiny of the tale was to be. I had gone to
Quebec to start the thing in the atmosphere where Charley Steele
belonged, and there it was borne in upon me that it must be a three-
decker novel, not a novelette. I telegraphed to Harper & Brothers to ask
them whether it would suit them just as well if I made it into a long
novel. They telegraphed their assent at once; so I went on. At that
time Mr. F. N. Doubleday was a sort of director of Harper's firm. To him