Preface
_ When Henry Vizetelly, that admirable scholar, historian, and journalist, was sent to prison for publishing Zola‘s novels mine were taken over by Walter Scott, and all were reprinted except "Spring Days." This book was omitted from the list of my acknowledged works, for public and private criticism had shown it no mercy； and I had lost faith in it. All the welcome it had gotten were a few contemptuous paragraphs scattered through the Press, and an insolent article in _The Academy_, which I did not see, but of which I was notified by a friend in the Strand at the corner of Wellington Street.
"Was the article a long one?"
"No, I don‘t think they thought your book worth slashing. All I can tell you is that if any book of mine had been spoken of in that way I should never write another."
I left my friend, hoping that the number of _The Academy_ would not fall into the hands of the editor of the great London review, to whom I had dedicated the book after a night spent

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