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g — whom business had brought to the Court：
“Are you Rider Haggard； the man who wrote ‘King Solomon’s Mines’？” he said； staring at the tell…tale blotting…paper。
I intimated that such was really my name。
“Then； confound you！ Sir； you kept me up till three o’clock this morning。 But what are you doing here in a wig and gown — what are you doing here？”
Very soon I found cause to echo the question and to answer it in the words； “No good。” The British solicitor； and indeed the British client； cannot be induced to put confidence in anyone who has bee well known as an author。 If he has confined his attention to the writing of law…books； he may be tolerated； though hardly； but if his efforts have been on the imaginative side of literature； then for that man they have no use。 That such a person should bine gifts of imagination with forensic aptitude and sound legal knowledge is to them a thing past all belief。
A page or so back I said that my experience might possibly be of use to others； and already the suggestion seems in the way of proof。 If what I write should prevent even one young barrister who hopes to make a mark in his profession； from being beguiled into the fatal paths of authorship； I shall not have laboured in vain。
Next； I have never been able to gratify a very earnest ambition of my younger years； namely； to enter Parliament and shine as a statesman。 Once I tried： it was at the 1895 election； and I almost carried one of the most difficult seats in England。 But almost is not quite； and the awful expense attendant upon contesting a seat in Parliament （in a county division it costs； or used to cost； over 2000 pounds） showed me clearly that； unless they happen to be Labour members； such a career is only open to rich men。 Also I came to understand that it would be practically impossible for me both to earn a living by the writing of books and to plunge eagerly into Parliamentary work； as I know well that I should have done。 Even if I could have found the time by writing in the mornings — which； where imaginative effort is concerned； has always been distasteful to me — my health would never have borne the double strain。
So that dream had to be abandoned； for which I am sorry。 Indeed； a legislative career is about the only one of which the doors are not shut to the writer of fiction； as is proved by many instances； notably that of Disraeli。
Thus it cames about that on these lines I have failed to make any mark。 Fate has shut those doors in my face。 The truth is that “man knoweth not his own way”： he must go where his destiny leads him。 Either so or he is afloat upon an ocean of chance； driven hither and thither by its waves； till at length his frail bark is overset or sinks worn out。 This； however； I do not believe。 If everything else in the universe is governed by law； why should the lot of man alone be excepted from the workings of law？
However this may be； as heralds say in talking of a doubtful descent； whether through appointment or accidentally； it has so e about that； although I have done other things； I must earn my livelihood by the pen。 Now of this I should not have plained had I been in a position to choose my own subjects。 But unhappily those subjects which attract me； such as agricultural and social research； are quite unremunerative。 Everybody talks of the resulting volumes； which receive full and solemn review in all the newspapers； but very few people buy them in these days。 So far as I am aware； remunerative books may be divided roughly into three classes： （1） School or technical works； which must be purchased by scholars preparing for examinations； or for the purposes of their profession； （2） religious works； purchased by scholars preparing themselves for a prosperous career in another world； and （3） works of fiction； purchased — or rather borrowed from libraries （if they cost more than fourpence…halfpenny1） — by persons wishing to be amused。 It has been my lot to cater for the last of these three classes； and as there is other work which I should have much preferred to do； I will not pretend that I have found； or find； the occupation altogether congenial； perhaps because at the bottom of my heart I share some of the British contempt for the craft of story…writing。
1 Written in 1911。 — Ed。
I remember a few years ago discussing this matter fully with my friend Mr。 Rudyard Kipling； a most eminent practitioner of that craft； and finding that our views upon it were very similar； if not identical。 He pointed out； I recollect； that all fiction is in its essence an appeal to the emotions； and that this is not the highest class of appeal。 Here； however； we have a subject that might be argued interminably and from many points of view； especially when we bear in mind that there are various classes of imaginative literature。 So far as I am concerned the issue is that though I feel myself more strongly drawn to other pursuits； such as administration or politics or even law； I have been called upon to earn the bread of myself and others out of a kind of by…product of my brain which chances to be saleable； namely； the writing of fiction。
It is fortunate for writers that they do not depend wholly upon the verdict of a hundred or so of contemporary critics。 The history of literature and art goes to show that contemporary criticism seldom makes and never can destroy a reputation； in short； that Time is the only true critic； and that its verdict is the one we have to fear。 It is in the light of this axiom that I proceed to consider my own humble contributions to the sum of romantic literature。 I can assure the reader that I approach this not unamusing task without any prejudice in my own favour。 The test of work is whether it will or will not live； whether it contains within itself the vital germ necessary to a long…continued existence。
Now； although it may seem much to claim； my belief is that some of my tales will live。 Possibly this belief is quite erroneous； in which case in years to e I may be laughed at for its expression。 It is obvious also that a great deal of what I have written is doomed to swift oblivion； since； even if it were all equally good； in the crowded days that are to e； days e