This quality of timidity has always been accompanied in my nature by a great love of heroic deeds, and I find that it is so of many persons of my type. My brother told me of meeting Charles Reade when he went to England with the Harvard crew to row a match with Oxford. Mr. Reade lived close by, on the Thames, and he dined and wined the boys. In return they invited the author to go out in the launch to see them get into their shell. This very tall man, whose stories redounded with feats of bravery, walked down the fixed steps which led to the float, but when he felt the raft moving under his feet, he drew back and would go no further. Reade was also overwhelmed by love of facts and could always produce the proof of any statement he made. (I see a lot of myself in this.) The great joke among the Harvard boys was when he declared, after a long recital of something that he thought had occurred in America: “I found the statement in one of the reputable journals of your country”—and he produced the _Police Gazette_! Other faults in my work were caused by my early New England environment and education. To me, modern education is like a puddle in the road—very broad, but only two inches deep—and one must remember that truth has never been said to come from a puddle. In pictures, truth dwells in deep places. There is a painting in France of “Truth Arising from a Well” and the scandalized burghers fleeing in every direction. It isn’t considered decent, even in New York, to listen to naked truth, hence the crucifixion of all geniuses, from Christ to Whistler. It is so strange to see mothers teaching their girls; for example, to take care of babies by giving them dolls, but as to the method of procuring these babies—no! My early ignorance had driven me in the opposite direction later in life. In my desire to be truthful, I went too far and filled my work with a mass of unimportant details. The subject of education reminds me of an experience I once had with a man of high authority, in the question of the teaching of youth. In fact, he was the president of the board of education of the largest city of the country. Also, he was in the “art” business—that is, he made what were supposed to be the most artistic calendars and pictures used by large firms for advertising purposes. During my hard-up days a friend of mine suggested that I send him a canvas of a girl’s head that I had done out of pure _chic_, thinking it was the style of thing he could use. I have never been successful with illustration (it needs a special talent), and I would have been surprised if he had accepted it, but I was surely not prepared for this statement from a man occupying so prominent a position in the educational world as he. “Too much character in the face, Mr. Simmons, too much character. We mustn’t have any at all.”