That takes us nearly back to "Trilby," which had some literature in it, some theology, much entertainment, and some structure; and yet as a book it was rather a happy-go-lucky work than a great novel. But it sold far more than a hundred thousand. Verily, with these examples in mind we must feel that the literary race is not to the professionally swift nor to the professionally literary. For a living example of what we should consider a legitimate success we have to fall on Mr. Kipling, who has built up a reputation in prose by good writing, and is able to gather the fruits of it whenever he puts forth his hand. It may be that in the matter of poetry he has gathered a fig reputation from a sowing rich in thistles, but that has been because he has been progressive, and finding his thistles so readily marketable has been stirred to cause figs to follow them. What, then, is our popular book going to be? Shall it be a compilation of horse stories like "David Harum," a religious story like "In His Steps," a book like "Dooley," of lively discourse on current events, or a "Trilby," compounded of charm, mystery, Bohemianism, love, theology, and music? Alas, there is no formula. One may not choose what he will write, nor plan before-hand with any certainty to catch his myriad of readers. The only shafts the author can let fly are those that he finds in his quiver. He may grow expert in shooting them; he may bring down more readers with each successive missile, but the arrows themselves will always be those that he happens to have in stock. All he can do is to select each one in turn and look to its feathers and its point and let it drive. But while there is no sure method of writing a book that will find a hundred thousand buyers, the fact that nowadays the successful book may succeed enormously, brings pleasant thrills to the practitioner of letters. The finding of a big nugget sets the hearts of all the prospectors a-thump. The miraculous draught agitates all the fishermen and makes them experience, without sin, the delights of holding a ticket in a lottery. Let us be thankful, without envy, to the Fortunatuses of letters. We—most of us—would be glad if we too had the golden touch, and yet we need not sorrow if we haven't it, for it has its drawbacks, and once the possession of it is demonstrated, it tends to make its owner merchant first and writer afterward. His wares are so precious that he is bound to turn trader; his success is so notorious that he is constrained to be a public character, and he pays in part for phenomenal good luck by the loss of a valuable obscurity. Let us be sympathetic with literary popularity rather than unduly stirred by it. Let us say, "Poor Jones, his book has sold a hundred thousand and he has gone to Europe. What a desperate chore it will be to keep that up—if he can keep it up—and what a bump he will get if he finds that he can't." THE FIELD OF ART CONCERNING PAINTERS WHO WOULD EXPRESS THEMSELVES IN WORDS