There is an excellent reason for this prohibition, too. There are no people in the world who have a greater horror of what they consider “low” or “vulgar” than those who are steeped in mediocrity, and who, in this country, form a large part of the reading public. In England they are known as the “lower middle classes,” and they exist in countless thousands; but they have a literature of their own--Ouida, the _Family Herald_, _Ally Sloper’s ’Alf ’Oliday_,--and writers like George Meredith and Mrs. Humphry Ward and George Du Maurier pay no attention to them or to their prejudices. Nor does it seem to me that these writers are as grievously hampered by consideration for the peachy cheek of the British young person as they claim to be. The fact that Johnson was down on low life made a deep impression on me, not so much because of what, I must admit, is a most reasonable and proper prejudice, but because I soon found that every literary man of my acquaintance was fully aware of his feelings in the matter, and therefore took pains not to introduce into a story any scenes or characters which might serve to render the manuscript unsalable in the eyes of the _Century_ editors; and as years rolled on I could not help noticing the effect which this and other likes and dislikes of this literary Gessler had in moulding the fiction of our day and generation. And it is because of this _Century_ taboo, which had its origin in the _Ledger_ office, by the way, that I know of hardly a single magazine writer of to-day who has made himself familiar with the great wealth of varied material which may be found in that section of New York which it is the custom to refer to vaguely as “the great east side.” It was not very long after the receipt of the letter which thrust upon my bewildered senses a nebulous comprehension of Mr. Johnson’s influence and importance in the domain of letters that a fuller recognition of his omniscience was wrung from me, all-admiring, yet loath to believe. Mr. H. C. Bunner had written a story called “The Red Silk Handkerchief” and sent it to the _Century_ office for approval. The story contained a graphic description of the flagging of a train to avert a disaster, in which occurred the following passage: “... and he stood by the platform of the last car as the express stopped. “There was a crowd around Horace in an instant. His head was whirling; but, in a dull way, he said what he had to say. An officious passenger, who would have explained it all to the conductor if the conductor had waited, took the deliverer in his arms--for the boy was near fainting--and enlightened the passengers who flocked around. “Horace hung in his embrace, too deadly weak even to accept the offer of one of dozen flasks that were thrust at him.”