"A GREAT ROMANTIC PASSION" There is no more difficult problem for the writer, no harder task than to decide how far he should allow himself to go in picturing human weakness.

We have all come from the animal and can all without any assistance from books imagine easily enough the effects of unrestrained self-indulgence.

Yet it is instructive and pregnant with warning to remark that, as soon as the sheet anchor of high resolve is gone, the frailties of man tend to become master-vices.

All our civilisation is artificially built up by effort; all high humanity is the reward of constant striving against natural desires.
In the fall of this year, 1898, I sold _The Saturday Review_ to Lord Hardwicke and his friends, and as soon as the purchase was completed, I think in November, I wired to Oscar that I should be in Paris in a short time, and ready to take him to the South for his holiday.

I sent him some money to pave the way.
A few days later I crossed and wired to him from Calais to dine with me at Durand's, and to begin dinner if I happened to be late.
While waiting for dinner, I said: "I want to stay two or three days in Paris to see some pictures.