Once upon a time, I wrote a little story of a woman who was crushed to death by a python. A day or two after its publication, a friend stopped me in the street. “Charming little story of yours,” he said, “that about the woman and the snake; but it’s not as funny as some of your things!” The next week, a newspaper, referring to the tale, remarked, “We have heard the incident related before with infinitely greater humour.”

With this—and many similar experiences—in mind, I wish distinctly to state that “John Ingerfield,” “The Woman of the SÆter,” and “Silhouettes,” are not intended to be amusing. The two other items—“Variety Patter,” and “The Lease of the Cross Keys”—I give over to the critics of the new humour to rend as they will; but “John Ingerfield,” “The Woman of the SÆter,” and “Silhouettes,” I repeat, I should be glad if they would judge from some other standpoint than that of humour, new or old.