One of the houses I most delight to enter in a certain town is one where
I am always sure to see a devoted and happy wife and beautiful, playful
children clustering around the armchair in which sits a man who
committed one of the most cold-blooded assassinations you can imagine.
He is an honored, esteemed and model citizen. His acquittal was a
miracle in a million chances. He has justified it. It is beautiful to
see those happy children clinging to the hand that--

Well, dear friends, the dentist is not a cruel man in his social
capacity, and you can get delicious viands instead of nauseous medicines
at the doctor's private table.

That is why beginning novel readers should take no advice. Strike out
alone through the highways and lanes of story, character and experience.
The best novelist is the one who fears not to tell you the truth, which
is more wonderful than fiction. It is always the best hearts that bend
to mistakes. Absolute virtue is as sterile as granite rock; absolute
vice is as poisonous as a stagnant pond. No healthy interest or
speculation can linger about either. Enter into the struggle and know
human nature; don't stay outside and try to appear superior.

For, which of us has not his crimes of thought to account for? Think
not, because Andy Johnson or William Sykes or Dr. Webster actually
killed his man, that you are guiltless, because you haven't. Have you
never wanted to? Answer that, in your conscience and in solitude--not to
me. Speak up to yourself and then say whether the difference between you
and the recorded criminal is not merely the difference between the overt
act and the faltering wish. It is a matter of courage or of custom.
Speaking for one gentleman, who knows himself and is not afraid to
confess, I can say that, while he could not kill a mouse with his own