Some years ago I met my old master, Sir Frank Benson—he was Mr. F. R. Benson, then—and he asked me in his friendly way what I had been doing lately.
"I am just finishing a book," I replied, "a book that everybody will hate."
"As usual," said the Don Quixote of our English stage—if I knew any nobler title to bestow upon him, I would bestow it—"as usual; running your head against a stone wall!"
Well, I don't know about "as usual"; there may be something to be said for the personal criticism or there may not; but it has struck me that Sir Frank's remark is a very good description of "The Secret Glory," the book I had in mind as I talked to him. It is emphatically the history of an unfortunate fellow who ran his head against stone walls from the beginning to the end. He could think nothing and do nothing after the common fashion of the world; even when he "went wrong," he did so in a highly unusual and eccentric manner. It will be for the reader to determine whether he were a saint who had lost his way in the centuries or merely an un-
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