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Perhaps before I go any further I should try to give some estimate of Andrew Lang； whose character I have had opportunities of observing through many years。 Take him all in all I think him one of the sweetest…natured and highest…minded men whom it has ever been my privilege to know； although a certain obtrusive honesty which will out； and an indifferent off…handedness of manner； has prevented him from being generally popular。 Moreover； he has always been supposed to be somewhat of a mocker and farceur； as is exemplified in his Press nickname of “Merry Andrew。” Yet the truth is that his laughter is often of the sort that is summoned to the lips to hide tears in the eyes。 This may be seen by attentive students of his poems； and； in truth； few are more easily or more deeply moved by anything that appeals to the heart； be it national； or personal。
Of his abilities I speak with some diffidence。 On all hands he is admitted to be perhaps the soundest and ablest critic of his time； but when it es to his place as an historian； or as a student and recorder of matters connected with myth； ritual； and religion； I find myself inpetent to judge of his real status； which doubtless the future will decide； though personally I believe it will be a very high one。 On such matters； however； only experts can express opinions of real value。 Lang never claimed to be a creator； and whenever he sets to work to create； which he has not done of late years； his wide knowledge and his marvellous memory of everything he has read — and little worth studying in ancient or modern literature has escaped him — prove positive stumbling…blocks in his path。 I noticed this particularly when we were evolving “The World’s Desire。” With that modesty which so often distinguishes those who have much to be proud of； he once described himself to me as “A hodman of letters；” a description that may be paralleled by Mrs。 Lynn Linton’s rather sharp saying — to myself I believe； although of this I am not sure — that “Andrew Lang would be the greatest writer in the language if only he had something to write about。” The fact is； of course； that he has always had too much。 Like the amorous Frenchman he has ever been wont to eparpiller son coeur upon a hundred subjects。 I should add that Mrs。 Linton was one of his great admirers。 In a letter which she wrote to me in 1890； and which is before me at this moment； she says； “I simply adore his work。” Again； further on in the same epistle； she speaks of her “delight in his most exquisite work。”
The truth is that Lang is par excellence a litterateur of the highest sort； perhaps the most literary man in England or America。 When he is not reading he is writing； and he writes more easily than he talks； at any rate to most people。 Also some of his poetry is wonderfully beautiful。 If verses like “The White Pacha；” its panion “Midnight； January 25th； 1886；” and “A Dream” are doomed to die； and with them others as good； I wonder what will live！ Again； what majestic lines are these upon the Odyssey：
So gladly； from the songs of modern speech
Men turn； and see the stars； and feel the free
Shrill wind beyond the close of heavy flowers；
And through the music of the languid hours；
They hear like ocean on a western beach
The surge and thunder of the Odyssey。
Of his extraordinary readiness I need say little； as it is known to all men。 Still； as it may be forgotten when this book is published； if that ever happens； I will give two instances。 Once he called on me； we were going for a walk together； but I was not ready to start。 So he asked for paper； and in half an hour or so finished a leading article — I think it was for the Daily News — which he sent straight to the office by a cabman； to appear without the submission of a proof。 I read that article afterwards； it was on some Shakespearian subject which involved many allusions and much quotation。 I believe that it contained no error。
On another occasion I was travelling with them from St。 Andrews to Edinburgh； and Dr。 Boyd； better known as A。K。H。B。； was our fellow…voyager。 He was a great conversationalist and talked to Lang almost without ceasing。 Presently Lang took off the tall hat he was wearing； placed it on his knee； produced paper and pencil； set the paper on the crown of the hat and began to write like a spiritualist automatist； if that is the right word； all the time keeping up a flow of argument and conversation with A。K。H。B。 At Edinburgh I saw him post the results； without rereading； to the editor of the Saturday Review。 The article appeared in due course without his seeing a proof； and written in his usual clear and beautiful style。
Such is the professional man； but of the friend I know not what to say； save that I reckon it as one of the privileges of my life to be able to call him by that much…misused name； the tenderest； the purest and the highest…minded of human creatures； one from whom true goodness and nobility of soul radiate in every mon word and act； though often half…hidden in a jest； the most perfect of gentlemen — such is Andrew Lang。
To return to the history of “King Solomon’s Mines。” Ultimately that book found its way to Messrs。 Cassells； remended to them； I believe； by Mr。 Henley。 Subsequently Henley reproached me with having taken it out of his hands； and said that he could have got me much better terms。 But I never did take it out of his hands； indeed I never knew that it was in his hands。 If my memory serves me； I heard direct from Messrs。 Cassells informing me that they would publish the book and asking me to call re the agreement。
At any rate I called and in that great building saw a business…like editor whose name I never knew。 He pointed out that the pany was prepared to offer me an alternative agreement。 The first of the two agreements conveyed the copyright to Messrs。 Cassells in return for a sum of； I think； 100 pounds paid down。 The second offered me 50 pounds on account of royalties； to be calculated “at the rate of ten per cent。 of the published price of the book on all copies sold by them during the continuance of the copyright； reckoning thirteen copies to the twelve。”
After my previous experiences as an author 100 pounds on the nail had great attractions。 I had no particular belief in the story which I had thrown off in my leisure hours as a mere jeu d’esprit； especially after its rejection in other quarters。 Even Mr。 Lang’s kind expressions of opinion carried no conviction to my mind； for I did not understand all that it meant ing from such a source。 I set him down as an amiable gentleman with a taste for savages and boys’ books； it did not occur to me that he saw such things every day； and that when he wrote to one who was practically a stranger that he almost preferred this particular boys’ book to “Treasure Island；” the pliment was high and indeed extraordinary。 So after a brief moment of reflection I told the business…like editor that I would sell the copyright for 100 pounds； and he departed to fetch the agreement。
As it chanced； however； there sat in the corner of the room a quiet clerk； whom I had never even noticed。 When the editor had departed this unobtrusive gentleman addressed me。
“Mr。 Haggard；”