I wrote when and
where I could--on steamboats, in railway cars, and at all odd
hours of leisure, often with long breaks in the work of
composition, caused by the pressure of other affairs, again
getting up a sort of white heat from incessantly dwelling upon
scenes and incidents that had become real to me. In brief, the
story took possession of my mind, and grew as naturally as a plant
or a weed in my garden.
It will thus be obvious that at nearly middle age, and in
obedience to an impulse, I was launched as an author; that I had
very slight literary training; and that my appearance as a
novelist was quite as great a surprise to myself as to any of my
friends. The writing of sermons certainly does not prepare one for
the construction of a novel; and to this day certain critics
contemptuously dismiss my books as "preaching." During nearly four
years of army life, at a period when most young men are forming
style and making the acquaintance of literature, I scarcely had a
chance to read at all. The subsequent years of the pastorate were
too active, except for an occasional dip into a favorite author.
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