_This is a book, my dear Turner, which I had in my heart to write for
many years. The thought of it came to me with that other thought that I
was growing--rather, grown--old; that the curtain had definitely been
rung down on all the days of my youth. And so I got into the way of
looking back, of recalling the far gone times and suns of the 'seventies
and early 'eighties when the scene of my life was being set. I made up
my mind that I would write about it all--some day._
_Some day would undoubtedly have been Never; if it had not been for you.
I had not spoken of the projected book to you or anyone else; but one
fine morning in 1915 you ordered me to write it! You were then, you will
remember, editing the London Evening News, and as a reporter on your
staff I had nothing to do but to obey. The book was written, appeared in
the paper as "The Confessions of a Literary Man," and now reappears as
"Far Off Things."_
_So far, good. I enjoyed writing the book enormously; and, I frankly
confess, I enjoy reading it. In a word, I am not grumbling. But there is
one little point that I do not mean to neglect. My complacent views
as to "Far Off Things" may not be shared by other and, possibly, more
competent judges. And what I want to impress on you is this: that if
there is to be trouble, "you are going to have your share of it." You
ordered the book to be written, you printed it in your paper, you have
urged me to reprint it, not once or twice, but again and again._
_Now, you remember Johnson on advising an author to print his book.
"This author," said the Doctor, "when mankind are hunting him with a
canister at his tail can say, 'I would not have published, had not
Johnson, or Reynolds, or Musgrave, or some other good judge commended
the work!'"_
_Now you see the purpose of this Epistle Dedicatory. It is to make it
quite clear that, if there is to be any talk of canisters and tails, the
order will run:_
_"Canisters for two!"_