|Romances and Realities,||Ford Howard & Co.|
|Young People of Shakespeare’s Dramas,||D. Appleton & Co.|
|Cluny McPherson,||Tract House|
|Scottish Tales,||Tract House|
|Prisoners of Conscience,||Century Company|
|The Hallam Succession,||Methodist Book Concern|
|Lost Silver of Briffault,||Methodist Book Concern|
|Flower of Gala Water,||Robert Bonner’s Sons|
|Femmetia,||Robert Bonner’s Sons|
|Three Volumes of Short Stories,||Robert Bonner’s Sons|
|The Mate of the Easter Bell,||Robert Bonner’s Sons|
|Reaping the Whirlwind,||James Clark, London|
|The Preacher’s Daughter,||James Clark, London|
|Thyra Varrick,||Taylor & Company|
|Was it Right to Forgive?,||Stone, Chicago|
|The Man Between,||Lovell|
|Winter Evening Tales. Two Volumes,||Christian Herald|
|Micheal and Theodora,||Bradley and Woodward|
|Eunice Leslie,||Stephen Tyng|
This list includes none of the short stories written every week for Robert Bonner’s Ledger; none written very constantly in the early years of my work for the Christian Union, the Illustrated Christian Weekly, Harper’s Weekly, Harper’s Bazaar, Frank Leslie’s Magazine, the Advance and various other papers. Nor yet does it include any of the English papers or syndicates for which I wrote; nor yet the poem written every week for fifteen years for the Ledger; nor the poems written very frequently for the Christian Union, the Independent, the Advance, daily papers, and so forth. Nor can I even pretend to remember the very numerous essays, and social and domestic papers which were almost constantly contributed; I have forgotten the very names of this vast collection of work and I never kept any record of it. Indeed, only some chance copy has escaped the oblivion to which I gave up the rest. They kept money in my purse; that was all I asked of them. I do not even possess a full set of the sixty novels I have written. I may have twenty or thirty, not more certainly.
From among the hundreds of poems I have written during forty years I have saved enough to make a small volume which some day I may publish. But I never considered myself a poetess in any true sense of the word. “The vision and faculty divine” was not mine; but I had the most extraordinary command of the English language and I could easily versify a good thought, and tune it to the Common Chord—the C Major of this life. Women sang my songs about their houses, and men at their daily work and some of them went all around the world in the newspapers. “The Tree God Plants, No Wind Can Hurt,” I got in a Bombay paper; and “Get the Spindle and Distaff Ready, and God Will Send the Flax,” came back to me in a little Australian weekly. And for fifteen years I made an income of a thousand dollars, or more, every year from them. So, if they were not poetry they evidently “got there!” From among the few saved I will print half a dozen. They will show what “the people” liked, and called poetry.
I must here notice, that I used two pen names as well as my own. I never could have sold all the work I did under one name. But to my editors, the secret was an open one; and until the necessity for it was long past, not one of them ever named the subterfuge to me. That was a very delicate kindness and it pleases me to acknowledge it. Some of my very best work was done under fictitious names. Truly I got no credit for it, but I got the money, and the money meant all kinds of happiness.
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