I had been for some time past, as has been said, trying my hand, not without success, at a great variety of articles in all sorts of reviews, magazines, and newspapers.

I already considered myself a member of the guild of professional writers.

I had done much business with publishers on behalf of my mother, and some for other persons, and talked glibly of copyrights, editions, and tokens.
(I fancy, by the by, that the latter term has somewhat fallen out of use in these latter days, whether from any change of the methods used by printers or publishers I do not know.

But it strikes me that many youngsters, even of the scribbling tribe, may not know that the phrase "a token" had no connection whatever with signs and wonders of any sort, but simply meant two hundred and fifty copies.) And being thus equipped, I began to think that it was time that I should attempt _a book_.

During a previous hurried scamper in Normandy I had just a glimpse of Brittany, which greatly excited my desire to see more of it.