and far less to attempt 'to refresh the machine,' as poor Sir Walter
did, by trying another kind of composition; what is needed is an
altogether new object for the intellectual energies, by which, though
they are stimulated, they shall not be strained.

Advice such as I have ventured to offer may seem 'to the general' of
small importance, but to those I am especially addressing it is worthy
of their attention, if only as the result of a personal experience
unusually prolonged; and I have nothing unfortunately but advice to
offer. To the question addressed to me with such _naïveté_ by so many
correspondents, 'How do you make your plots?' (as if they were
consulting the Cook's Oracle), I can return no answer. I don't know,
myself; they are sometimes suggested by what I hear or read, but more
commonly they suggest themselves unsought.

I once heard two popular story-tellers, A who writes seldom, but with
much ingenuity of construction, and B who is very prolific in pictures
of everyday life, discoursing on this subject.

'Your fecundity,' said A, 'astounds me; I can't think where you get your
plots from.'

'Plots?' replied B; 'oh! I don't trouble myself about _them_. To tell
you the truth, I generally take a bit of one of yours, which is amply
sufficient for my purpose.'

This was very wrong of B; and it is needless to say I do not quote his
system for imitation. A man should tell his own story without
plagiarism. As to Truth being stranger than Fiction, that is all
nonsense; it is a proverb set about by Nature to conceal her own want of