life, but a lampoon. It will naturally be asked by some: 'But if you
draw the man to the life, how can he fail to be known?' For this there
is the simplest remedy. You describe his character, but under another
skin; if he is tall you make him short, if dark, fair; or you make such
alterations in his circumstances as shall prevent identification, while
retaining them to a sufficient extent to influence his behaviour. In the
framework which most (though not all) skilled workmen draw of their
stories before they begin to furnish them with so much even as a
door-mat, the real name of each individual to be described should be
placed (as a mere aid to memory) by the side of that under which he
appears in the drama; and I would strongly recommend the builder to
write his real names in cipher; for I have known at least one instance
in which the entire list of the _dramatis personae_ of a novel was
carried off by a person more curious than conscientious, and afterwards
revealed to those concerned--a circumstance which, though it increased
the circulation of the story, did not add to the personal popularity of
the author.

If a story-teller is prolific, the danger of his characters coinciding
with those of people in real life who are unknown to him is much greater
than would be imagined; the mere similarity of name may of course be
disregarded; but when in addition to that there is also a resemblance of
circumstance, it is difficult to persuade the man of flesh and blood
that his portrait is an undesigned one. The author of 'Vanity Fair'
fell, in at least one instance, into a most unfortunate mistake of this
kind; while a not less popular author even gave his hero the same name
and place in the Ministry which were (subsequently) possessed by a
living politician.

It is better, however, for his own reputation that the story-teller