ature of the details. A novelist cannot always at the spur of the
moment make his plot and create his characters who shall, with an
arranged sequence of events, live with a certain degree of eventful
decorum, through that portion of their lives which is to be portrayed. I
hesitated, but allowed myself to be allured to what I felt to be wrong,
much dreading the event. How seldom is it that theories stand the wear
and tear of practice! I will not say that the story which came was good,
but it was received with greater favour than any I had written before or
have written since. I think that almost anything would have been then
accepted coming under Thackeray's editorship.

I was astonished that work should be required in such haste, knowing
that much preparation had been made, and that the service of almost any
English novelist might have been obtained if asked for in due time. It
was my readiness that was needed, rather than any other gift! The riddle
was read to me after a time. Thackeray had himself intended to begin
with one of his own great novels, but had put it off till it was too
late. _Lovel the Widower_ was commenced at the same time with my own
story, but _Lovel the Widower_ was not substantial enough to appear as
the principal joint at the banquet. Though your guests will undoubtedly
dine off the little delicacies you provide for them, there must be a
heavy saddle of mutton among the viands prepared. I was the saddle of
mutton, Thackeray having omitted to get his joint down to the fire in
time enough. My fitness lay in my capacity for quick roasting.

It may be interesting to give a list of the contributors to the first
number. My novel called _Framley Parsonage_ came first. At this banquet
the saddle of mutton was served before the delicacies. Then there was a
paper by Sir John Bowring on _The Chinese and Outer Barbarians_. The
commencing number of _Lovel the Widower_ followed. George Lewes came
next with his first chapters of _Studies in Animal Life_. Then there was
Father Prout's _Inauguration Ode_, dedicated to the author of _Vanity
Fair_,--which should have led the way. I need hardly say that Father
Prout was the Rev. F. Mahony. Then followed _Our Volunteers_, by Sir
John Burgoyne; _A Man of Letters of the Last Generation_, by Thornton
Hunt; _The Search for Sir John Franklin_, from a private journal of an
officer of the Fox, now Sir Allen Young; and _The First Morning of
1860_, by Mrs. Archer Clive. The nu