astly tale reminds me of one of my earliest and most trying
experiences in illustrating stories. I had made a very careful drawing
to illustrate a startling episode in a novel by Mrs. Henry Wood.
Naturally it was designed on a block, and represented the hero having
just swallowed poison after committing a murder. The face in the drawing
was everything, and I had taken the greatest pains to depict in the
distorted features all the authoress desired--in fact, I was rather
proud of it. The authoress was pleased, and the block was sent to the
engraver. I was then about twenty--photographing a drawing on to wood
was unknown, and process work was not invented--all drawings were made
on boxwood and engraved by hand. To my horror the engraver returned the
block to me a week afterwards with an apologetic note. The face had been
destroyed in the engraver's hands, and he had "plugged the block"--that
is, another piece of wood had been inserted where the hero's head had
been, and whitened over, for me to draw another. The rest of the design
had been engraved. That face gone! How could I conjure it up again on
that unsightly, isolated patch of block, with all the rest of the
drawing engraved and therefore my lines undiscernible? I did my best.
When it was printed it was seen that the face did not fit on the neck
properly, and to my chagrin I received a sarcastic letter from the
editor to inform me that I had made a mistake. The hero had swallowed
poison and had not, as I supposed, cut his head off!

[Illustration: SPECIMEN OF JAMES PAYN'S WRITING.]

Another illustration of the conscientious illustrator in search of the
truth. I had to introduce the Reformers' Tree, Hyde Park, into a
picture. Now we are always hearing about the Reformers' Tree in
reference to demonstrations in the Park, so I went in search of the
historical stump. The first person to whom I put a question as to its
whereabouts pointed to a huge tree in flourishing condition. I had just
sketched in its upper branches when it somehow occurred to me that it
would be just as well to ask someone else and make assurance doubly
sure. This time I interrogated a policeman.

"No, that ain't it; that there row of hoaks is wot people calls the
Reformers' Tree."

I started another sketch on the strength of this statement, but feeling
a bit dubious over his assertion that the one tree was comprised of a
whole row, I tackled the "oldest inhabitant," an ancient and pensioned
par