ize. So far as I remember, it was about
three soldiers and a pig. I don't quite know how the pig came in, but
that is a mere detail. I have no data to go upon (as I did not dream
thirty years ago that I should ever be so known to fame as to be asked
to write the true history of my first book), but I have a wonderful
memory, and to the best of my recollection it was, as I say, about
three soldiers and a pig.

It never saw the light, and there are times when I feel thankful to a
gracious Providence that I have been spared the power of gratifying the
temptation to give birth to those early efforts, after the manner of Sir
Edwin Landseer and that pathetic little childish drawing of two sheep,
which is to be seen at provincial exhibitions of pictures, for the
encouragement and example of the rising generation.

So far as I can recall, I made no efforts for some years to woo fickle
fortune after the attempt to recount the story of the three soldiers and
a pig; but when I was about fourteen my heart was fired by the example
of a schoolfellow, one Josephine H----, who spent a large portion of her
time writing stories, or, as our schoolmistress put it, wasting time and
spoiling paper. All the same, Josephine H---- 's stories were very good,
and I have often wondered since those days whether she, in after life,
went on with her favourite pursuits. I have never heard of her again
except once, and then somebody told me that she had married a clergyman,
and lived at West Hartlepool. Yes, all this has something to do, and
very materially, with the story of my first book. For in emulating
Josephine H----, whom I was very fond of, and whom I admired immensely,
I discovered that I could write myself, or at least that I wanted to
write, and that I had ideas that I wanted to see on paper. Without that
gentle stimulant, however, I might never have found out that I might one
day be able to do something in the same way myself.

[Illustration: signed drawing: Ever Yours,

John Strange Winter.

(_From a photograph by Russell & Sons, Wimbledon_)]

My next try was at a joint story--a story written by three girls, myself
and two friends. That was in the same year. We really made considerable
headway with that story; and had visions of completely finishing it and
getting no less a sum than thirty pounds for it. I have a sort of an
idea that I supplied most of the framework for the story, and that the
elder of my collaborators filled in the m