rote. "And yet," he added, "I have in one sense
been writing stories all my life. Every one of my pictures, for example,
has had under it a story condensed to the smallest possible space. The
necessity of condensing my description and dialogue has been of great
benefit to me in writing my two novels." As for "Trilby," Mr. du Maurier
said that his earliest conception of the story was quite different from
the one he finally worked out. "I had first thought of Trilby as a girl
of very low birth--a servant, or something like that. Then it occurred
to me that it would be much better to make her interesting--to create a
person who would be liked by readers. As a good many people seem to be
fond of 'Trilby' now, I am very glad, indeed, that I made the change."
And he declared further that the character of Trilby was not a study
from life, but wholly imaginary. It was Henry James who suggested to the
artist that he should write novels.

[Illustration: _BY HIMSELF_

FROM HARRY FURNISS'S "LIKA-JOKO"]

"It was one day while we were walking together on Hampstead Heath. We
were talking about storywriting, and I said to him:--'If I were a
writer, it seems to me that I should have no difficulty about plots. I
have in my head now plots for fifty stories. I'm always working them out
for my own amusement.' 'Well,' he said, 'it seems to me that you are a
very fortunate person; I wish you'd tell me one of those plots.' Then I
told him the story of 'Trilby.'" "Yes, he praised it very generously.
'Well,' I said, 'you may have the idea and work it out to your own
satisfaction.' But he refused to accept it. 'You must write it
yourself,' he said: 'I'm sure you can do it, if you'll only try.' But I
insisted that I couldn't, and so we left the matter. But that night
after going home it occurred to me that it would be worth while trying
to write, after all. So on the impulse I sat down and began to work. It
was not on 'Trilby,' however, but on 'Peter Ibbetson.' I kept at it for
a time, but after doing several chapters I became utterly discouraged,
and said to myself one evening:--'Oh, I can't do anything with this.
It's a mad story. It's utter rubbish.' Then I took up the sheets and was
just about to throw them into the fire when I thought I'd keep them for
another day and think the thing over. That night in bed, while I was
worrying about the impossibility of going on with the tale, the solution
of my difficulty suddenly occurred to me. 'I'll m