shadowy conception of what
the novel was to be, varied, of course, from one epoch of my life to
another. But I never went further toward the actual writing of the
novel than an introductory chapter describing a Staffordshire village
and the life of the neighboring farm-houses; and as the years passed
on I lost any hope that I should ever be able to write a novel."

Mr. Lewes encouraged George Eliot by admiring her introductory
chapter. He first read it when they were together in Germany. When
they had returned to England and she was more successful in her essay
writing than he had expected, he continued to urge her to try to write
a story. "He began to say very positively, 'You must try and write a
story,' and when we were at Tenby he urged me to begin at once. I
deferred it, however, after my usual fashion with work that does not
present itself as an absolute duty. But one morning, as I was thinking
what should be the subject of my first story, my thoughts merged
themselves into a dreamy doze, and I imagined myself writing a story,
of which the title was _The Sad Fortunes of the Reverend Amos Barton_.
I was soon wide awake again and told G. (Mr. Lewes). He said 'Oh, what
a capital title!' and from that time I had settled in my mind that
this should be my first story. George used to say, 'It may be a
failure--it may be that you are unable to write fiction. Or, perhaps,
it may be just good enough to warrant your trying again.' Again, 'You
may write a _chef-d'oeuvre_ at once--there's no telling.' But his
prevalent impression was, that though I could hardly write a _poor_
novel, my effort would want the highest quality of fiction--dramatic
presentation. He used to say, 'You have wit, description, and
philosophy--those go a good way towards the production of a novel. It
is worth while for you to try the experiment.'"

When she had finished the first part of _Amos Barton_, Mr. Lewes was
no longer skeptical about her ability to write dialogue. The next
question was whether she had the power of pathos. This was to be
determined by the way in which the death of Milly was to be treated.
"One night G. went to town on purpose to leave me a quiet evening for
writing it. I wrote the chapter from the news brought by the shepherd
to Mrs. Hackit, to the moment when Amos is dragged from the bedside,
and I read it to G. when he came home. We both cried over it, and then
he came up to me and kissed me, saying, 'I think your pathos is be