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t that； in the case of my own books； I can judge how long they have taken to ay long have forgotten the amount of time I spent on each。
So it es to this： the way to write a good romance is to sit down and write it almost without stopping。 Of course some preliminary reflection is desirable to realise a central idea round which the story must revolve。 For example； in “She” that central idea was a ortality； but who found that her passions remained immortal too。 In “The Holy Flower；” which I finished yesterday； to take another case； the central idea is that of a gorilla which is worshipped as a god and periodically slays the king who holds his office as the brute’s priest and servant； with all the terrors that result from such a situation。 In the case of both these books； as of many others； I had nothing more in my mind when I set myself to face them。 Of course in such circumstances beginnings are hard — c’est le premier pas qui coute — but after the thing will generally evolve itself。 It is merely a case of what Anthony Trollope used to call “cobbler’s wax。” Or； if it “will not do so；” the author had better give up romance…writing and take up some useful occupation that is more congenial。
Of course these are only my views； but they are based upon an experience that is now painfully extended。 Other men may have other and better methods so far as they are concerned。 They presuppose； however； that the writer is to a sufficient degree possessed by the Spirit of Romance； without which he will do nothing of any permanent or even of immediate value。 The faculty of imaginative insight must be a part of his intellectual outfit。 He must be able； as he creates； to summon each scene whereof he treats before the eyes of his mind。 He must see the characters and their surroundings： the lion springing； the Zulu regiments rushing with uplifted spears； the fire eating into the grass of the hillside； while before it the scorched snakes glide and hiss。 He must share the every hope and care of those whom he begets： the rich； low voice of Ayesha must thrill his nerves； he must discern her enthralling and unearthly beauty； and look into the mingled grandeurs of her blasted soul！
And so on； and on； for if he； the creator； does not know the beings and things which he creates — if the details of them are as blurred as the images in a defective glass — how can he expect to convey a clear picture to his reader？ At the best that reader must help him out； must be the possessor of a certain receptive power and able to fill in a thousand minutiae of character and so forth； for to attempt to state these would overload the story； which； be it remembered； should consist of action； action； action from the first page to the last。 For the rest； little matters。 Even if the writer does not know what is ing next the circumstance is of no importance； for it will e when it is wanted。 There are even advantages in this； since； if he does not know； it is quite certain that his reader must remain in equal ignorance — a thing to be desired。
Such is the whole art of romance…writing as it is understood by me — who； critics may say； per contra； do not understand it at all。 To such as have sufficient experience of life and adventure in far lands； or sufficient vision to enable them to re…create the past； the gift is to be had for the taking — by those who can take。 To such as lack these qualifications it is somewhat hard to grasp and hold。 But even if he possesses all this equipment I would warn the future artist not to expect too much success； since a perfect specimen of the true breed of the beautiful butterfly； Romance； is rarely to be caught。 After the searcher has hunted all his life； if he finds two or three of them in his cabi he will have done very well indeed； and even at these； connoisseurs who sit at home and do not hunt themselves will be found to cavil。 In old days such specimens were perhaps more mon； though but few have survived the rust and damp of time。 But then their breeding…grounds in the dank tropical marshes or the lion…haunted forests were less known； and those who devoted themselves to this chase were few in number and supremely qualified for the business。 Now travelling is cheap； hundreds handle the ； and all e home with something that is offered for sale under the ancient label。
It is curious how often imagination is verified by fact — perhaps； as I said at the beginning of this screed； because the lines in which it must work are narrow and after all based on fact； perhaps because it does possess some spiritual insight of its own。 Many instances have e within my own experience of which I will quote a few that I chance to remember。
I pass over “King Solomon’s Mines；” a work of pure imagination； for in my day very little was known of the regions wherein its scenes were laid； many details of which have been verified by subsequent discovery。 In its sequel； “Allan Quatermain；” however； occurs a fine example of the literary coincidence。 In this book I invented a mission station at an unexplored spot on the Tana River； which station I caused to be attacked by the Masai。 In subsequent editions of the work I inserted the following note； which explains itself：
By a very strange and sad coincidence； since the above was written； the Masai； in April 1886； massacred a missionary and his wife； Mr。 and Mrs。 Houghton — on this same Tana River； and at the spot described。 These are； I believe； the first white people who are known to have fallen victims to this cruel tribe。
Again； in a tale called “Maiwa’s Revenge；” I gave an elaborate description of a certain escape of Allan Quatermain from pursuing savages； who hunted him up the face of a cliff and seized hold of his ankles。 He freed himself from their attentions by firing down on them along the line of his leg with a pistol。 Some years later a gentleman arrived at this house whose name； I think； was Ebbage； and on whose card was printed the vague and remote address； “Matabeleland。” He informed me that he had travelled specially from London to inquire how on earth I had learned the details of his escape from certain savages； as he had never mentioned them to a single soul。 Before he le