_Guest._ Delightful--for we may hear from this hero again. I hope he is inexhaustible. How fortunate to have a treasure-house of characters and exploits. You have only to open the door and whatever you want comes out! You don’t have to go to any “Anatomy of Melancholy” or Lemprière, or Old Play, where somebody else is going, too, and will anticipate you--the hard luck of some of the rhyming fraternity! _Host._ Of course, some suggestions are wholly involuntary. You do not know how or whence they come. I think of a good illustration of this involuntary action of the mind in conjuring up suggestion for a story. Some time ago, as I was lying in a hammock under the trees, I happened to look up through the branches and saw a great patch of blue sky absolutely clear. I said to myself: “Suppose I saw a little black spot appear in that blue sky.” I kept on thinking. Gradually the idea came of a man who _did_ see such a little spot in the clear sky. And now I am working up this notion in a story I call “As One Woman to Another.” _Guest._ You literally had given you less than the conditions given for describing a circle, for you had but a simple point to start with. One might conclude, all that is necessary is to fix upon some central idea, no matter how slight, and then the rest will come, drawn by a kind of mysterious attraction toward the centre. [Illustration] _Host._ Ah, but it will not do for the professional writer to depend upon any such luck or chance, for if you wait for suggestions to come from the ether or anywhere else, you _may_ wait in vain. You must begin something. If the mind has been well stored with incident and anecdote, these will furnish useful material, but not the plot. It is often necessary to get one’s self into a proper condition for the reception of impressions, and then to expose the mind, thus prepared, to the influence of the ideal atmosphere. If the proper fancy floats along it is instantly absorbed by the sensitive surface of the mind, where it speedily grows into an available thought, and from that anything can come. _Guest._ But with the maker of verse such a resolution sometimes so offends the muse that she turns upon her votary with the most inhuman cruelty. Once I resolved, yes, deliberately resolved, to write some verses about the American Indian--to the effect that he must soon bid good-by and take his place with all broken and departed dynasties of the world--the goal to be some far western region of mournful and dying splendors. The first result of this resolution was rather encouraging. It was: “Now, get thee on, beyond the sunset----” There inspiration stopped short, limping for lack of half a foot! Each morning, on first waking up, I tried to fill out the line. At last, one morning it was done, presto!--quite taken out of my hands. The result was totally involuntary, I may say. _Host._ Well, how did the lines run? _Guest._ “Now get thee on beyond the sunset--git!”