_Barnstaple_. As most other travellers do, by the head and shoulders. Never mind that, so long as you bring her in. _Ansard_. (_writes_). Madame de Stael by the shoulders--that's not very polite towards a lady. These hints are invaluable; pray go on. _Barnstaple_. Why, you have already more hints this morning than are sufficient for three volumes. But, however, let me see. (_Barnstaple thinks a little_). Find yourself short of cash. _Ansard_. A sad reality, Barnstaple. I shall write this part well, for truth will guide my pen. _Barnstaple_. All the better. But to continue--no remittances--awkward position--explain your situation--receive credit to any amount--and compliment your countrymen. _Ansard_. (_writes_.) Credit to any amount--pleasing idea. But I don't exactly perceive the value of this last hint, Barnstaple. _Barnstaple_. All judicious travellers make it a point, throughout the whole of their works, to flatter the nation upon its wealth, name, and reputation in foreign countries; by doing so you will be read greedily, and praised in due proportion. If ever I were to write my travels into the interior of Africa, or to the North Pole, I would make it a point to discount a bill at Timbuctoo, or get a cheque cashed by the Esquimaux, without the least hesitation in either case. I think now, that what with your invention, your plagiarism, and my hints, you ought to produce a very effective Book of Travels; and with that feeling I shall leave you to pursue your Journey, and receive, at its finale, your just reward. When we meet again, I hope to see you advertised. _Ansard_. Yes, but not exposed, I trust. I am _incognito_, you know. _Barnstaple_. To be sure, that will impart an additional interest to your narrative. All the world will be guessing who you may be. Adieu, voyageur. [_Exit_ BARNSTAPLE.] _Ansard_. And Heaven forfend that they should find me out! But what can be done? In brief, I cannot get a brief, and thus I exercise my professional acquirements how I can, proving myself as long-winded, as prosy perhaps, and certainly as lying, as the more fortunate of my fraternity. CHAPTER FORTY NINE. HOW TO WRITE A ROMANCE. MR ARTHUR ANSARD, _standing at his table, selecting a steel pen from a card on which a dozen are ranged up, like soldiers on parade_.