“The Last Hope” was not, in a sense, Merriman's last novel. He left at his death about a dozen completed chapters, and the whole plot carefully mapped out, of yet another Spanish book, which dealt with the Spain of the Peninsular War of 1808-14. These chapters, which were destroyed by the author's desire, were of excellent promise, and written with great vigour and spirit. His last trip was taken, in connection with this book, to the country of Sir Arthur Wellesley's exploits. The plot of the story was concerned with a case of mistaken identity; the sketch of a Guerilla leader, Pedro--bearing some affinity to the Concepcion Vara of “In Kedar's Tents”--was especially happy. It has been seen that Merriman was not the class of author who “sits in Fleet Street and writes news from the front.” He strongly believed in the value of personal impressions, and scarcely less in the value of first impressions. In his own case, the correctness of his first impressions--what he himself called laughingly his _“coup d'oeil”_--is in a measure proved by a note-book, now lying before the writers, in which he recorded his views of Bastia and the Corsicans after a very brief acquaintance--that view requiring scarcely any modification when first impressions had been exchanged for real knowledge and experience. As to his methods of writing, in the case of all his novels, except the four early suppressed ones, he invariably followed the plan of drawing out the whole plot and a complete synopsis of every chapter before he began to write the book at all. Partly as a result of this plan perhaps, but more as a result of great natural facility in writing, his manuscripts were often without a single erasure for many pages; and a typewriter was really a superfluity. It is certainly true to say that no author ever had more pleasure in his art than Merriman. The fever and the worry which accompany many literary productions he never knew. Among the professional critics he had neither personal friends nor personal foes; and accepted their criticisms--hostile or favourable--with perfect serenity and open-mindedness. He was, perhaps, if anything, only too ready to alter his work in accordance with their advice: he always said that he owed them much; and admired their perspicuity in detecting a promise in his earliest books, which he denied finding there himself. His invincible modesty made him ready to accept not only professional criticism but--a harder thing--the advice of critics on the hearth. It was out of compliance with such a domestic criticism that the _dénouement_ in “The Sowers” was re-written as it now stands, the scene of the attack on the Castle being at first wholly different.