HOW TO MAKE A NOVEL

TRY with me, and mix what will make a novel,

All hearts to transfix in house or hall or hovel:

Put the caldron on, set the bellows blowing;

We’ll produce anon something worth the showing.

Never mind your plot—’tisn’t worth the trouble;

Throw into the pot what will boil and bubble.

Character’s a jest—what’s the use of study?

All will stand the test that’s black enough and bloody.

Here’s the Newgate Guide, here’s the Causes Célèbres;

Tumble in, besides, pistol, gun, and sabre;

These police reports, those Old Bailey trials,

Horrors of all sorts, to match the Seven Vials.

Down into a well, lady, thrust your lover;

Truth, as some folks tell, there he may discover;

Step-dames, sure though slow, rivals of your daughters.

Bring, as from below, Styx and all its waters.

Crime that breaks all bounds, bigamy and arson,

Poison, blood, and wounds, will carry well the farce on;

Now it’s just in shape; yet, with fire and murder,

Treason, too, and rape might help it all the further.

Or, by way of change, in your wild narration,

Choose adventures strange of fraud and personation;

Make the job complete; let your vile assassin

Rob, and forge, and cheat, for his victim passin’.

Tame is virtue’s school; paint, as more effective,

Villain, knave, and fool, with always a detective;

Hate for love may sit; gloom will do for gladness;

Banish sense and wit, and dash in lots of madness.

Stir the broth about, keep the furnace glowing;

Soon we’ll pour it out, in three bright volumes flowing:

Some may jeer and jibe; we know where the shop is

Ready to subscribe for a thousand copies.

Lord Charles Neaves.