PONSON DU TERRAIL.

Otago Witness, Issue 1421, 15 February 1879, Page 23

PONSON DU TERRAIL.

Poor Ponson dv Terrail, the writer of innumerable and most sensational stories for the Parisian press, was a methodical worker. He dressed up little manikins to represent the characters of the several stories he always had on hand at once, and the position in which they were left at the close of each instalment told him infallibly where the thread of his romance was to be taken up. Once only did he go astray, when he omitted to remove an assistant hero whom he had killed off, the consequence being that the assistant hero re-appeared a few chapters later, to the amazement of the readers, and had to be put to death again. Like Dumas and Eugene Sue, he could never bring himself to finish a story beforehand ; sufficient unto the hour was the copy thereof, and he would visit daily his three or four newspaper offices, write his chapter, tack on "To be continued," and think no more of the matter till the next instalment .was due. As a rula his copy was the last handed to the printers. It was in 1860, or thereabouts, when he was bringing out "Pas de Chance," a fctory that had a frantic run. One fine day one o'clook came and no Ponson dv Terrail. Half-past one; no author and no news of the author, and the paper went to press at four. On the stroke of two still no signs of the instalment. A council of war was held in the editor's room.

"Gentlemen," said one of the staff, " there's only one thing to be done. I know Ponson, and will answer for it that he won't complain. We've got to write the story ourselves."

The idea was hailed, but then came another difficulty. Not a soul of them had read the story so far as it had appeared. "Life is too short," said one. "Heaven forbid that I should read it," said another. "Never mind," said the heroic inventor] "here goes," and seizing the pen he wrote j "Lotus foran instantquit onr other charac« ters, and while the horrible scene to which we have introduced our readers is taking place, transport ourselves to the fourth story of a gloomy mansion in the Rue de Nevers. " The number on the door was 124. " The room was lit by a single smoking candle.

"At the table in the centre of it was seated a man.

" He might have been thirty or thirty^five years of age, His face was pale." The connecting link had been found, and in a few minutes, each person taking a sheet of paper and writing for dear life, an instalment of tremendous interest was prepared and duly signed " Ponson dv Terrail." The author was the first person to enjoy the joke ; and the end of it was that be killed off his own hero and made the pale man, thirty or thirty-five years of age the central character of the novel.