ier days of his authorship, to carry little tablets with him
into the country, and whenever he saw a scene specially picturesque,--a
cottage of marked features, a noticeable tree, any picture, in short,
which promised service to him,--to note down its distinguishing points,
and hold it in reserve.

"This," said he, "is one among those small arts and industries which a
person who writes much must avail himself of: they are equivalent to the
little thumb-sketches from which a painter makes up his larger
compositions."

On our way to the church on a certain Sunday morning, he tapped my
shoulder as we entered the little gate, and called my attention to a
lithe young Indian girl, who had strolled down from the campment on the
plains, and was standing proudly erect upon the church-porch, with
finger to her lips, scanning curiously the worshippers as they passed
in.

"What a splendid figure of a woman!" said he, "she is puzzling over the
extravagances and devotions of the white-faces."

The black, straight elf-locks, the swart face, the great wondering eye,
with the gay blanket, short gown of woollen-stuff, and brilliant
moccasins, made a striking picture to be sure; and I could not help
thinking, that if the apparition had chanced upon him earlier, she might
have figured in some story of Pokanoket or of the Prairies.

I took occasion one morning to ask if he was always able to control the
"humors of writing," and to put himself resolutely to work, whatever
might be the state of his feeling.

"No," he said, very decidedly,--"unfortunately I cannot: there are men
who do, I believe. I always envied them; but there was a period of a
month or more, after I had finally decided upon literary labors, and had
declined a lucrative position under Government, when it seemed as if I
was utterly bereft of all the fancies I ever had; for weeks I could do
nothing; but at last the clouds lifted, and I wrote off the first
numbers of the 'Sketch-Book,' and dispatched them to my good friends in
this country, to make the most of. I feared it would not be much.

"And the worst of it is," continued he, "the good people do not allow
for these periods of depression; if a man does a thing tolerably well in
his happy moods, they see no reason why he should not be always in a
happy mood."

I asked if he had never found relief, and a stimulant to work, in the
reading aloud of some favorite old author.

"Often," said he; "and none are more effe