en with great facility and swiftness. He wrote only when he was
compelled to by his creative faculty, that urged him to set down what he
had to say. He was a very diligent author, and left many books to keep
his memory green and constantly endear him to the hearts of the people.

Dr. A. Glaser, the German novelist, dictates all his stories to a
private secretary, a luxury which few Teutonic authors can afford.
Ordinarily he writes in the daytime, but when deeply interested in some
new work he keeps right on till late at night. Music, especially classic
music, exerts a great influence on the products of his pen. When his
work progresses slowly, a complication is not easily solved, or a
character becomes somewhat indistinct, music, that is, oratorios and
symphonies, invariably sets all matters right and dispels all
difficulties. He never writes with greater facility or rapidity than
when he has heard the music of Handel, Bach, or Beethoven just before
sitting down to write.

What little literary work John Burroughs does is entirely contingent
upon his health. If he is not feeling absolutely well, with a good
appetite for his food, a good appetite for sleep, for the open air, for
life generally, there is no literary work for him. If his sleep has been
broken or insufficient, the day that follows is lost to his pen. He
leads a sane and simple life: goes to bed at nine o'clock and gets up at
five in summer and at six in winter; spends half of each day in the open
air; avoids tea and coffee, tobacco, and all stimulating drinks;
adheres mainly to a fruit and vegetable diet, and always aims to have
something to do which he can do with zest. He is fond of the mild
excitement of a congenial talk, of a conversation with friends, of a
walk in the fields or woods, of a row on the river, of the reading of a
good book. During working-hours he likes to regale himself with good
buttermilk, in which, he avers, there is great virtue. He writes for the
most part only in fall and winter; writing best when his chimney draws
best. He composes only when writing is play. His working hours, when he
does write, are from nine or ten A. M. to two or three P. M. Then he
wants his dinner, and after that a brisk walk of four or five miles,
rain or shine. In the evening he reads or talks with his friends.

When Charles Deslys, the French novelist, begins to write he has a very
indistinct idea of what he is about to compose; but after a while,
becomin