rnalistic articles are composed at
the point of the pen. He is a very fast writer, and the ink on one page
is often not quite dry before another is begun.

Hermann Rollet, a distinguished Austrian author, writes on scientific
topics in the evening as well as in the day-time. With him poetry is
evolved, almost without exception, in the dead of night, when he lies
awake after having slept a few hours. He invariably makes an outline,
and when his manuscript is finished he improves it as much as possible.
There must be no noise in the room where he works; outside din, however,
does not affect him. When Rollet has a clear conception of the subject
in hand, work is mere play to him; otherwise, it is difficult indeed.
The author has one great peculiarity, which is seldom met with, and has,
I think, never been noted before. When composing poetry, it appears to
him as if he only removes by the act of writing the covering from
something that has been concealed, and he looks upon the resulting poem
as if he had not produced it, as if it had been in existence before, and
as if he had but revealed it. Thus generally his best songs are
produced. Sometimes he dreams of a poem, verse for verse, line for line.
If he happens to wake up at the time, and strikes a light, he is able to
write down literally the poem of which he dreamt. Frequently he forgets
all about his dream after it is written down, and is then greatly
astonished in the morning to find a finished poem on his writing-table.
He says that he could more easily split wood or break stones than to
write without inclination. He has to force himself merely to copy what
he has written.

VI.

Favorite Habits of Work.

John G. Whittier, our noble Quaker poet, used to say that he never had
any method. "When I felt like it," he said once, "I wrote, and I neither
had the health nor the patience to work afterward over what I had
written. It usually went as it was originally completed."

Whittier preferred the daytime--and the morning, in fact--for writing,
and used no stimulants whatever for literary labor. He made no outline
or skeleton of his work--and claimed that his verses were made as the
Irishman made his chimney--by holding up one brick and putting another
under. He was subject to nervous headache all his life, and for this
reason often had to force himself to work when he would rather have
rested, especially while he was associate editor of the _National Era_
and o