en the hours of six and eleven, and in summer
from half-past five until ten. A person is often tempted to sleep later
than the limit I tie myself to, but a little resolution with a person's
self at first will be amply repaid by the time thus gained, and the
feeling one has of having conquered a tendency to indolence. I believe
that a literary man can get all the sleep he needs between eight o'clock
at night and eleven in the morning. I know, of course, that some eminent
authorities disagree with me, but I am only stating my own experience in
the matter, and don't propose to enter into any controversy about it.

"On rising I avoid all stimulating drinks, such as tea or coffee. They
are apt to set the brain working, and I object to work, even in its most
disguised forms. A simple glass of hot Scotch, say half a pint or so,
serves to tide over the period between getting up and breakfast-time.
Many literary men work before breakfast, but this I regard as a very
dangerous habit. I try to avoid it, and so far have been reasonably
successful. I rest until breakfast-time. This gives the person a zest
for the morning meal.

"For breakfast the simplest food is the best. I begin with oyster stew,
then some cold chicken, next a few small lamb chops and mashed potatoes,
after that a good-sized beefsteak and fried potatoes, then a rasher of
bacon with fried eggs (three), followed by a whitefish or two, the meal
being completed with some light, wholesome pastry, mince pie for
preference. Care should be taken to avoid tea or coffee, and I think a
word of warning ought to go forth against milk. The devastation that
milk has wrought among literary men is fearful to contemplate. They
begin, thinking that if they find it is hurting them, they can break
off, but too often before they awaken to their danger the habit has
mastered them. I avoid anything at breakfast except a large tumbler of
brandy, with a little soda water added to give it warmth and strength.

"No subject is of more importance to the literary aspirant than the
dividing of the hours of work. I divide the hours just as minutely as I
can, and then take as few of the particles as possible. I owe much of my
success in life to the fact that I never allow work to interfere with
the sacred time between breakfast and dinner. That is devoted to rest
and thought. Much comfort can be realized during these hours by thinking
what a stir you would make in the literary world if you could