The weekly pioneer and Democrat. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1855-1865, 1859-12-09
SAINT PAUL. FRIDAY DECEMBER. g. 1859.

He Immediately replied 81 scarcely look
with full satisfaction upon any for they do
not seem what they might have been; l
often wish that l could have twenty years
more, to take them down from the shelf, one
by one, and write them over"
HIS HABITS OF LITERARY LABOR.
He spoke of his daily habits of writing
before he had made the resolution to write
no more. His usual hours Of literary work
were from morning to noon. But, although
he had generally found his mind most vigor
ons in the early part of the day, he had al
ways been subjected to moods and caprices,
and could never tell, when he took up the
pen, how many hours would pass before he
would lay it down.
"But," said he, "these caprious periods,
of the heat and glow Of composition, have
been the happiest hours of my life. l have
never found in anything outside of the four
walls of my study, any enjoyment equal to
sitting at my writing-desk with clean
page a new theme, and mind awake
His literary employments, he remarked,
had always been more like entertainments
than tasks.
"Some writer's" says he, "appear to
have been independent of moods. Sir
Walter Scott, for instance, had great power
of writing, and could work almost at any
time so could Crabbe-but seldom wrote
we'll. remember, said he, " taking break.
fast one morning with Rogers, Moore and
Crabbe the conversation turned on Byron s
poetic moods; Crabbe said that however
it might be with Lord Byron, as for himself,
he could write as we'll at one time as at an
other. But" said Irving with twinkle of
humor at recalling the incident, " Crabbe
has written a great deal that no body can
read !"
He mentioned that while living in Paris,
he went long period without being able to
write; II sat down repeatedly" said he,
with pen and ink, but could invent nothing
worth putting on paper. At length, l told
my friend Tom Moore, who dropped in one
morning, that now, after long waiting,
had the mood, and would keep it, and would
work it out as long as it would last, until 1
had wrung my brain dry. So began to
write shortly after breakfast and continued,
without noticing how the time was passing,
until Moore came in again at four in the
afternoon-when I had completely covered
the table with freshly written sheets. kept
the mood almost without interruption tor
six weeks"
asked which of his books was the re-
suit of this frenzy he replied, Bracebridge
Hail."
None of your works." remarked, "are
more charming than the Biography of Gold
smith,"
yet that was written" said he,
seven more rapidly than the other"
He then added
When l have been engaged on con
tinuous work, have often been obliged to
rise in the middle of the night, light my
lamp, and write an hour or two, to relieve my
mind and now that / write no more, l am
sometimes compelled to get up in the same
way to read"
Sometimes, also, as the last Idlewild let
ter mentions, he gets up to shave!
"When / was in Spain,"he remarked,
searching the old chronicles, and engaged
on the Life of Columbus, l. often wrote
fourteen or fifteen hours out of the twenty
FOUR
He said that whenever he had forced his
mind unwilling to work, the product was
worthless; and he invariably threw it away
and began again; "for," as he observed
ian essay or chapter that has been ham,
mered out, is seldom good for anything. An
authors right time to work is when his
mind is aglow when his imagination is
kindled-these are precious moments let
him wait until they come, but when they,
have come, let him make the most of them. u
HIS LAST WORK.
l referred to his last and greatest work,
the Life of Washington, and asked if he felt,
on finishing it, any such sensa ton as Gibbon
is said to have experienced over the last
sheet of the Decline and Fall. He replied
that the whole work had eugrossed his mind
to such degree, that, before he was aware
he had written himself into feebeness oil
health that he feared, in the midst of his
labors, that it would break him down be.
fore he could end it; that when at last the
final pages were written, he gave the manu-
script to his nephew to be conducted through
the press, and threw himself back on his red
cushioned lounge with an indescribable feel.
ing of relief! He added that the great ia,
tigue of mind, throughout the whole task,
had resulted from the care and pains re.
quired in the construction and arrangement
Of material, and not in the mere literary
composition of the successive chapters.
NO MORE BOOKS.
On the parlor wall hung the engraving Of
Faed's picture of 'Scott and his Contempt.
raries," l alluded to it as presenting group
of his former friends.
eyes," said, II knew every man of them
but three; and now they are all gomez
care the portraits good ?" enquired.
"Scott's head" he replied, sis we'll drawn
though the expression lacks something oil
SCOTS ,1lorce; Campbell's is teIerable
Lockhart's is the worst. Lockhart," said
he, twas man Of very delicate organiza