two or three hours. For years Mr.
Fenn has been trying to solve this problem: Why can one write easily and
fairly well one day, and have the next be almost a blank? After long
study and much musing, he has come to the determination that he knows
nothing whatever about it, and that the only thing to do is to lead as
quiet and temperate a life as one can. Of course, the stimulated and
excited brain will produce a few weird and powerful bits of work; but,
judging from what Mr. Fenn has seen, the loaded mind soon breaks down.

VII.

Goethe, Dickens, Schiller, and Scott.

Goethe was a believer in the pleasant doctrine that the highest and
freest work can be done under the healthiest conditions of fresh air,
early hours, daylight, and temperance--which does not mean abstinence.
He and Balzac are at precisely opposite pales in their method of
working. Here is the account of Goethe's days at Weimar, according to G.
H. Lewes: He rose at seven. Till eleven he worked without interruption.
A cup of chocolate was then brought, and he worked on again till one. At
two he dined. His appetite was immense. Even on the days when he
complained of not being hungry, he ate much more than most men. He sat a
long while over his wine, chatting gayly; for he never dined alone. He
was fond of wine, and drank daily his two or three bottles. There was no
dessert--Balzac's principal meal--nor coffee. Then he went to the
theatre, where a glass of punch was brought to him at six, or else he
received friends at home. By ten o'clock he was in bed, where he slept
soundly. Like Thorwaldsen, he had a talent for sleeping.

No man of business or dictionary maker could make a more healthy
arrangement of his hours. The five or six hours of regular morning work,
which left the rest of the day open for society and recreation, the
early habits, the full allowance of sleep, and the rational use of food
are in glaring contrast to Balzac's short and broken slumbers, his night
work, and his bodily starvation. Goethe differed from almost every other
great poet in not doing his greatest work at a white heat; and not only
so, but he differed also in constantly balancing his reasoning against
his creative faculties. Those long mornings of early work were not
always spent in the fever of creation. He was a physiologist, a
botanist, a critic; and the longer he lived, the more of a savant he
became, if not less of a poet. His imagination was most fertile before