you, in a hundred guesses, could hit upon the manner in which
I have treated the story. I shall not attempt to prejudice
you regarding the play; I would rather have you judge for
yourself, even if your decision be adverse. Am I not the devil
and all for rapid composition? My speed frightens me, and
makes me fearful of the merits of my work. Yet, on coolly
going over my work, I find little to object to, either as to
the main design or its details. I touch up, here and there,
but I do little more. The reason for my rapid writing is
that I never attempt putting pen to paper before my design is
perfectly mature. I never start with one idea, trusting to the
glow of poetical composition for the remainder. That will
do in lyrical poetry, but it would be death and damnation to
dramatic. But just think of it!--twenty-eight hundred lines in
about three weeks! To look back upon such labour is appalling!
Let me give you the whole history of my manner of composition
in a few words. If it be not interesting to you, you differ
from me, and I mistake the kind of matters that interest you.
While I am writing I eat little, I drink nothing, I meditate
my work, literally, all day. By the time night arrives I am in
a highly nervous and excited state. About nine o'clock I begin
writing and smoking, and I continue the two exercises, _pari
passu_, until about four o'clock in the morning. Then I reel
to bed, half crazy with cigar-smoke and poesy, sleep five
hours, and begin the next day as the former. Ordinarily, I
sleep from seven to eight hours; but when I am writing, but
five,--simply because I cannot sleep any longer at such times.
The consequence of this mode of life is that at the end of
a long work I sink at once like a spent horse, and have not
energy enough to perform the ordinary duties of life. I _feel_