And, almost you may say, he wrote walking up and down.

Some people, accustomed to the delicious ease and clarity of his style, imagine that he wrote very easily.

He did and he didn't.

Letters, easy, clear, to the point, and gorgeously human, flowed from him without let or hindrance.

That masterpiece of corresponding, the German March through Brussels, was probably written almost as fast as he could talk (next to Phillips Brooks, he was the fastest talker I ever heard), but when it came to fiction he had no facility at all.