with me--God, if you exist, you should have given me some manly vigor commensurate with the mental strength I imagine I have, and after all, is my mind weak or has my poor, weak body and abuse merely dragged it down, and is it capable of resurrection? It seems impossible that I should be born to get so near to some things which touch the deepest strings of human conduct, the deepest emotions of heart and brain, to have such a keen sense of humor, to see the tragedy underlying it all, to feel a sympathetic note with the foibles and weaknesses of others, even as I laugh at them or become cynical about them, to walk by the sea and drink in her varying moods, the misty ethereal early mornings, the calmness of gradually settling twilight on a day when the waves scarcely ripple, the blood-red sunsets with ever-changing cloud effects; the deep, mysterious shadows on a dark night, with the moon reflected from behind the clouds; the night when the moon is in her glory; the day when an overcast sky symbolizes my overcast soul. These and more have I thrilled with, and all for naught. Give me but strength for a few more years and I will vindicate myself; but I must break away from this agony soon, overpowering, overwhelming--Why, O God? =--, April 19, 1912, 9:10 P. M.= It is just ten days since my terrible night of agony, and I now hope again. Following that night I had almost a week of peace, a nervous sort of calm which, however, was better than the other. Then another fall, and the last one to-night, I really hope the last. It certainly has been my salvation that I always come back strong in the fight again after a blow, but there are several things which have weakened me, and it is in spirit only that I recover; the physical weakness remains and increases. Nerves, as a strong man mentally I should hesitate to confess it, but I am worse than the average woman in my hysterical nervous state lately, and, moreover, I feel very often that there is something vitally wrong deeper, either that, or I am considerably run down, so much so, in fact, that a good night’s sleep is a Godsend; a calm, quiet day--joy; and yet I would not want too many of the latter, for my adventurous spirit defies my body and says, “Be up and doing.” Now, to-night I am feeling calm and hopeful and I must win out on one thing at least. This will help me with others. True, I have by no means found myself yet. I still am pulled in many directions, but a hopeful sign is the abhorrence nearly always with me now of the low, common and vulgar. I could overlook in myself a little laxness in many things, but I never forgive myself the vulgar act and speech, despite my lack of moral code at present and my artistic indifference, to which is added lately, but only temporarily, I hope, a lethargic indifference, born of that ever-recurring tired feeling.