Oh, thou black jungle of a world!--What know you of knowledge and power, of beauty and light and love? What do you dream of these things? The end of man as you know it is to fight and struggle like a maniac, and grab for his own all that he can lay his claws upon. And what is your social ideal--but to lavish, each man upon himself, all that he can lavish before he dies? And whom do you honor save him who succeeds in that? And whom do you scorn save him who fails? * * * * * Oh thou black jungle of a world!--I cry it once again-- Where savage beasts through forest midnight roam, Seeking in sorrow for each other's joy! I sit alone and think of these things, until my breath comes hard with rage. I say: “It is these that I serve--it is these who own the fruits of my toil--it is these for whom I am starved and crushed--it is these by whom my God-given power is trampled into annihilation!” * * * * * March 4th. I gave the place up this morning. I have thirty-one dollars. I think such a sum of money never made me less happy. I have nothing to do but drag myself back to my room and wait there until the eighth, to take back my manuscript. It will be five weeks that he has kept me--I suppose that is not his fault. And then I say: “Fool, to torment yourself with such hopes! Don't you _know_ that he will say what all the rest have said? He is a clever man, and he knows everything; but what use is he going to have for your poetry?” * * * * * I wandered about almost all of to-day, or sat stupid in my room. I have lost all my habits of effort--I have forgotten all that I ever knew, all my hopes, all my plans. I said: “I will study!” But then I added: “Why should I? Shall I not only make myself miserable, get myself full of emotion, and to no purpose but the carrying of dishes?” * * * * * It is terrible to me to have to acknowledge any change in my way of living--I never did that before. Compromises! Concessions! Surrenders!--words such as those set me mad. But what am I to do? What _can_ I do? I writhe and twist, but there is no escape. I struggle upward, but I am only beaten back and back? How should I not stop striving? * * * * * Circumstances made no difference to a man. So I used to prate! No difference! Why, I was a giant in my soul, swift and terrible as the lion. I leaped upon my task, I seized upon everything that came my way. I passed whole classes of men at a bound, I saw, I felt--I bore the world in my soul. I would dare everything, learn everything, live everything--take it all into myself. And every day I was stronger, every day I was more!--