--I am very ill to-day--I have a splitting headache and I am weak. It is from trying to save too much money for the dumb-bell, I fear. But I laugh--what care I? My body is going to wreck--but what care I? Ah, it is a fine thing to be death-devoted, and freed from all the ills that flesh is heir to! I go my way--do what I please--hammer on and on, and let happen what will. What, old head!--wilt ache? I guess I can stop thy aching before long! And all ye mechanical miscellaneities--stomachs and what not! _Thou_ wilt trouble me too? Do thy pleasure, go thy way--I go mine! * * * * * There is a kind of intoxication in it. I climb upon all these ills that used to frighten me--I mock at them, I am a god. I smite my head--I say, “I am done with thee, old head! I have thought with thee all the thoughts I have to think!” * * * * * I have made me right drunk upon life, yes, that is the truth; and now the feast is over, and I will smash the crockery! Come, boys, come!--Away with it! Through the window here with the head--look out of the way below there for the stomach--ha, ha! --Is not that Shakespearian humor for you? Such a thing it is to be death-devoted! * * * * * --But there is a deeper side to this wonderful thing--this prospect of peace--this end of pain. All these solemn realities that were so much to thee--this “world” and all its ways--its conventions and proprieties, its duties and its trials; how now, do they seem so much to thee after all? Cynical relative that wouldst “leave it to time”--was I so wrong, that I would not hear thy wisdom? Suppose thou wert coming with me to-morrow--hey? And to leave all thy clothes and thy clubs, thy bank-account, and thy reputation, and thy stories! Ah, thou canst not come with me, but thou wilt come after me some day, never fear. This is a journey that each man goes alone. Oh, it is easy to be a man when you are sentenced to die. Then all things slip into their places, power and pride, wealth and fame--what strange fantasies they seem! What tales I could tell the world at this minute, of how their ways seem to me!--Oh, take my advice, good friend, and pray thy God for one hour in which thou mayst see the truth of all those foolish great things of thy life! * * * * * I read Alastor this afternoon. What a strange vision it is! And I, too, in awe and mystery shall journey away unto a high mountain to die. * * * * * --And then later I went out into the Park. I saw a flower; and suddenly the wild ecstasy flashed over me, and I sank down upon a seat, and hid my face in my hands, and everything swirled black about me. I cried: “I do not want to die! Why, I am only a boy! I love the flowers--I want to see the springtime!” And then I felt some one take me by the shoulder, and heard a grim voice within me say, “Come! Come!”