Now that it is over it does not seem so bad. I am like a snail--once back in my shell, I do not care what happens. I have given up trying to write The Captive, and so nothing bothers me any more.--I have forgotten all about it now, it is years behind me. But I have seen it all; I can get it back in good time. I do not fear. I have rolled up a little bundle, a tooth-brush and some manuscripts principally; and I send the rest to a friend's house. I have had an inspiration. Why should I stay in this hot and steaming place?--Why should I be “barricaded evermore within the walls of cities?” _Ich will ins Land!_ Why did I not think of this in the beginning? I am going now to see the springtime!--“the only pretty ring time, when birds do sing--hey ding-a-ding!” That was a real idea. I do not know where I am going; but I will walk and get somewhere--there will be woods. I'll sleep in hay-ricks if it can't be managed any other way. Away, away from men and towns, To the wildwood and the downs! I could have been through in three weeks now, I believe. But it was not to be. We have to take what comes to us-- Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate. I'm glad I don't have to write poetry like _that_! * * * * * June 8th. Howdy-do, Brother Bobolink! How in the world did you guess I was coming this way? --Es ist nun einmal so. Kein Dichter reist incognito! Ah, to be out in the open air again, to see the world green and beautiful; to run with the wind and look at the flowers and listen to the birds! I am sitting by a spring; I have eaten my dinner. I turned my steps Jerseyward. * * * * * --I have been walking all day. I must find some place to stop very soon. I can not think of the country with this burden on me. I am like a sick animal--I seek a hiding-place. I fancied I might think of my work on the way, but I can not. The world is happy; my work is not happy. My hope is all in the end of the journey, and the walking is drudgery. And then, my money is going! I must find some sort of a hut--a tumble-down house, an old barn--anything. I shall trudge one more day's journey. Then I think I shall be far enough from New York. * * * * * --I passed a tramp to-day; and while we walked together I composed an address: “My brother--for are we not brothers, thou and I? “Have we not fled from the sleek man, thou and I? And is it not we alone that know Truth? “Thy clothing is ragged, and there is hunger in thine eyes; it is so also with me. “It is thy fate to wander; it is my fate to wander too. And with restless eyes to look out upon the world, to meet with distrust from men. “Yet not for that am I sad, nay, not for that, but for a deeper sorrow; because I was sent out into the world with a curse upon me, because I was sent out into the world a Drunkard. “Yea, so it is, my brother.