* * * * * --It is not the sorrow, it is the struggle; so I read the tragedy. This man is dead, but God lives, and Art lives. I will go back, I will do anything now--I will empty ash-cans, and find it a joy. The book is done--safe in next to my heart!--And now it will be printed, and not fire nor earthquake can destroy it after that. Free! Free! * * * * * I am writing on the train. I write commonplaces. That is because I can not shout. But back there, coming out of the woods, I shouted--and not commonplaces either! Coming out of the forest--forest-drunk! Now I know all about Pan and his creatures! * * * * * I write carelessly. But in my heart I sit shuddering before that fearful glory. O God, my Father, let me not forget this awful week, and I will live in Truth all my days. * * * * * July 7th. [Footnote: Possibly an error in the date, as the day was Sunday.] Wandering all day about the streets of the hot city, seeing it not, hearing it not--waiting for the last lines of the poem to be copied! I could not do anything until that was done, and at a publisher's. I got it and fled home, and spent the night correcting the copy. Ah, God, what a thing it is! How it roars, how it thunders, how it surges! How infinite, how terrible! Stern, throbbing--is there anything like it in the world? * * * * * Ten lines of it make my blood tingle--an act of it makes me bury my face in my pillow and laugh and sob for five minutes. * * * * * Go forth, oh my perfect song! PART II. SEEKING A PUBLISHER July 8th. To-day I took it to the publisher's! * * * * * I had been pondering for a week who were the best publishers. To-day I hardly had the courage to go in--I know nothing about such things--and my hands shook so I could hardly hold the package. * * * * * I asked to see the manager. I told him I had a manuscript to submit. He looked at me--I guess I must look rather seedy. “What sort of a manuscript?” he asked. “A blank verse drama!” Then he took it and glanced over it. “Blank verse dramas are difficult things to publish,” he said. “You had best read it, I think,” I answered, “you will find it worth while.” “Very well, if you wish,” said he, “we always read everything that is offered to us.” “How soon shall you be able to let me know?” “Oh, in a week or ten days.” * * * * * And then I went out--shuddering with excitement. A week or ten days! Well--I can wait. I have done all _my_ duty, at any rate. * * * * * July 9th. I have certainly played a bold game with my poem! At the publisher's at last--and I, having paid my room-rent, have just a dollar in my pocket! * * * * *