Is it not the greatest? Is there any story in history more sublime than the story of this man? A humble, ignorant peasant he was, and out of the faith of his soul he made the future of the world for centuries! It is a thing that makes your brain reel. I write it casually, but I have shuddered over it far into the deep, deep night. I have dreamed of two acts--one of them Gethsemane, and the other Calvary.--Poor fool, perhaps I shall never write them! * * * * * I have burrowed into that soul, seeking out the truths of it; the truths, as distinguished from the ten thousand fancies of men. When I write that drama I shall deal with those truths. The climax of the scene in the garden of Gethsemane will be a vision in which looms up before him the whole history of Christianity; and that will be the last agony. It will be then that he sweats blood. That will be something, I think. * * * * * September 13th. To-morrow is the last time I shall ever go into that hellish place! To-morrow is the last time in all my life that I shall ever have to say, “We have this same quality in ninety-pound paper at four sixty-nine!” Throughout all this thing it seemed to me that when I came out I should no longer have a soul. But it is not so; I shall still keep at it grimly. * * * * * September 14th. And now to-day I make my plans. I must keep near a library; but I shall hunt out a room uptown. There I can be near the Park, and I shall suffer a little less from these hideous noises. I shall go over there and spend every day--find out some place where there are not too many nurse-girls! I can not begin any other book; I must stand or fall by The Captive. I shall be a “homo unius libri”! But I can not attempt to write again--ever--in these circumstances. It is not that my force is spent--I am only at the beginning of my life, I see everything in the future. But I could not wrestle with these outside things again--it took all my courage and all my strength to do it once. * * * * * There is no reason why I should worry about that. I have fifty-six dollars, and I am free for four months, barring accidents. And surely I shall have found some one to love my book by that time! * * * * * And so I set to work reading. * * * * * September 15th. A slight preliminary, of course. I spent a ghastly day hunting for a room. I found one in a sufficiently dirty and cheap place, and then I spent another hour finding a man who would take my trunk for a quarter. Having succeeded in that, I walked up there to save five cents; and when the trunk came the driver tried to charge me fifty cents! * * * * *