Is not that simply blasphemous? * * * * * --Have I genius? Ah, save the word! How can I know? It is none of my affair--I do my work. Genius is next to the last and most sacred word we know, next to God; and next to the most abused word. Every man will possess it, in degree proportionate to his vanity. I think if they knew the work and the terror that goes with even a grasp at it, they would not make so free with it. * * * * * September 30th. I wait--I wait for The Captive. I do all these other things--I read, I think, I study--but all the while I am merely passing the time. I am waiting for The Captive to win me the way. All my life hangs on that, I can do nothing else but pray for that--pray for it and yearn for it! --Yes--and do you know it?--I am sinking down every day! Down, down! The Captive is my high-water mark; where I was when I wrote that I shall never come again in my life--until I am given my freedom and new courage, and can set to work to toil as I did then! Tell me not about future books, foolish publishers! I have told you I put all that I had and all that I was into that book! And by that book I stand or I fall. * * * * * October 3d. Their month is up. I walked down there to-day and saw them. “The manuscript is now being read--we are awaiting a second report.” A second! That made my heart go like mad. “Does that mean that the first is favorable?” I asked. “It means that we are interested in it,” the man answered; “we will let you know shortly.” Oh this waiting, this waiting! * * * * * October 8th. Ah, God! I came home from the Park tonight, and I saw something that made my heart go down like lead. It hurt me so that I cried out! My manuscript! It was back again! O Christ! How the sight of it hurt me! There was a letter with it, and my hand shook as I opened it: * * * * * “We are returning you the manuscript of The Captive by messenger herewith, regretting exceedingly that we can not make you a publishing offer upon it.” * * * * * Is not this awful? Oh, it is terrible! It is beyond belief! A whole month gone, and only a note like that to show for it! Four weeks of yearning and hoping--of watching the mail in agony--of struggling and toiling to forget! And then a note like this! Oh, it drives me wild! I sat to-night in a chair motionless, forgetting that I was hungry, forgetting everything. I looked to the future; I had a feeling that I do not think I ever had in my life before--a horrible, black, yawning despair--a thing so fearful that it took my breath away. Suppose you were standing on a bridge over an abyss, and that suddenly it gave way, and in one dreadful instant you realized that you were going down--down like a flash--and that nothing could save you! * * * * *