I sang a song to-day--a mad, mad song! I wish I could bring it back. It came to me unexpectedly, while I was kneeling by the bed, thinking. I have forgotten it all now--one always forgets his best songs. I have not a line of this one, except the chorus: For I am lord of a thousand dollars! So it is that my best songs go. I can count them on my fingers. But I have not yet learned how precious they are--that is why I lose them. --Do you remember that time on the great cliffs by the ocean? There was nothing left but the ending again-- Oh bear me away in thy bosom, Thou wind of the mountain high! * * * * * November 2d. I am not always as I write here--I am not always angry. I have my tender moments, when I see my woe as the world's woe--above all the poverty. Oh let me always have a tender heart for the poor! * * * * * November 6th. I have a distant relative in this city, an old gentleman who belongs to clubs and is what is known as a “man of the world.” He has quite a sense of humor--is famous for good stories. He told me that he was interested in me--that he would be glad to find a place for me in life, if I would only get over my youthful follies. It has been years since I saw him, but I can still hear him. The last words he ever said to me were these--said with his quiet, amused smile: “Never mind, my boy, leave it to time. You needn't argue with me--just leave it to time, and it'll come out all right.” Never have I sunk into a fit of despair that I have not thought of that; and the quiet smile has become the sneer of an imp. It has become all the world watching me, and knowing full well the issue; wise world! That memory has never yet lost its power to make me grip my hands suddenly. “So! And my life has no other purpose, then, than to point a moral for a rich clubman!” * * * * * Leave it to time! Leave it to time! O God, what a sentence that is--so savage--and so true! Leave it to the long weary days that come one after another--that never tire--that never are beaten--that never are less--never faster--never slower--that wear you out as water wears a stone! Leave it to time! Say nothing, fear nothing; leave it to time! Leave it to the hours of dulness, the hours of sickness, the hours of despair! Leave it to failure piled upon failure, to insult piled upon insult, to rebuff upon rebuff, to sneer upon sneer! Leave it to the endless, never-ceasing sight of ugliness; the endless, never-ceasing sight of selfishness; of pettiness, emptiness, heartlessness, hatefulness! Leave it to heat and to cold, to dust and to dirt, to hunger and penury, to headache and heartache, and bitter, bitter loneliness! Leave it to time! Leave it to time!--_Oh my Father in heaven!_ * * * * * November 8th.