Only for your interest I should not care if my books sold or not; they exist and will not be destroyed; every book will eventually get to _somebody_. * * * * * It seems to be a matter for you to determine--whether Wood continues to try to sell the book or it is put in other hands if he is ever tired of it. Remember, I don't care a rap what happens to the book except as a means of reimbursing you; I want no money and I want no glory. If you and Wood can agree, do in all things as you please. I return Wood's letters; they show what I knew before: that the public and the librarians would not buy that book. Let us discuss this matter no more, but at some time in the future you tell me how much you are out of pocket. _Your_ book shows that a fellow can get a good deal of glory with very little profit. You are now famous--at least on the Pacific Coast; but I fancy you are not any "for'arder" in the matter of wealth than you were before. I too have some reputation--a little wider, as yet, than yours. Well, my work sells tremendously--in Mr. Hearst's newspapers, at the price of a small fraction of one cent! Offered by itself, in one-dollar and two-dollar lots, it tempts nobody to fall over his own feet in the rush to buy. A great trade, this of ours! I note with interest the "notices" you send. The one by Monahan is amusing with its gabble about your "science." To most men, as to him, a mention of the stars suggests astronomy, with its telescopes, spectroscopes and so forth. Therefore it is "scientific." To tell such men that there is nothing of science in your poem would puzzle them greatly. I don't think poor Lang meant to do anything but his best and honestest. He is a rather clever and rather small fellow and not to be blamed for the limitations of his insight. I have repeatedly pointed out in print that it requires genius to discern genius at first hand. Lang has written almost the best, if not quite the best, sonnet in the language--yet he is no genius. * * * * * Why, of course--why should you not help the poor devil, * * *; I used to help him myself--introduced him to the public and labored to instruct him. Then--but it is unspeakable and so is he. He will bite your hand if you feed him, but I think I'd throw a crust to him myself. * * * * * No, I don't agree with you about Homer, nor "stand for" your implied view that narrative poetry is not "pure poetry." Poetry seems to me to speak with a thousand voices--"a various language." The miners have a saying: "Gold is where you find it." So is poetry; I'm expecting to find it some fine day in the price list of a grocery store. I fancy _you_ could put it there. * * * * * As to Goethe, the more you read him, the better you will love Heine.