Part 10 (2/2)

And now it is all settled. A body has to talk in a body's own room, and a body's nose has to turn up with indignation as a body announces the fact.

And so here I sit, waiting for the expressman to come for my trunk.

Now that it is over it does not seem so bad. I am like a snail--once back in my sh.e.l.l, I do not care what happens. I have given up trying to write The Captive, and so nothing bothers me any more.--I have forgotten all about it now, it is years behind me.

But I have seen it all; I can get it back in good time. I do not fear.

I have rolled up a little bundle, a tooth-brush and some ma.n.u.scripts princ.i.p.ally; and I send the rest to a friend's house. I have had an inspiration. Why should I stay in this hot and steaming place?--Why should I be ”barricaded evermore within the walls of cities?” _Ich will ins Land!_

Why did I not think of this in the beginning? I am going now to see the springtime!--”the only pretty ring time, when birds do sing--hey ding-a-ding!”

That was a real idea. I do not know where I am going; but I will walk and get somewhere--there will be woods. I'll sleep in hay-ricks if it can't be managed any other way.

Away, away from men and towns, To the wildwood and the downs!

I could have been through in three weeks now, I believe. But it was not to be. We have to take what comes to us--

Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate.

I'm glad I don't have to write poetry like _that_!

June 8th.

Howdy-do, Brother Bobolink! How in the world did you guess I was coming this way?

--Es ist nun einmal so.

Kein Dichter reist incognito!

Ah, to be out in the open air again, to see the world green and beautiful; to run with the wind and look at the flowers and listen to the birds! I am sitting by a spring; I have eaten my dinner.

I turned my steps Jerseyward.

--I have been walking all day. I must find some place to stop very soon.

I can not think of the country with this burden on me. I am like a sick animal--I seek a hiding-place. I fancied I might think of my work on the way, but I can not. The world is happy; my work is not happy.

My hope is all in the end of the journey, and the walking is drudgery. And then, my money is going! I must find some sort of a hut--a tumble-down house, an old barn--anything.

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