The Journal of Arthur Stirling : ("The Valley of the Shadow") Part 12

"And can you rent it to me for a month?"

"Why, I don't know any reason why I can't rent it to you for a year--only it ain't worth nothin', an'--"

"Then rent it to me! The less it is worth the better it will suit me. But come, show me where it is!"

"I reckon I can show you," said the man, looking perplexed. "But what in the world do you want to go into that lonesome place for? Why, boy, n.o.body goes there in a month! An' what you goin' to do for somethin' to eat, an'

some place to sleep, an'--"

I managed to get him started at last. And now, oh just look at me! I've been roaming around staring at it--inside and outside. The G.o.ds love me after all.

The infinite relief that it is! The infinite exultation that it is! And all to myself--not a soul near me! And out in the woods! _And mine for a month!_ Oh blessed 'cello player that moved away; blessed landlady's sister that talked--!

And oh blessed cook-house! We will make thee a consecrated cook-house before we get through--we will! We will cook a dish in thee that will warm the hearts of a goodly company--oh blessed cook-house!

--And outside a great white moon streaming through the forest trees!

The "cook-house" is about ten feet square. It is about one-third stove, now covered with a newspaper and serving as a table. Besides that there is one chair, for which I have just improvised a leg, with the help of my knife.

Besides the knife I have a fork, a plate, a cup, and a spoon--borrowed from the farmer. I have a blanket and a bed consisting of an old carriage robe, rented from the farmer. I have a lamp and a kerosene-can--ditto. I have a frying-pan--ditto. But I haven't my little oil-stove, so I fear I shall eat mostly cold things. I have a pail of milk, a loaf of bread, a ginger-cake, some b.u.t.ter, some eggs, some bacon, some apples and some radishes; also a tooth-brush, a comb, a change of clothing, two handkerchiefs, some pencils and paper, Prometheus Bound, Prometheus Unbound, Samson Agonistes, faith, hope, and charity!

--I believe I have named all the necessaries of life.

June 15th.

I have scooped myself out a bathtub below the spring. I forgot towels in my list of necessaries! I fear it will be inconvenient on rainy days. I am like a child with a new toy, in my wonderful home. I was too excited to think of working. I fried an egg over a little fire, and then I roamed all about the woods. I don't remember ever having been so happy before. I had forgotten there was anything beautiful in the world.--

--I spent the whole of the afternoon dreaming a dream. When I have finished The Captive and gotten some money, I am going to have a little house in the woods! I have just had it before my eyes--and I laughed with delight like a boy.

It will be a fine big house--it will cost about fifty dollars; and there will be a table and a chair, and a cot, and such things. It will stand by a lake, a wild lake far out in the mountains! I have vowed to find a lake at least five miles from anything; and once a week I will have somebody bring me provisions.

--That is the way I shall spend next summer!--Up, up! Get to work!--

June 17th.

I have done nothing for two days but wander around and stare at things. It is all gone, every gleam of it! And I can not bring it back--I know not what to do, where to turn. I stopped in one of the hardest parts of the whole thing--in the very midst of it; and how in the world am I to begin? I walk around, I sit down, I get up again; I try to put my thoughts upon it, I bring them back again and again. But I can not do it--I have let every thread of it go. What has tramping over the country and delight in houses got to do with my work?

I have nothing to write--the whole thing is a blank to me. And here I am, eating up my provisions!--This shows me what I am--what a child.

--But how am I to get up on those fearful heights again? How am I to take the first step toward those fearful heights again? I cry that all day!

June 20th.

Oh, the joy of being out in the woods! I never knew of it before--I never dreamed it!

It is better than an orchestra. To be able to stretch your arms! To have a place to walk! To be able to talk aloud!--to laugh--to shout--to do what you please!--to be free from all men, and the thought of all men!

And to hear your own poetry aloud!--I cried out to-day that I would go back and do the whole of The Captive over again, so that I could hear it out loud. It made me quite wild yesterday when I first realized that I was _alone_!

--Last night there was a gale, and the clouds sped over the moon, and the wind roared in the trees--and I roared too!

--"For I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set!"

June 21st.

I did just as I have always done before. I got desperate enough, and then I went to work. I said "I will! and I will! and I will!" I think I said nothing else for twenty-four hours.

And so the storm again, and the great waves speeding!

Is there any one who has ever watched the great waves?--How they go! They take you right with them. My verses shall be waves.

I am tired out again; but oh, I am filled with my music! There was never any poetry like it in the world!

And at the height of it I cry out: "I am free! I am free!

"I won't have to stop again!

"I can go to the very end of it!

"And I don't care who hears me!

"I am free!"

June 23d.

I ate a raw egg this morning. For yesterday I let the fire go out five times, and gave up my breakfast rather than start a sixth.

I wanted to save time--I thought it would be egg just the same; but I record it for future generations of poets, that the experiment is not a success. You taste raw egg all day.