The Journal of a Disappointed Man

At the foot of the cliffs on the return journey met an old man gathering sticks. As he ambled along dropping sticks into a long sack he called out casually, "Do you believe in Jesus Christ?" in the tone of voice in which one would say, "I think we shall have some rain before night." "Aye, aye," came the answer without hesitation from a boy lying on his back in the sands a few yards distant, "and that He died to save me." Life is full of surprises like this. The only other sounds I have heard to-day were the Herring Gull's cackle. Your own gardener will one day look over his rake and give you the correct chemical formula for carbonic acid gas. I met a postman once reading Shelley as he walked his rounds. June 28. I am writing this by the lamp in the cabin among the sandhills waiting for H---- to arrive from town with provisions. I wear a pair of bags, a dirty sweater, and go without hat or shoes and stockings. There is a "Deadwood Dick" atmosphere here. I'm a sort of bronco-breaker or rancher off duty writing home. In a minute I haven't the slightest doubt, H---- will gallop into the compound, tether his colt and come in "raising Cain" for a belly-full of red meat.... If I am going to live after all (touch wood) I shall go abroad and be in the open. I eat greedily, am getting very sunburnt, am growing hairy (that means strength!), and utter portentous oaths. If I stayed here much longer I should grow a tail and climb trees.