R COLVIN,--I am in the cars between Pittsburgh and Chicago, just now
bowling through Ohio. I am taking charge of a kid, whose mother is
asleep, with one eye, while I write you this with the other. I reached
N. Y. Sunday night; and by five o'clock Monday was under way for the
West. It is now about ten on Wednesday morning, so I have already been
about forty hours in the cars. It is impossible to lie down in them,
which must end by being very wearying.

I had no idea how easy it was to commit suicide. There seems nothing
left of me; I died a while ago; I do not know who it is that is
travelling.

Of where or how, I nothing know;
And why, I do not care;
Enough if, even so,
My travelling eyes, my travelling mind can go
By flood and field and hill, by wood and meadow fair,
Beside the Susquehannah and along the Delaware.

I think, I hope, I dream no more
The dreams of otherwhere,
The cherished thoughts of yore;
I have been changed from what I was before;
And drunk too deep perchance the lotus of the air
Beside the Susquehannah and along the Delaware.

Unweary God me yet shall bring
To lands of brighter air,
Where I, now half a king,
Shall with enfranchised spirit loudlier sing,
And wear a bolder front than that which now I wear
Beside the Susquehannah and along the Delaware.

Exit Muse, hurried by child's games....

Have at you again, being now well through Indiana. In America you eat
better than anywhere else: fact, The food is heavenly.

No man is any use until he has dared everything; I feel just now as if I
had, and so might become a man. "If ye have faith like a grain of
mustard seed." That is so true! Just now I have faith as big as a
cigar-case; I will not say die, and do not fear man nor fortune.

R. L. S.

TO W. E. HENLEY

_Crossing Nebraska [Saturday, August 23, 1879]._

MY DEAR HENLEY,--I am sitting on the top of the cars with a mill party
from Missouri going west for his health. Desolate flat prairie upon all
hands. Here and there a herd of cattle, a yellow butterfly or two; a
patch of wild sunflowers; a wooden house or two; then a wooden church
alone in miles of waste; then a windmill to pump water. When we stop,
which we do often, for emigrants and freight travel together, the kine
first, the men after, the whole plain is heard singing with cicadae.
This is a pause, as you may see from the writing. What happened to t