the mountain of vision: we shall be able to use
the word, with the accent of Whitman. "Disembodied, triumphant, dead."

In the _Notebook_ he was writing:

There is a heart within a distant town
Who loves me more than treasure or renown
Think you it strange and wear it as a crown.

Is not the marvel here; that since the kiss
And dizzy glories of that blinding bliss
One grief has ever touched me after this.

We see Gilbert in the next two letters more concerned about a grand
dinner of the J.D.C. than about his future fame and fortune. In the
second he mentions almost casually that he is leaving Fisher Unwin.
From now on he was to live by his pen.

11 Warwick Gardens, W.
Tuesday Night. 3rd Oct. 1899.

. . . Nothing very astonishing has happened yet, though many
astonishing things will happen soon. The Final perfection of Humanity
I expect shortly. The _Speaker_ for this week--the first of the _New
Speaker_, is coming out soon, and may contain something of mine though
I cannot be quite sure. A rush of the Boers on Natal, strategically
quite possibly successful, is anticipated by politicians. The rising
of the sun tomorrow morning is predicted by astronomers. My father
again is engaged in the crucial correspondence with Fisher Unwin, at
least it has begun by T.F.U. stating his proposed terms--a rise of
5/--from October, another rise possible but undefined in January, 10
per cent royalty for the Paris book and expenses for a fortnight in
Paris. These, as I got my father to heartily agree, are vitiated to
the bone as terms by the absence of any assurance that I shall not
have to write "Paris," for which I am really paid nothing, _outside_
the hours of work for which I am paid 25/--. In short, the net result
would be that instead of gaining more liberty to rise in the literary
world, I should be selling the small liberty of rising that I have
now for five more shillings. This my father is declining and asking
for a better settlement. The diplomacy is worrying, yet I enjoy it: I
feel like Mr. Chamberlain on the eve of war. I would stop with T.F.U.
for L100 a year--but not for less. Which means, I think, that I shall
not stop at all.

But all these revolutions, literary, financial and political fade
into insignificance compared with the one really tremendous event of
this week. It will take place on Saturday next. The su