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After　this　I　believe　that　I　worked　away　at　the　story；　of　which　I　did　a　good　deal；　and　sent　it　to　Lang；　who　promptly　lost　it　so　pletely　and　for　so　long　a　time　that；　not　having　the　heart　to　remence　the　book；　the　idea　of　writing　it　was　abandoned。　It　appears　that　he　thrust　the　MS。　into　a　folio　volume；　which　was　replaced　among　his　numerous　books；　where　it　might　have　remained　for　generations　had　he　not　chanced　to　need　to　consult　that　particular　work　again。
I’ve　found　your　lost　MS。！　I　don’t　think　it　is　a　likely　thing；　style　too　Egyptian　and　all　too　unfamiliar　to　B。P。
Then　under　date　of　October　11th：
I　only　had　time　for　a　glance　at　the　lost　MS。　Now　I　have　read　it。　There　are　jolly　things　in　it　—　the　chess；　and　the　incantation；　and　the　ship；　but　I　fear　it　is　too　remote　for　this　people。　It　isn’t　my　idea　how　to　do　it　（not　that　that　matters）；　for　I’d　have　begun　with　Odysseus　in　a　plague…stricken　Ithaca　and　have　got　on　to　Egypt。　And　I’ve　had　written　in　modern　English。　However；　as　it　stands；　I　don’t　care　quite　for　the　way　the　Wanderer　is　introduced。　He　es　rather　perfunctorily　and　abruptly　on　the　scene　to　my　feeling。　It　is　a　subject　that　wants　such　a　lot　of　thinking　out。　It　would　be　jolly　if　one　had　more　time　in　this　world　of　ours。　Also；　if　the　public　had；　for　after　“Cleopatra”　they　would　not　rise　at　Egyptological　romance　for　a　long　time。　I　can’t　help　regretting　my　veteran　Odysseus　—　I　don’t　think　he　would　have　been　too　“grey…eyed。”　If　we　really　collaborated；　as　we　proposed　originally；　I’d　begin　with　him；　bring　him　in　your　way　to　Egypt；　introduce　him　to　the　old　cove　who’d　tell　him　about　Hatasu　（as　in　yours）　and　then　let　things　evolve；　but　keep　all　the　English　modern；　except　in　highly…wrought　passages；　incantations；　etc。　I　dare　say　it　would　make　a　funny　mixture。
Just　fancy　a　total　stranger　writing　to　ask　me　for　Matthew　Arnold’s　autograph。　Wot　next！
Oct。　17th。　Having　nothing　to　do　this　afternoon　I　did　a　lot　of　Ulysses。　I　brought　him　home　from　the　people　who　never　saw　salt　in　a　boat　of　Dreams；　and　I　made　him　find　nobody　alive　in　Ithaca；　a　pyre　of　ashes　in　the　front　garden　and　a　charred　bone　with　Penelope’s　bracelet　on　it！　But　the　bow　was　at　home。　If　you　can　make　it　alive　（it’s　as　dead　as　mutton）；　the　“local　colour”　is　all　right。　Then　I’d　work　in　your　bit；　where　the　Sidonians　nobble　him；　and　add　local　colour。
Nov。　2nd。　I　have　done　a　little　more。　Taken　Od。　into　the　darkness　and　given　him　a　song；　but　I　think　he　had　been　reading　Swinburne　when　he　wrote　it。
The　next　letter　is　undated：
Certainly　the　bow　must　sing；　but　I　don’t　think　words。
As　readers　of　the　book　will　know；　the　bow　was　ultimately　made　to　sing　in　words。　I　suggested　to　Lang　that　such　words　might　be　arranged　to　imitate　the　hiss　of　arrows　and　the　humming　of　the　string。　The　result　was　his　“Song　of　the　Bow；”　which　I　think　a　wonderfully　musical　poem。
Nov。　27th。　The　typewritten　“Song　of　the　Bow”　has　e。　The　Prologue　I　wrote　is　better　out。　It　is　very　odd　to　see　how　your　part　（though　not　your　chef　d’oeuvre）　is　readable；　and　how　mine　—　isn’t。　Tell　Longman　the　“Bow”　is　a　Toxophilite　piece。
The　chaff　about　the　Bow　being　a　Toxophilite　piece　refers　to　Charles　Longman’s　fondness　for　archery。
Jan　1st；　1889。　Splendid　idea；　no　two　people　seeing　Helen　the　same。　So　Meriamun　might　see　her　right　in　her　vision；　and　never　see　her　so　again；　till　she　finds　her　with　Odysseus。　Indeed　this　is　clearly　what　happens；　take　the　case　of　Mary　Stuart：　no　two　portraits　alike　—　or　Cleopatra。　I　bar　the　bogles　rather。　They’d　need　to　be　very　shadowy　at　least。　If　you　have　them；　they　should　simply　make　room　for　him。
But　the　shifting　beauty　is　really　poetical　to　my　mind。
Here　is　one　more　letter　dated　June　27th；　or　part　of　it；　which　well　exemplifies　Lang’s　habit　of　depreciating　his　own　work：
I　have　been　turning　over　“The　World’s　Desire；”　and　the　more　I　turn　the　more　I　dislike　the　idea　of　serial　publication。　It　is　emphatically　a　book　for　educated　people　only；　and　would　lower　your　vogue　with　newspaper　readers　if　it　were　syndicated；　to　an　extent　beyond　what　the　price　the　papers　pay　would　make　up　for。　I　am　about　as　sure　as　possible　of　this：　it　is　a　good　deal　my　confounded　style；　which　is　more　or　less　pretty；　but　infernally　slow　and　trailing。
Ultimately　“The　World’s　Desire”　was　published　serially　in　the　New　Review。　It　appeared　in　book　form　in　1890；　and　I　hope　to　speak　of　it　again　when　I　e　to　that　date。
Chapter　12　ICELAND
To　Iceland　on　the　Copeland　—　William　Morris　—　Njal　Saga　—　Golden　Falls　—　Bergthorsknoll　—　Salmon　and　trout　fishing　—　Copeland　again　—　Cargo　of　ponies　—　Gale　—　Off　Thurso　—　Fog　—　Wrecked　in　Pentland　Firth　—　Escaped　to　Stroma　Island　—　Subsequently　to　Wick。
On　June　14；　1888；　in　the　pany　of　a　friend；　Mr。　A。　G。　Ross；　I　sailed　from　Leith　on　my　long　contemplated　visit　to　Iceland。　The　steamer　was　called　the　Copeland；　a　trading　vessel　of　about　1000　tons。　What　she　carried　on　our　outward　voyages　I　do　not　know；　but　her　return　cargoes　consisted　alternately　of　emigrants　to　America；　of　whom；　if　I　remember　right；　four　or　five　hundred　were　packed　in　her　hold；　and　of　Iceland　ponies。　On　her　last　voyage　she　had　brought　emigrants；　so　this　time　it　was　to　be　the　turn　of　the　ponies。　Poor　Copeland！　As　I　shall　tell　in　due　course；　she　was　doomed　never　to　see　Leith　again。
Before　I　started　for　Iceland　I　called　upon　the　late　Mr。　William　Morris；　some　of　whose　poetry　I　admire　as　much　as　any　that　has　been　written　in　our　time。　Also　I　find　his　archaic　and　other…world　kind　of　romances　very　pleasant　and　restful　to　read。　It　was　the　only　time　that　I　ever　saw　Morris；　and　the　visit　made　an　impression　on　me。　My　recollection　is　of　a　fair…haired　man　with　a　large　head　and　very　pleasant　manners。　As　will　be　remembered；　he　was　a　great　Socialist　and　lived　up　to　it　—　to　a　certain　extent。　Thus　there　was　no　cloth　on　the　tea…table；　but　that　table　itself　was　one　of　the　most　beautiful　bits　of　old　oak　furniture　that　I　ever　saw。　The　cups；　I　think；　had　no　saucers　to　them；　but　certainly　they　were　very　fine　china。　No　servant　came　into　the　room；　but　then　ladies；　most　artistically　arrayed；　handed　the　bread　and　butter。　The　walls　were　severely　plain；　but　on　them　hung　priceless　tapestries　and　pictures　by　Rosetti　and　others。　I　remember　that　when　I　departed　I　rather　wished　that　Fate　had　made　me　a　Socialist　also。
Mr。　Morris；　who　had　visited　Iceland　many　years　before；　kindly　gave　me　some　letters　of　introduction；　and　as　a　result　of　one　of　these　we　engaged　a　certain　Thorgrimmer　Gudmunson　as　a　guide。　In　winter　time　Mr。　Gudmunson　was　a　schoolmaster；　but　in　summer　he　escorted　travellers　about　the　island；　and　did　so　very　satisfactorily。　Two　days　later　Gudmunson　appeared　with　a　cortege　of　thin；　shaggy　ponies；　which　were　to　carry　us　and　our　belongings。　Here　I　e　letter；　written　in　pencil；　from　Thingvellir。
We　rode　about　ten　hours　to　get　here；　over　such　a　country；　desolate；　dreary；　set　round　with　mountains　flecked　with　snow。　At　last；　about　ten　o’clock　at　night；　we　came　to　Thingvellir　Lake；　and　then　passed　down　All　Man’s　Drift　to　this　most　historic　spot。　I　only　wish　you　were　familiar　with　the　Njal　Saga；　for　then　you　would　understand　the　interest；　the　more　than　interest；　with　which　I　look　upon　it。　Every　sod；　every　rock；　every　square　foot　of　Axe　River；　is　eloquent　of　the　deeds　and　deaths　of　great　men。　Where　are　they　all　now？　The　raven　croaks　over　where　they　were；　the　whimbrel’s　wild　note　echoes　against　the　mountains；　and　that　is　the　only　answer　given。
We　have　slept　in　a　couple　of　rooms　attached　to　the　Parsonage。　Our　bedroom　window　opens　on　to　the　Three　Man’s　Graveyard。　They　still　bury　in　it。　To…night　we　are　going　to　sleep　in　a　church；　and　beastly　cold　it　will　be　I　expect。　This　is　an　interesting　but　God…forgotten　country。　How　the　dickens　its　inhabitants　keep　life　and　soul　together　is　a　mystery　to　me；　for　there　is　scarcely　anything　to　eat　in　it　and　their　houses　are　the　merest　wooden　shanties；　ill…fitted　to　keep　out　the　cold；　which　even　now　is　intense　at　night。　We　hope　to　get　back　to　Rejkjavik　in　about　eleven　days；　having　visited　Hecla；　the　Geysers；　Njal’s　country；　etc。　Then　we　are　going　to　a　farm　where　we　have　taken　some　salmon　fishing　for　three　weeks。　We　hope　to　return　by　the　boat　leaving　the　3rd　of　August；　so　if　all　goes　well　I　count　to　be　home　about　the　10th。
Here　is　a　brief　description　from　my　diary　of　the　Golden　Falls；　which　served　me　as　a　model　for　those　down　which　Eric　es　in　my　saga。
Reached　Golden　Falls　at　12：30。　A　most　splendid　sight。　The　yellow　river；　after　tumbling　down　a　cliff；　bends　a　little　to　the　right　and　leaps　in　two　mighty　waterfalls；　across　which　a　rainbow　streams；　into　a　chasm　a　hundred　feet　deep；　leaving　a　bare　space　of　cliff　between。　From　the　deep　of　this　chasm　the　spray　boils　up　like　steam；　a　glorious　thing　to　see　。　。　。　。　Passed　Three　Corner　Ridge　where　Gunnar　was　attacked；　and　suddenly　came　on　a　very　fine　view　of　the　Njal　country；　a　flat　and　fertile　expanse　of　land　stretching　away　as　far　as　the　eye　can　reach。　Nothing　to　eat　since　breakfast。　Spent　fortable　night　at　the　priest’s　house。　Had　arctic　tern’s　eggs　and　“skier”　for　breakfast。　Then　sent　pack　ponies　to　Bergthors　Knoll　and　rode　to　Lithend。　I　am　writing　this　on　the　site　of　Gunnar’s　hall；　which　I　can　distinctly　trace。　The　hall　looked　out　over　the　great　Markallflajot　plain；　now　nothing　but　a　waste　eaten　up　of　the　waters。　To　the　north　is　a　large　glacier…mountain　—　the　hall　was　built　on　the　side　of　a　hill　—　and　to　the　left　of　the　house　is　the　fissure　into　which　the　dog　Sam　was　decoyed　and　killed。　The　lark　now　sings　over　where　Gunnar　fought　and　fell；　betrayed　by　Hallgerda。
7　P。M。：　Bergthorsknoll。　Arrived　here　after　a　long　ride　over　a　desolate　grassy　flat。　The　site　of　Njal’s　hall　is　now　for　the　most　part　covered　with　hovels。　It　faces　sou’west；　partly　on　to　the　plain　and　partly　on　to　a　river。　To　the　left　of　the　house　is　the　hollow　where　the　burners　tied　up　their　horses　as　described　in　the　saga。　In　front　appears　the　fierce　outline　of　the　Westman　Islands。
29th：　Dug　last　night　and　found　various　relics　of　the　burning。　The　floor　of　the　hall　seems　to　have　been　sprinkled　with　black　sand　（see　the　saga）；　but　we　had　not　the　luck　of　the　American　who；　when　he　dug；　discovered　a　gold　ring。
On　the　whole　we　enjoyed　our　fishing　very　much；　and　I　killed　a　good　number　of　salmon；　though；　because　of　the　drought；　not　so　many　as　I　ought　to　have　done。　Also　there　were　multitudes　of　trout。　The　trout　stream　ran　out　of　a　gloomy　lake　surrounded　by　high　mountains。　The　Icelanders　vowed　that　there　were　no　trout　in　this　lake。　However　we　procured　an　old　boat　so　leaky　that　we　could　only　row　a　little　way　from　land　and　back　again　before　she　filled。　Ross；　who　had　been　an　oar　at　College；　rowed；　while　I　managed　the　two　trolling　rods。　Before　we　had　gone　a　few　yards　they　were　both　of　them　bent　almost　double。　Never　before　or　since　did　I　have　such　fishing。　To　what　size　the　trout　ran　in　that　lake　I　had　no　idea；　for　the　biggest　ones　invariably　tore　the　hooks　off　the　Phantoms　and　brass　“devils；”　or　smashed　the　tackle；　but　we　caught　many　up　to　about　four　pounds　in　weight。　Indeed；　the　sport　was　so　easy　that　one　grew　weary　of　it。　Very　charming　it　was　also　to　stand　alone　in　the　blue　light　at　midnight　by　the　banks；　or　in　the　water　of　the　wide　and　brawling　salmon　river；　casting　for　and　sometimes　hooking　the　king　of　fish。　Never　shall　I　forget　the　impression　it　produced　upon　me。　The　mighty　black　mountains；　the　solitude；　the　song　of　the　river；　and　the　whistling　flight　of　the　wild　duck　—　by　which　the　silence　alone　was　broken　—　and；　over　all；　that　low　unearthly　light　just　strong　enough　to　show　my　fly　upon　the　water　and　the　boiling　rises　of　the　salmon。　It　is　an　experience　which　I　am　glad　to　have　known。
At　Rejkjavik；　for　some　reason　that　I　have　forgotten；　we　caught　not　the　Danish　mail　steamer　as　we　had　expected；　but　our　old　friend　the　Copeland；　now　laden　with　hundreds　of　ponies；　among　them　that　named　Hecla；　which　I　had　bought　near　the　volcano；　and　I　think　another　which　I　had　also　bought。　We　went　aboard　the　night　of　the　19th　with　General　Bevan…Edwards　and　some　other　passengers；　and　I　recall　observing　with　some　anxiety　the　ship’s　agent　as　he　rowed　round　the　bows　of　the　vessel；　apparently　inspecting　her　draught　—　also　with　some　anxiety。
I　imagine　that　she　had　too　many　ponies　in　her　holds。　However；　off　we　steamed；　and