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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 grea