Finally, the editor of an enterprising monthly magazine reprinted the poem, supplementing it by a photograph and biography of Presley himself.
Presley was stunned, bewildered.

He began to wonder at himself.

Was he actually the "greatest American poet since Bryant"?
He had had no thought of fame while composing "The Toilers." He had only been moved to his heart's foundations,--thoroughly in earnest, seeing clearly,--and had addressed himself to the poem's composition in a happy moment when words came easily to him, and the elaboration of fine sentences was not difficult.

Was it thus fame was achieved?
For a while he was tempted to cross the continent and go to New York and there come unto his own, enjoying the triumph that awaited him.

But soon he denied himself this cheap reward.