He saw the matter in its true light.

It was typical.

It was the world-old war between Freedom and Tyranny, and at times his hatred of the railroad shook him like a crisp and withered reed, while the languid indifference of the people of the State to the quarrel filled him with a blind exasperation.
But, as he had once explained to Vanamee, he must find expression.

He felt that he would suffocate otherwise.

He had begun to keep a journal.
As the inclination spurred him, he wrote down his thoughts and ideas in this, sometimes every day, sometimes only three or four times a month.
Also he flung aside his books of poems--Milton, Tennyson, Browning, even Homer--and addressed himself to Mill, Malthus, Young, Poushkin, Henry George, Schopenhauer.